Here, there and everywhere.
Always something to do. Someplace
to go. People to see.
But I can only be in one place at a time.
I can only be here.
There. The other
place. That imaginary land where the
clouds are big and fluffy with silver lining.
The grass is a lush green, never lacking in vividness. The weather is the right mix of heat and
breeze. It’s peaceful, it’s fun. The food is phenomenal and the aromas make me
salivate. All the right people are
there. You know—the ones that I adore. My favourites. The ones who never irk me in the
slightest. Yeah, them.
Everywhere—the place where many moms are. Perhaps hover, is a better word. It seems that we tend to flit—even gracefully
at times, between home, school, work, church, car, park, errands, grocery
store. If we’re lucky, maybe even the
mall. A listening ear to a friend,
empathizing and encouraging them as though time has stopped outside of the chat
box or skype screen. Everywhere—the place
where it all happens.
Here. Where I am
now. Look past the untidiness to see
that it’s well lived in. The walls are
bare—still, but the creative art work of young girls cover many a low
area. The medium of choice is usually
pencil crayon or fingerprint, sometimes even permanent marker. The furniture is sparse, but enough seats for
the family. There are beds for all to
rest on, a fridge and pantry with something to eat. There is a car, though small, but it still
serves its purpose. Looking beyond the
surface stuff, there are sounds and feelings and loving that happens here.
God speaks to me here.
I am here, blessed.
Here, my heart is full.
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