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What do I call the moments when time stops. Sudden-like. An invisible wall rising, appearing from nowhere, to block my way forward, holding me suspended in between times…

astronomical-clock-226897_640

in between the conclusion of one life phase and the beginning of the next.

Between the last hours of my first pregnancy and the first hour after his birth…

Hey, little guy—we’ve waited a long time to finally meet you…  

Looking into depths of newborn eyes, full with wonder at faces owning the voices he had heard for warm and dark secluded months. From that day on, I would be forever known as Mom… as his mom. A role earned and filled by no other.

The day might come when I no longer will be a wife. But at no time in my life after taking his first breath will I not reside as mom.

And being a mom is so full of moments that I long to somehow be eternally held… pressed on this mother’s heart in branding… chiseled upon my soul forever imprinted, to be immortaly preserved.

These moments in between…

Between the last day of her childhood and the first day of all-grown-up…

I want to thank my teachers… my mom… my dad for all the evenings spent working on Algebra 2…

These are the moments when my life and theirs flash before my eyes. When all around me races on fast-forward, yet all within me decelerates, to a crawl… when I am allowed to absorb, to savor, to cherish every particle of goodness in this newest point of turning, of maturing into our wiser selves, made better by experiences shared, of dreams realized.

Graduation caps

When the camera rolls oblivious of time, and all around me fades into the background. As the present milestone is all that’s important… and my entire focus fixates on the one person, the one event, this most recent defining moment, to be recorded and memorized and tucked away for future delight.

Of course, I’ll write something very similar the evening he and his special someone announce their engagement, on the night before her wedding day, in the hours following the birth of his first miracle, on God-willing many more moments causing my heart to slow its beating, so I can take it all in.

Finishing the cake one morning this week, laying out paper plates and napkins and bread and chips and cookies on the table, readying our home for the gathering of friends, the living room carpet could have used another sweep across it, and slipcovers needed straightening. But no one would notice. Because before the end of the day the home would be filled with girls. And sleeping bags. And tote bags. And popcorn bags.

Leaving the house in the afternoon, a high school senior, she would return hours later, a high school graduate.

This mother’s heart ached with sweet and with bitter—with pride, regret, wonder, but mostly with gratitude. To have been extended necessary grace, to be recipient of God’s sacred gifts, to live in such a way blessed that even angels gaze in awe.

 

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