Happy Anniversary

Yesterday in the late afternoon, we took an anniversary stroll through the park with the boys.  Right when the sky soaks in a few pastels and the temperature begins its soft descent, truly the best time for an autumn walk. Our boys alternately zipped around either side of the walkway, held on to their baby brother’s pram or took off onto the leaf covered knolls surrounding us. They wanted to greet each dog along the way, finding out the name and breed, asking to pet them. I pushed the pram along and watched J interact with his sons.


It was one of those moments when your heart feels as though it will burst from sheer abundance of blessing. I should feel this way many times a day, but truthfully, I am usually too busy to feel it as often as I should.


We stopped at the “Tamarin Tree.” A beautiful tree that has brought us hours of comfort and laughter and play these past months. The boys climb her low lying limbs with varying degrees of difficulty depending on their respective heights. They pretend to be cotton top tamarin monkeys, all related in one way or another and with crazy nonsensical names. They love this tree. Last time we saw her, her leaves were a sad green splattered with brown and yellow.  Yesterday the leaves were gone, in their place were fuzzy buds in a pale silver color, almost like pussy willows. They looked a bit like christmas lights actually, though once this comparison was verbalized the boys were quick to shoot it down. Cubs declared them to be “socket eye monkey fruits, hmph!”  I guided the pram over Tamarin tree’s roots to stand under one of her higher branches. I pointed it out to J, “this is the tree I climbed the week before the baby was born.” (Ok, yes I know I should NOT have climbed a tree while 36 weeks pregnant, but I had been in labor for nearly 8 days and was not in my right mind). I remembered sitting up there for a moment of quiet while my mother watched over the boys, the Little One fiercely conducting my contractions every ten minutes. I so desperately wanted answers and results and PEACE. I wanted it right in that moment with a snap of my fingers. Of course, I did not get it. Instead, I got days and days of more uncertainty, of constant labor with no snuggly bundle of joy for a reward. He didn’t arrive for another 7 days.

Little One was born on a cold September night. After two weeks of contractions, he came swiftly and “suddenly,” surprising all the nurses and our doctor. I have soaked in every moment. He is my last son, the last child that will come from my body. He, like all my other sons, is a treasure. His brothers are protective of him and love to watch over him. I am fascinated by him and his all ready serious nature. We are in another season of waiting for answers, submerged in constant questioning of our circumstances. One day we will see what it was all for and it will be worth it. Just like Little One...so very very worth it.

The boys played in the leaves the way northern children from land locked states approach the beach, cautiously and with a bit of skepticism. Its so foreign to them still. Leaves that fall to the ground and decay. The lack of green. The barren branches that remain behind. The fact that this all occurs in the span of two or three weeks. The Bear kept asking about it yesterday, taking note of the fact that this place is nothing like Miami. No palm trees. No green leaves. Only “dead deader spike trees” and “christmassy trees.” He loves to shuffle his feet through the piles of leaves. No jumping yet. He’s not quite ready to give himself over to that. It seems he is content to experience this newness in a detached sort of way. He still asks from time to time whether or not we are done pretending that we live here. I know that next year he will jump into the leaves and play hard. As if he has always done it that way, the hesitation long forgotten. But yesterday he merely shuffled along, Babe shuffled behind him albeit a bit more determination in his step. A younger brother’s "divide, conquer and prove yourself" sort of stomp. J followed closely behind, a light smile touching his lips. His feet were shuffling as well, the remembered ritual kind of shuffle. The three of them shuffling in a row in the dusky air—such a mixture of content pleasure and a bit of sadness. Is that even possible?

We miss our home greatly these days. Not just the sunshine and green. But the family and friends too. Its been a hard adjustment, but we are doing it together. There is great joy to be found, simply in being together, even when hard sacrifices are made or life is churning down the rougher path.

We celebrated our six year wedding anniversary yesterday. We laughed often, as always, about the crazy number of children we have managed to produce in such a short time, and reflected on our time together as we walked through the park. We survived the PhD program. We moved across the country twice. One of us nearly died. Two of our children are in heaven with Jesus. We have lived in five different homes. We have buried some dreams and bred new ones. We have shared sorrow and joy. We have grown closer to the Lord. We love our kids…so much. We are thankful.