The wind roars and trees sing out their song-dance as they shed their final trappings and become angel-nymphs, reaching up to God, raising hands in praise.
Leaf confetti fills the air–and watching, I can barely breath for swells of love that lift and swirl, sweeping me into heaven–soaring.
I am baking cookies.
I daydream that when the boys come home from school, they will sniff this sugar-perfumed-air and slyly move to the oven-top where sweetness waits…their baby fingers and growing bellies that have been fed from this body, their lanky limbs that they have yet to grow into…
All for them.
I am thinking this and I yearn.
For what, I cannot say, but the wind tears the flag from its pole outside and soon I am chasing this flapping piece of Christmas–running out into the yard with no coat.
Back inside, I put the flag in a drawer. I will wait until this windstorm passes.
I stand, hair rearranged, and gaze out window again–watch this picture of motherhood. This swirling, wracking windstorm.
I wrap arms around chilled body and see it.
This beautiful storm.
And I think of them.
I think of how they too wait. Through beauty, through storms.
And the Advent of motherhood stirs names and faces.
The mother who waits for a new day, as she watches her son mourn a lifelong friend.
The mother waiting to be reunited with a son that will spend this Christmas in a cold jail cell instead of his family’s warm embrace.
The missionary mom, balancing motherhood and a call to a new frontier as she waits for seeds planted to grow.
The mom who waits and believes for healing–as she holds her son through painful procedures and treatments.
I think of the countless mothers who have lost children. The mothers-at-heart who long for a child of their own. And the faithful mothers who watch their children grow, gently wooing them to that day when they will have lives of their own.
And I yearn.
In the yearning is the prayer. And in the prayer is the yearning.
For safe deliveries and Christmas hugs, for healing and reconciliation, for comfort and strength. For prayers answered.
And as I move from the window–from these bits of prayers and love scattered in the wind–I pray for them sweet dream-moments shared in a warm kitchen while the wind rages outside.
I pray for them cookies.
(This post is part of my 12 days of Community posts. Head over to HCB to learn more about why you should promote someone other than yourself this holiday!)