“Home in 20,” his text read. “k. love you. even tho i burnt our lasagna.”
It’s been one of those weeks.
Elliana wouldn’t go to sleep tonight. Typically she would sleep till Christmas if I let her.
But tonight she was restless. As if aware of a world that isn’t right. Being crammed in a home she wasn’t made for.
I held her crying tears as her wisdom held my invitation to prayer.
I thought of the stupid spinach that’s had me down with food poisoning.
I thought of my friend Juli and her family and what it would feel like to watch an explosion kill people.
I thought of my friend’s couch and her exhausted voice telling me about her crumbled marriage.
I thought of the one deciding if it’s best to give her daughter up for adoption.
And the one who’s out of jail again, but manic again, too.
I thought of the pit of anxiety in my stomach, collapsing at trying to carry weights beyond my control.
I thought of my crammed soul.
That home is not in this bedroom.
Her body was calm on my chest now, her soft cheek nuzzled into mine.
I thought of the verse God’s been telling me about from the Psalms. That He has set my feet in a spacious place (31.8).
Her greyish navy eyes looked deep into mine.
Like a quiet corner of the ocean after an exhausting storm.
Her demeanor whispered space.
A quiet place of rest.
Weeping may spend the night, but there is joy in the morning (30:5).
We laid in this gaze for awhile.
And then I served him burnt lasagna, and told him again that I loved him.