my hero

At the dinner table
he is telling the older
boys a parable
about parables
and he has their eyes
wide as saucers.
I can only make out
every other word because
His Pint-Sized Majesty
the Third has used
all his chances to eat
nicely and moved on to
screaming in my ear.
I try not to sigh and
scoop the screecher off
to bed, but steal a
look back as I go:
two little men
and my hero, spinning
the kingdom of God
into a tale of mustard
seeds and dinosaurs
and pirates.

small stones

I know well enough
to leave the boulders alone:
life, health, breath,
salvation.
But surely the pebbles
(just a few)
I can keep in my grubby fist?
Breakfast dishes,
nail-trimming,
and the ingredients
for a simple pasta dinner.
These tiny tasks
need not be grace,
I'm prone to think --
until I fall
like Goliath.

in defense of losing it

If I hadn't broken down,
hadn't broken open,
if I hadn't cried,
let the failure and
frustration spill over
where he could see it
(which has always
felt to me
like more failure),
he might not have
risked crawling
out of bed,
wrapping his arms
around my waist,
resting his head on
my belly and saying
he loved me --
might have missed
that thin place
where we do the
real work of being
human together
in God's hands.

embrace

Embrace your son when he screams in your face because you gave him the wrong toothpaste.

Embrace the piles of laundry, cleaned, dried, folded, and carried to the proper drawers and closets.

Embrace the sting of wise discipline given to a bumbling but beloved boy.

Embrace a sweaty little imp glowing with pride over his first goal of the soccer season.

Embrace your husband, home after hard work but still ready to jump in and help.

Embrace the unwelcome events of tomorrow and look for the hidden blessings.

Embrace your own weary body, knowing the strength it is slowly building.

Embrace your weaknesses, because grace rises to meet them.