Mom life in a blink is gone
Breathe deep and jump in
So Happy Happy Birthday
And Happy Valentine’s too.
I am far beyond blessed
that I get to do this life with you.
I found this poem during one of my middle of the night reading sessions. And as I am at the start of what is likely going to be a not-so-good sleep night, I am encouraged by it again. It is beautifully written. Enjoy.
In that lonely place ~ No friend can go ~ No brother can help ~ No loved on can know
I must crawl on ~ While you stay ~ Further still ~ Just watch and pray
In that lonely place ~ The cup is fought ~ To sip the pain ~ Or choose my lot
To claim my rights ~ Or cast them down ~ To gain my loss ~ Or scorn my crown
Life pivots there ~ In Further Still ~ Face to the ground ~ Fighting his will
Can’t choose to return ~ The same who went ~ Once Further Still ~ The old is spent
So remember me ~ And stay close by ~ I’ll need you soon ~ Right by my side
And pray me back ~ Til He has won ~ And throat is parched ~ From “Yours be done!”
It’s my day to blog over at Inspire a Fire. It’s just a short sweet post about childhood memories including my own version of George Ella Lyon’s poem Where I’m From.
If need a creative challenge on this lovely Saturday, try writing your own Where I’m From. It’s a lot of fun (unless you are not a word person, in which case it could be a torturous experience.)
Tonight begins Middle School Moms group at my house. (I know it’s a terribly creative name isn’t it?) As I sit wondering about the moms I’m going to get to know better and the kids I’m going to have the opportunity to pray for this summer, I am reminded of this poem I wrote a couple years ago.
A poem about a little boy who still lives in the world where holding mama’s hand in public is as natural as giggling with his friends.
I have one boy who holds my hand still, but time moves fast, and middle-schoolers love their mama in ways that generally do not include public displays of affection.
But I love them all so much. I love the little boy who cuddles with me on the couch while we watch The Cosby Show, and I love the big ones who sprawl across the couch and floor watching the NBA finals with me, hollering at the refs when they make a bad call.
By: Kim Harms
Waiting in the lunch line
Adrift in a sea of children
A little boy’s hand
slips unpretentiously into mine.
Back and forth he swings my arm
All the while
With the classmates surrounding him.
This moment does not dissolve his heart.
The touch of my hand does not cause his eye to tear.
He is simply a little boy
Staking claim to his mama.
But to me it is more.
Those fingers all wrapped up in mine
I am wholly in love
In this brief moment.
Lost in a world
Where smooth little fingers mesh easily with aging hands
And the expression of a son’s love for his mama
Comes as naturally as laughing with his friends.
A world which
Upon a blink and a breath
Will pass from reality
My friend (the one I wrote about here) recently reworked some children’s poems for The Des Moines Moms Blog.
She is one of the few people in the this world who can make me laugh and cry at the same time, which is just what I did when I read these for the first time the other day. If you are in the mood for a good laugh/cry, read on…
I am your parent you are my child
I am your quiet place, you are my wild
I am your calm face, you are my giggle
I am your wait, you are my wiggle
I am your audience, you are my clown
I am your London Bridge, you are my falling down
I am your Carrot Sticks, you are my licorice
I am your dandelion, you are my first wish
I am your water wings, you are my deep
I am your open arms, you are my running leap
I am your way home, you are my new path
I am your dry towel, you are my wet bath
I am your dinner you are my chocolate cake
I am your bedtime, you are my wide awake
I am your finish line, you are my race
I am your praying hands, you are my saving grace
I am your favourite book, you are my new lines
I am your nightlight, you are my sunshine
I am your lullaby, you are my peek-a-boo
I am your kiss goodnight, you are my I love you
I will always be your momma, but you are no longer small,
I’ll always be “The Perfect Fan,” you’re becoming “The Boys of Fall”
I am your secret keeper, you’re a sharer on Instagram
I guide you toward a subtle ‘Yes,’ when your instinct is ‘No ma’am!’
I’m queen of second chances, you often take a third
I call you buddy, young man and friend, even when you are a turd
I swallow hard when you resist my touch, a fist bump is all you need
I ask you to make decisions slowly, you much prefer to speed
I am that voice nestled deep inside, you often pretend you’re deaf
I am the deliverer of balanced meals, you’d prefer a personal chef
I am the one beckoning, “GO TO BED!”, you are the resident owl
I am the tucker-in-of-kids, you want “goodnights” shouted from the hall
I am in bed and hear the beep, your thoughts are sweetest at nighttime texts
I say, ‘I love you bud, XOXO,’ you reply OXOX.
To read the rest of her poems, head on over to The Des Moines Moms Blog.
I am not enough
To undo my mistakes, to answer my own prayers
To make myself compassionate when I simply don’t care.
To give joyfully each time, to love those I don’t like,
To succeed without pride, to submit without a fight.
I am not enough
To seize every moment, to savor every gift
To put playtime above laundry on my to-do list.
To ease the worries that find their way inside.
To overcome the insecurities I so like to hide.
I am not enough
But I know the One who is.
The One who
Forgives my mistakes and answers my prayers
Fills my heart with compassion that was not before there.
Who loves the unlovable, Epitomizes joy.
Submitted in humility to come to earth as a boy.
The One who
Never misses a moment, nor overlooks a gift
Who gives undivided attention to every petition I lift.
Who exchanges my worry for calm, my insecurity for peace.
Whose unconditional love will not ever cease.
I am not enough, but I know the one who is.
So thankful that though I have never been perfect and never will be, I know the one who is and always has been. And he loves me enough not only to save me but to gently guide me to become more like him.
Because sometimes milestones can be equally joy-filled and heart-breaking.
“Mom, let go.”
Three small words
A punch to the gut
Tears behind sunglasses
Black bicycle seat
Released from my grasp
Simple mastery of
But to me
It is more
He can do it
On his own
Reliance on me
A mama’s pride
Mingled with loss
Mix of emotions
Down the path
He pedals alone
Grinning, bursting with
Joy of independence
Bless that boy
Father I pray
And comfort the mama
Who let go