I suppose I've been a little scarce on the blog front lately. I use this space kind of like a kid with her pockets full of all her flowers and rocks and treasures. I store up everyday moments, thoughts, conversations and little faces I don't want to forget. It's my pocket of delights of sorts, that I lay out for anyone who happens by. You would not have to have spent much time here to see that I'm an idealist, a hopeless romantic; I see the good in people and rosy tinted glasses are usually firmly affixed to my face. It's not that those pleasures are trite but I've had other things floating around my head lately.
Images of moms and dads that sent their kids off to school in the morning and later in the day recovered their bodies from the rubble of schools destroyed in the earthquakes in parts of Asia. I can not imagine. I'm thinking of someone in my family who is sitting in a hospital somewhere in Philadelphia praying for his mom to wake up. I'm thinking of the homeless woman I watched in my rear view mirror while I looked at myself and my girls all clean and pretty in Sunday dress and everything in me felt a pull to skip church and listen to her story, to offer some help. And I was torn as I watched her fade from view and then went and listened to a sermon on justice.
It's funny sometimes how I study people. I watched the woman on break from the DUI school. I did a mental photo documentary of her, the lines near her eyes as she squinted in the sun, her bony fingers curled around her cigarette. I watch the man in the park who's always alone and I wonder where his family is or if has one anymore. Sometimes it's hard not to feel the weight of people's suffering. It makes us human. There 's no point in comparing pain. Everyone has their story and has or will have losses. But maybe it's all part of why the words in this book are so beautiful they make me cry, and why I feel a connection to this song...


So as I left the dirty dishes and the yelling kids to head out for an evening walk, because I was craving silence, these are the things I pondered. When my spirit's heavy it's good to be alone. I stare out at the twilight clouds and my soul is hushed and I breath deep the last magnolia blooms and honeysuckle. I watch the sparrows play I think it's all part of the whole. The losses, the sadness make these things more precious. I can choose to make choices that cause stress. I can choose to stay at odds with my husband because we've been too busy to connect. I could distract myself from feeling the heaviness and the suffering of others but I don't want to. I want to be bold in love, in prayers, and in action. The sun will rise in the morning and a day will start afresh to make of it what I will. My pockets are full.

mothers

Our mothers... what a thing to celebrate. They were there when we took our first breath, our first day of school, our first heart-break, they were biting their lips when we first started driving, they feel our disappointments with us and our smile makes their heart sing. They are those women who, for many of us are pillars of strength and the ones we have to thank for some the good we see in ourselves. Today I also send prayers up for all those women who have lost their moms or had miscarriages or who desperately want to be a mother. I say this remembering my first mothers day after losing our first child. Peace be with you on days like today.

I thought I'd share some photos, the first of which is by Elliot Erwitt who is one of my favorite photographers. I love how it captures the indescribable bond of a mother and baby. The second is by Leon Levinstein and the third by Wayne Miller.

But these are the moms that mean the most to me. The first raised the man I love and blows any negative mother-in-law stereo type out of the water. She exudes nurturing and from the first time I met her she took me under her wings like she has so many over the years.

Lastly, is my very own beautiful mother who has given more than I could express. Since I have become a mom I realize more fully just how amazing she is.