Lost (Not)

I didn't know that could even happen anymore. With all the incredible memory saving that happens without me even pushing a button, but when you're writing before bed to try capture a moment you don't want to forget, but the power cord to your computer is downstairs and you are upstairs and you're trying to get one more sentence of description in as you watch the countdown of your battery diminish and then the screen goes dark...well, then...gone. Sigh. Sigh again. It feels almost too much to start over, but I will. I just doubt it will be as fresh. I had started with this, so I'll begin again:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

Hath had elsewhere it's setting

And cometh from afar;

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home:

Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

--W.Wordsworth

 from Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

Thankfully I took out the trash last night. I have laughed, in full agreement, when other women have noted that taking the trash out can feel like a legitimate refreshment in certain seasons of mothering little ones. Last night, though, my 10 step journey to the side of the house rewarded me more richly than usual. The light! It was heavy with gold, almost tangible as I stood looking up for a few moments in the driveway. The burgeoning cloudscape looming beyond our backyard trees was flamed peach as the sun set it's heat down for the coming dark. The four minutes of my gazing was a wonder: full breaths and completed thoughts of being blessed in the moment by the sumptuous glow. The chance for a completed thought let me remember what I had wanted to write down a few days ago, but hadn't yet...

Last week an old friend came for dinner. Michael has known me for much of my life, and so I have known him for some of his. Upon meeting little Caroline, Michael referenced the above Wordsworth lines. As he pondered the fresh little life in my arms he talked about his love of the newborn look...that focus-less gaze they have, in utter peace and contentment, as they process transitioning from the arms of God to the arms of the world. He, in his intensely gentle and thoughtful way, affirmed Caroline in her little person as mysteriously being closer to the heart of heaven and shouldn't we stop in wonder at that. Yes. She is still "trailing clouds of glory." Andrew mentioned yesterday that he thought Caroline was probably cutting our packing productivity by a significant margin. This is most likely true, but as we prepare to move next week to a new adventure, I've been glad for the slowed productivity. Every three hours I'm forced to sit and hold and nurse this girl who is still glowing from the celestial realms. It happens to be quite invigorating, focusing, and richly joyful amidst a current quality of life that is anything but these things.

So we are walking forward slowly, but not in darkness.