This is life: harsh sun-bright shadows, picnics on a dirty quilt, food smeared grins.
This is life: Bee flat out on the kitchen counter and Bruiser trying to change her diaper, Tiny signing "I love you" with his pinky only half up, Littles brushing my hair while I drink my morning coffee.
This is life: laughing about an unexpected pregnancy in the year you aptly named Overflow followed by the drowning grief of miscarriage, not knowing how to talk or write about what happened, learning how to be again in the year you named Flourish. This is life.
This is life: getting the dog to smell a dandelion, trying to help Mommy lift the stroller over a curb (while still sitting in said stroller), shoving as many books as possible into the library bag.
This is life. It is ephemeral, which is what makes it so precious.
You blink, and the dog develops white whiskers around his nose, your youngest son is planning cross-country road trips that don't involve you (but do involve the "Burban" which he thinks he is capable of driving), your oldest son chooses playing with friends over reading with Mommy.
You blink, and something you had just learned to love is gone. The grief is as precious as the joy, though much more painful. But if we numb the one, we numb the other. We learn this, and it is hard--and we do not have the words. But we have the tears.
And God always, always, always takes our overflow of tears to water the soil and grow something beautiful. He takes the tears of sadness and the tears of laughter and brings more life.
This is life--and it is precious.
He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.