victory flags

My feed these days is filled with fear. Articles released seconds before are already reposted, articles weeks old are still being shared, opinions are voiced loudly, in a way I feel like they are screaming at me. Every human I know is scared. I start shaking after just a few minutes of intaking it all. The words I collect as my thumb scrolls by pierce all the way into my marrow. Some days I shut it all out and I feel a little bit better. But right now, in the middle of all of this, sitting in our home, aching for relationships, I am drawn back.

Because I see the bread. Loaves of golden bread in a neat little row, reminding me of a different era. At first I feel a prick of jealousy. I haven’t showered in days , my children are acting like wild animals. No one will be stopping by, so I leave the dishes in the sink and they spill out onto my counters. There is no bread on my counters.

But that photo reaches into my heart and grips it. This bread is not just something yummy to eat because all the shelves are bare. This isn’t a brag. This is a victory flag in a time of change and unrest. My jealousy melts away and suddenly, this person’s joy becomes mine…becomes ours.

From the lord of the flies situation in my home, I could easily look at the craft makers, the bread bakers, the cheerfully posed picture takers and I could just die a little bit inside with an ache that longs to be more like them. But when I stop comparing and start celebrating, everything takes on a new glow. Not only am I surrounded by beauty but I feel the collective hand grasps across the globe…a whispered “We’ve got this.”

It’s the little squares that show:

A mess of paints and eager hands.

The shadow a daffodil makes in the morning sun.

Love through the smudged window.

A makeshift homeschool space with beauty woven through it.

The music people are sharing, freely, purely.

The poetry being written…and read.

Every tiny part of nature being reborn right now. The buds, the blooms, the green shoots that we are holding our breath to find out what they are.

Hands held.

Trees scaled.

Picnics with grandmother’s china on the floor.

Crafts made out of the recycling bin.

Yoga with a neighbor across the street.

Breathless game nights.

A good book and a worn spot on the couch.

A brisk walk.

Countless meals using the cans from the back of the pantry.

Grocery bags by the front door of someone who needs them.

Laughter.

Togetherness.

Resilience.

Because jobs will still be lost, people will still get sick, mental health will still falter but choosing to see and share joy can be the difference in survival.

So break out the camera. Post away the moments you hold dear. Stitch them together like victory flags.

***I am planning a project with your photos of beauty in this time of turmoil. Please email to Helenjgeorge@gmail.com so I can include them!

to sullivan on his 9th birthday

my precious valentine,

I feel at a loss of what to write this year. It has been an exceptionally hard year with you. In many ways I feel I’ve lost you to a dark place and no matter what, I cannot reach you most days. You’re hurting. You little heart has seen such heartache in its short time. You are the most sensitive of my children and so I think you kind of broke after all the hurt…not broke…cracked. I’ve held you tight many a times as you kick and scream at me, whispering words of truth and blessing over you. Oftentimes I’m just ugly back, and that breaks my heart. We are in really good family therapy, that the Lord provided, and I have hope that your feelings of belonging and the bond with your parents can be built up. It is agonizing to see you like this.

In-between the hard, your countenance shines like the full moon on the ocean. You are a beautiful child with deep, soulful eyes, full kissable lips, and a spark that lights up my soul. The glimpses I have of who you really are are enough.

One of the greatest losses this year was the loss of your twin cousin, Rainy who moved to Colorado this summer. You’ve grown up side by side doing everything together and now it’s like you are not a whole person without her. FaceTime calls and your short one week trip to visit hasn’t come close to filling in the void.

Not to be all doom and gloom, our year has also had many moments of joy and restoration. One of the highlights of the year was that the Lord provided that you could go to Camp Rockmont. Opposite of Barclay, you aren’t usually gung-ho about new experiences and being away from home. You were very hesitant but we gently pushed you out of the nest for 5 days. And what a 5 days you had! I couldn’t believe the boy I picked up compared to the boy I dropped off. Confidence had washed over you, joy was beating in your little heart and you were happy and dirty. You got an award for Strength and Gentleness-a small wooden button that sits on your dresser reminding you of that special time.

In the middle of the year, when hearts were trying to mend, Grover came into our life and has been such a therapy dog for you. I often see you laying nearly on top of him just breathing deeply and feeling content. You go everywhere with him at your heels and it is such a joy to see.

This spring we stumbled upon a house with some land and a creek. It was opposite of what I had ever thought I would want (we lived in my dream 1920’s house, downtown), but the fields of yellow flowers and the bubbling creek called to us and God opened door after door after door and we were able to move here. Anyone who knows you knows that water is soothing to your soul (as it is to your mama’s). You spent hours nearly every day of summer, knee deep, hunched over, catching fish with your hands. There’s a picture I captured of you here with your eyes shining bright and such a feeling of calm washed over you. It’s my very favorite picture I took this year. I am so grateful that you get to have this land, this water to sooth the hurt and restore the cracks.

Speaking of water, we spent days and days at Nana and Papaw’s lake and you fished non stop. You even got to go on a special spend the night with them and went night fishing. You are always smiling when you’re fishing. Your great, big, unabridged grin.

You are still very creative and always folding paper, drawing, molding clay, or whatever else you can find to do with your hands. You still go into a bit of a trance when you are working. Your own little world.

You are learning guitar right now and it is so soothing for you to practice and play. You are getting pretty good! You are surprising me with your dedication and your stick-to-it-ness.

You have grown so tall, I can barely pick you up (which breaks my heart!). Even though you’re such a big kid, you have such a little boy heart. You love being snuggled and rubbed. Sometimes things you say take me a back. I forget what a little boy you still are deep down.

You are tender. So loving towards little ones and babies. I often find you bent down, softly speaking to them, or wanting to help out with them.

I’ve experienced a lot of guilt this year for being so sick when you were five, for having to leave you over and over and over again. Our therapist thinks that break in bond could have a lot to do with your painful freak outs today. We are trying to build up that attachment from the bottom up. So often we sooth you, react to you like we would a five year old. I think it’s working.

Sullivan, I will never stop fighting for you. I will never stop loving you. You are a child of God, perfect in every way. I am proud of you. I am your biggest cheerleader. I can’t wait to see what this next year brings in your healing. I can’t wait to see the adventures you have, the confidence you’ll build, the ways you will change. You are a beautiful creation,

Mama

to barclay on his 11th birthday

My precious first baby,

I heard you this morning, waking up to an alarm set at the exact time of your birth 11 years ago. You’re so funny like that…wanting to know the numbers, sentimental about the passing of time. The moment they placed you in my arms is seared into my mind and I can instantly go back. The shock, the relief, the burning desire to protect you. I can’t quite say, “I can’t believe 11 years has passed” because I feel like you’ve been with me from the moment I stopped being a child myself.

You’ve done a lot of growing this year, my love. Physically and emotionally. It was your second year of being medicated for ADHD and the difference is astounding. I love seeing you thrive instead of struggle. We’ve done a lot of hard family counseling this year and it’s been very healing. I’ve noticed a small ribbon of tenderness towards me woven throughout our days. Don’t get me wrong…we clash regularly and are both constantly having to say “I’m sorry”, but there is something there that wasn’t there before that gives me so much hope.

You are brilliant. I’ve always said it. Your grades don’t always reflect it, but I don’t mind much about that. Both teachers you have rave about your curiosity, your interest in what is being taught and your enthusiasm. This year you really got into reading and became one of the top readers in the class.

You’ve also been learning mandolin and guitar with a passion. You had taken lessons before but now you have a fire lit under you. I regularly find you picking several times a day, trying to figure out new songs and new ways to play old ones.

I think you’re so handsome-your shaggy blond hair and a face full of freckles. I love the way you dress. You’re just cool, Barclay. Effortlessly cool. They gave a puberty talk in health this year and since then you’ve been faithful to apply your deodorant and shower regularly. So you always smell nice. I am just tickled about this.

My favorite item I received this year was a crumpled note from you that said, “ You are a rare mom.”

You started baking this year and are so meticulous, it always works out. We’ve been enjoying gluten free cakes and muffins for months. Just last night you just helped me paint a wall in my bedroom and your precision was unreal. I have no doubts in my mind that you will do many incredible things in this life. It’s a joy of mine to think ahead to the man you’ll be.

When baby Ella June was born, you and I took a special solo trip to see her and visit Rainy out in Colorado. You were the best travel companion and I enjoyed every minute of being with you. We ended up staying in the spare room of some people from Africa off Air b and b. They were very particular, very loud and we died laughing sneaking around trying not to disturb them. You were so tender with the baby. My heart just melted. We also go to take some hikes just the two of us, got lots of bubble tea and Indian food. You’re so precious and I loved showing you off to that side of the family.

This spring we got an older dog named Grover and he has been such a comfort to you. I find you every day, curled up in a ball next to him just being still. It’s such a blessing to see you together.

This summer God made a way for you to go to Camp Rockmont again. This was your third year and you enjoyed showing Sullivan the ropes since he had his first year. When I picked you up you were brimming with the joy of the Lord and so mature. You handed me a small wooden button that said “Strength and gentleness”, the character award that you received on your special campfire night. My heart soared. I feel like you are the most “you” at camp.

You’ve had a lot of heartache in your short little life- a lot of it still fresh. But you have been open and willing to work through the hard and oh what an empathetic human you are becoming.

I feel like this is the equinox between child and tween. You wanted toys for Christmas but for birthday you just wanted a water bottle with stickers.

You’re just growing, and I’m your captivated audience.

Every baby is a miracle, every child is precious…but you are mine and I am yours. I am so very, very proud of you, Barclay.

Mama