comments 2

Believe

I believe you make all things new.

It’s spring, and though I awoke to drizzle and ice and fresh snow on my lawn, I believe still in the newness of the day, in the warmth of the sunlight, in the hope of new, green, life beneath the slush and muck of my yard.

I believe you make all things new.

I believe you’re greater than cancer, greater than addiction, greater than finances or failing furnaces or houses that will all one day crumble down to the earth.

I believe you make all things new.

Broken things, lost things, mournful, weeping, torn-in-two things.

It’s a Thursday and I sat with my children at the table and felt my mind go blank as they all asked, whined, whimpered over what they were to do for the day. I stared at the piles of curriculum and text books, at the abacus and the pencils and crayons and rulers and learning games.

I felt my world go gray and I couldn’t see what came next. Spelling? Have we finished that for the week? Math? Where’s our math? Who’s on what? Reading? Yes, read, please. What? No, I don’t care what. Read this. Copy this. It’s a poem.

It’s a poem about spring and fresh blades of grass peeping over the lawns.

Can you imagine a world without grass?

I believe you make all things new, even my foggy brain, my tired heart, even myself in these failing moments of motherhood, when I feel like I’m stranded and without answers on an island of misfit people who all need me to be something, someone, I never quite feel I can be.

It’s mid-March and I sat and sobbed on my daughter’s bedroom floor, rocking Evaline, who was crying for no reason,  who then pulled back and looked at my tear streaked face and was wondering why I was crying for no reason too.

Just as surely as I can feel the broken places, the jagged edges, I know that you heal. I know that you fix.

I believe you’re doing so, even now.

I believe you can make me new.

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2 Comments

  1. Kathleen D. Bailey

    Oh, Melanie, this is good, especially the crying part. I have cried every day for a week, sometimes for no really good reason. Sometimes because I burn a meal. Sometimes because of Vladimir Putin. These are perilous times. Easter, we really need it this year. And we need to keep on believing until it gets here.

  2. Kathleen D. Bailey

    You haven’t “failed” as a mother. It’s just that some days are better than others. In parenting, more than in any other part of life, we need to look at the sum of its parts and not just one day, or one moment. It’s a process, and part of our practice for Heaven.

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