Poetry

Roots & Soul

My garden has been through it this year, but it’s still inspired some lovely poetry.

On the blog this week & next, I’ll be sharing poems inspired by my garden. So many parallels to life. I hope these words meet you where you are and embolden you to keep planting those feet of yours.

Life at the Blue House

Summer of Lullabies

It’s the sound of a fish tank and an old black fan. The creak of a rocking chair painted by his Grandma. . . the word Grow stretched across the arm. Reminding me every night that watching him grow up is so, so good. That time goes to beautiful and good places.

It’s his breathing, eyes slowly welcoming sleep.

It’s the sound of my voice singing, because he can’t sit still for books anymore. And he still loves “Goodnight, Goodnight Construction Site,” but he loves moving more.

One night I began singing “You are My Sunshine,” as part of our nightly routine, because one of my nurses had that as a tattoo, her special song between mother and daughter. She told me her Sunshine story as we worked to bring my son into the world and now that song is my way of carrying her story on into another family.

So it’s the sound of stories meeting up and weaving togehter. And my son never really went back to books after lullabies.

It’s the sound of childhood and motherhood both being experienced for the first time. We’ve learned we’re safe to grow up togehter.

It’s the sound of the song “God Is So Good,” but I make up a lot of verses.

I love who you are. I love who you are. I love who you are. And God loves you too.”

“He’ll help you grow strong. He’ll help you grow strong. He’ll help you grow strong. He’s so good to you.”

“I’m here for you. I’m here for you. I’m here for you. And God’s here for me.”

So, it’s the sound of a lullaby sung for the mother, too. I’m not alone.

It’s the sound of the day closing, how we lived and laughed and grew. Grow has never been such a beautiful word.

The fish tank bubbles and the fan whirs it’s steady pace, the rocking chair creaks. Who knew the second-hand rocking thing could be an instrument?

And I sing “I love you, Lord and I lift my voice to worship you, O my soul, rejoice. Take joy, my King in what You hear. May it be a sweet, sweet sound in Your ear.”

And I think all those sounds must be sweet to God’s ears. Love is here. The life He’s given us is here. Worship is here. And so we sleep in peace.

Summer birthday and broken record lullabies. The old, creaking rocking chair holding our hearts growing up.

God is so good.

And here is sunshine.

Even at night.