Sprinkler

Days to Remember

These are days you'll remember

never before and never since, I promise
will the whole world be warm as this


and as you feel it, you'll know it's true
that you are blessed and lucky
it's true, that you are touched by something
that will grow and bloom in you


when May is rushing over you with desire
to be part of the miracles you see in every hour
you'll know it's true, that you are blessed and lucky
it's true, that you are touched by something
that will grow and bloom in you


these are the days
that you might fill with laughter
until you break


these days you might feel a shaft of light
make its way across your face
and when you do
you'll know how it was meant to be
see the signs and know their meaning


you'll know how it was meant to be
hear the signs and
know they're speaking to you
to you

"These are the Days" is one of my favorite songs of all time and is the song playing as we told Julie and Steven goodbye, after a glorious hour of toasting their incredible day and their beautiful children. I couldn't stop crying at every glance of these children in the room and the two in the photos being passed around this evening, just as the tears flow as I write this.

I will always remember this day.

The Eyes of Their Eyes are Opened!

The exact same talented and brave Julie who I wrote about yesterday just found out incredible news this morning. Incredible. Blogland rejoices today.

Go see for yourself.

"Earthquake Weather" by Julie

I know I link to her page a lot, but after reading posts like this one, I just can't help myself. Julie has a way with words like few people I've met. She's the one who described Ethiopian children as being "lit from within" and our Abe specifically as being "seretonin in a pair of stride-rites," which is probably my favorite description of Abe to date. Julie is also a comedian, a thinker, and braver than most anyone I know, for a lot of reasons.

Okay, I'll stop gushing. Just go read this post.

Prayer to the One Who Loves Us Most

One of the pastors of the church we attend in Los Angeles spoke this weekend about prayer. For the first 2/3 of the talk, I felt like I was attending a lecture at Fuller Seminary. It was a lot of factual information from the Greek about the early church and so on. I guess my attention span isn't what it used to be because I had a hard time paying attention.

Eventually, the pastor broke into the third part of her talk, telling us a story about the first time she met her first grandchild. It was endearing. It was funny. She told us about how this grandson is now 8 years old and wants her to tell him this story every time he sees her. He now has a little brother, and they want to hear the first-meeting stories over and over, trying to figure out who Gramma loves best based on her reaction to their sweet, infant selves.

I found myself tearing up, thinking about the day I get to tell Abe the story of the day we first met him, how he'll get to hear about the times each of his grandparents met him for the first time and how loved he is. This pastor then said that this is what prayer is: our getting close enough to God to let Him retell the story of what it was like when He first met us, how beautiful and funny we are to Him, how much He loves us. As our pastor said, when someone is telling us about how much they love us, we all want to hear more. The older we get, the more we feel that we're supposed to hide this impulse to hear about our belovedness, but we do want to hear. We want the conversation to continue; we want to hear more.

This image of our pastor telling her grandkids about how in love she was with them upon first meeting will, I think, be forever connected in my mind when I think of prayer. And it makes me want to pray more, not to ask for things but to listen and try to believe that I am loved the way a grandmother loves her grandson, even more so in fact.

a beloved grandson and child of God, eater of dirt and sticks.

The Language Instinct

Abe's recent construction of full sentences is making me want to re-read some Steven Pinker. This is Abe, straight out of the bath (hence the wet spot on the bed), telling me what he wants.

SoCal Again

We are back in Los Angeles, for one last "stint." Um, at least we think so. Unless we come back later. Which we won't really know for sure right away...or ever. But this is where we are for now. I'm working on a "Toddler Travel 101" post since well, we're on airplanes a lot.

Just finished The Color of Water. Cried. Inspired. Challenged. I'm moving on from this to a glittery paperback book with a bare-chested guy on the front, who I think might have some superpower. It was recommended by a friend whose suggestions I've always taken and always ended up loving, but... glittery bare-chested dude? I was slightly embarrassed for Ted to find it when I got home from the bookstore. We'll see.

"The plain truth is that you'd have an easier time standing in the middle of the Mississippi River and requesting that it flow backward than to expect people of different races and backgrounds to stop loving each other, stop marrying each other, stop starting families, stop enjoying the dreams that love inspires. Love is unstoppable. It is our greatest weapon, a natural force, created by God." --James McBride.

*if the person who recognizes the necklace I'm wearing here could send me an email, I'd appreciate it very much: ourownrooney@gmail.com. Thanks.