School, Narnia, and a 9-Month Old

In a few days, Summer Break will officially come to and end, and in its place, classes and work and daily schedules will suddenly appear. The summer season tends to run a little too slowly for me; by mid-July I am ready for Fall once more, itching to decorate with pumpkins and orange candles, brown tablecloths and mums.

This summer was marked by much grief, much community, much Jesus…

Travis and I will no longer share mornings together. There will be no more early coffee dates–his black and mine doused with cream and sugar– and no more mid-morning naps to catch up from the rough night before.

Eliot is 9 months old now.

I have been with him everyday, watched every single change, every new moment. He says Mum, along with lots of other words that we don’t quite understand yet. But for sure, he knows he is saying something important. I feel like years have gone by in this nine-month sweetness of a season. I just look at him and remember that he is my blessing and will forever be.

On Tuesday I will go to class for 5 hours and Travis will stay home with him. I’m already emotional thinking about it, already wondering how much I’ll miss him, or if I won’t miss him enough. New seasons are beautiful and I gladly welcome them, but with the newness comes bits of sacrifice here and there, always something that needs to be given up, changed, or re-created in our lives.

Last week at church someone really sweet spoke a beautiful thing over our life for these upcoming few months and years. She said that God would be moving really quickly in and around us, that we’d be keeping our doors wide open to Him. Oh, let it be true…my heart is fixed, my heart is fixed…

We are guarding ourselves against becoming overwhelmed; we are praying for sweet grace and constant humility to cover our household. We are trying to get up early on the days that we really want to sleep in…and for those moments, the grace is needed all the more.

Travis writes about Narnia, and I can’t help but plunge into the beauty of Aslan’s wide open mouth, singing life into creation. Just as He created the seasons, He continues to create them, and His song pierces and lulls and calms and strengthens all at once our fragile lives.

We close our eyes at night and whisper the Lord’s Prayer together, Eliot snoozing in between us. There in the darkness we remember who we are and why we are. There in the darkness we remember that we are completely His, and He is completely ours. Our Aslan who sings.