Reflections

Here's one I prepared earlier.

I wrote this while we were still living in PNG, beautiful Rumginae, my writing journey already begun. I guess it began when I wrote my first story about Princess Lisa sliding down the rainbow in grade 3.

I read this and I can see and feel and smell home.

Reflections

The full moon rises, its reflection paving a shimmering silver path on the river outside my lounge-room window.

Two small boys sleep under gauzy mosquito nets, the fans in their rooms whirring to keep the residual heat at bay.

What did the day bring?

This morning, up while the dark still crowded in to make pilot husband his lunch; zucchini slice, cheesymite scroll, Anzac biscuits, carrot and cucumber sticks (he hates sandwiches). 

Wiping sleep from his eyes he sits crunching his cereal. He reads the Bible.

It’s quiet, no generator-hum yet, the house is still. Outside, God paints a magnificent sunrise, colours bursting forth, the clouds clinging to the treetops, a reminder of His sovereignty, His ever-presence. Loving God’s extravagant gifts of beauty that speak to my soul.

The house stirs, creaking as the day begins to heat up. Two boys fill the space between four walls with their exuberant energy. “Bye daddy,” and off to work.

Porridge bubbles, change clothes, the generator comes to life and the air suddenly explodes with noise.

I go to put a load on, juggling squirming toddler and laden basket down steep steps to the ground where the washing machine is, up again—to be repeated endlessly through the day.

Playing in the shade of the house, it’s too hot for a walk at 9am. Then making rolls for lunch, moulding soft dough in my hands. Oldest son clambers to help, reaching into the bowl and pinching off dough to pop into his eager mouth. 

Painting and learning letters with my bright three year old, What does ‘d a d’ spell?

The lawnmower starts up outside napping son’s window, hang the washing. Lunch is served, fresh baked rolls fill the house with their irresistible smell and are slathered in silky green avocado. Reading books, a quiet moment, then hectic chaos, wash dishes, wipe table, sweep floor, boys running past flying aeroplanes, driving trucks, clamouring for attention.

Slow down and breathe while two boys pause for their afternoon siesta. A brief flicker of pure luxury, the generator stops and I sit on the porch swing gazing at the river below as it glides past. Close my eyes and hear the birds’ ever busy movements, the palm branches swaying in cool breeze. Bible open, soft words of peace and trust penetrate my hectic pace, I slow and inhale. Lord please help me through this day.

The moment passes as hungry lawn mower starts up again a noisy interruption, yet welcome to rid the world of pesky grass seeds, which create endless work in small boys’ clothing.

Doctor friend drops in, we share life, and it is hard, exhausting, never ceasing. How do we communicate this to loved ones? We need rest. She goes to change a life with news not good. I sit and breathe out the weight of another’s burdens into the hands of the One who carries everything.

The afternoon is a blur, the boys are out with adopted family, quick, wash the floor. Grime from weeks of neglect lifts stubbornly. Pilot husband texts to say he’s not coming home tonight, aeroplane’s engine problem too hard to fix in one afternoon. He’s safe, which is all that matters.

Dinner is leftovers heated quickly in the microwave, tear boys away from noisy Thomas train and convince little mouths to eat. Too tired, bath-time, story, bed.

Now I sit at this wooden desk cricket noises filling my ears. I gaze at dishes unwashed, piled in the sink and clothes heaped in woven basket needing to be folded. A mum’s work consists of endless cycles of repeat.

I leave it and head out the door to moon-gaze, it is rising, full, up through the clouds with a halo of colour all around it. The river races beneath, all glimmering and silver. I can see silhouettes against the deep blue sky made light by the bright pearl orb, palm trees stretching up, up, up, broad banana leaves bending low. Stars are diamonds twinkling, dotted here and there. This place mesmerises me, I cannot get enough of it. How much more beautiful than His creation is the Creator? Here in the beauty of the night I feel His presence so close. Every detail of what I see a love message from the creator of the universe, a reminder of the easily forgotten.

So what did the day bring? The day brought so many things routine and unexpected. How many times did I reach out for God’s hand today? Continuously I hope. And each time I reached out I was grasped and held close.