Stretch, Beloved. Grow. Be malleable...

He whispers to me when my heart begins to beat faster in anger. Fear. Worry.

From our third floor apartment, the autumn breeze is blowing through the screen door on our deck. We sniff appreciatively and smile to ourselves; our favorite season is beginning.

But before too long, our noses wrinkle. My head begins to ache, and I realize that the cool breezes we were inhaling have been tainted with the smell of cigarette smoke, from the neighbor on his deck below. In irritation, I slam the sliding glass door against the smoke, and, unfortunately, against the beautiful crisp air we were enjoying.

Heads bowed over school books, the dining room is quiet. Eliana, for a moment, is also peaceful in the living room, poring over her board books from the library.

But in a moment, it is over. Through the thin walls, shouting can be heard, and the voices are not kind. I rub Corban's back as he tenses, and gently turn Micah's chin back to his work as he looks up in anxiety. Mama holds it together on the surface, but below the surface, emotion is roiling.

As I stand at the kitchen sink peeling carrots, my boys wrestle in the living room. I smile as they tumble over each other, shouting in laughter; from time to time, someone cries out in pain, but soon they are rolling again. They move out onto the deck to continue their wild play - a 4x8 space that can hold little else but our grill and my husband's bike, and yet they find enjoyment.

All too soon, I think of the home we left. The wide open country spaces, no fences; rivers, trees and tall grasses for little boys to explore. I begin to fret that my boys will be stifled in this small space. I regret that I cannot send them out to run for a fifteen minute break from their books. I feel guilt that I do not pack things up more often for a walk or a roam on the grass down below.

Beloved, I do not send the fear, nor the guilt. I send opportunity.

An opportunity. Yes, Lord. I understand.

An opportunity to smile as I pull the glass door closed quietly, instead of with a bang. As my children look on, I show them how to handle these moments with grace. Stepping lightly to the baked apple pie candle on the counter and lighting it, filling the rooms of our home with delicious, autumn scent.

An opportunity to speak words of truth to my little ones as the voices we hear through the walls bring fear.

When I am afraid,
I will trust in you.
In God, whose word I praise,
in God I trust; I will not be afraid.
What can mortal man do to me? (Psalm 56:3-4)

Let's pray and ask God to help them, shall we? Bowing our heads and offering up our neighbors to His care. Singing aloud the song of David. Remembering that perfect love drives out fear.

An opportunity for creativity in the face of what seems a stifling of that gift. Heading to our storage unit and pulling out a box of games we had packed away for lack of space, making room for these good things. Preparing a schedule that runs the day in a way that makes individual time with Mama a priority, and bringing me to my knees in the morning for inspiration.


I turn my face to the Son, unafraid to send roots down, even here. Bloom, Beloved.

I intend to.