Precious Things

On Wednesday evening, while I was in the midst of corralling children and attempting to get dinner organized, Jared arrived home and casually announced that he had received a phone call from our friend in Mississippi. In this call our friend had related that he and his wife would be traveling to Michigan and were willing to make a "slight" detour to Iowa if we were interested. "When?" I questioned, mentally going over my schedule for the coming weeks. "Tomorrow or Friday," he replied. "Take a breath; you can do this, even though it is a concert weekend and Jared might not be around," I mentally coached myself. After all we had not seen our friends in over a year and the likelihood of us venturing down south anywhere in the immediate future seemed glim. "Tell them yes, but Friday would be better."

And so it was established: the Clarks would leave early Friday morning and arrive at our house at dinner time. I entered into frenzy mode and began to prepare our home for guests. After all, there were meals to be planned, groceries to be bought, sheets to be washed, and miscellaneous-items-which-never-find-a-place to be shoved into closets. And while Friday was a bit frantic and my eye began to develop an ever-so-slight twitch, when Brian and Kristin arrived, a bit later than expected, I was calm. And much to my amazement, I experienced the most relaxing weekend in months. Thoughts of what I needed to do, what I should be doing, and all other cares were laid aside; instead, I simply enjoyed being with a couple of my favorite people, sitting around our kitchen table talking and laughing, browsing a local used book shop, going out to dinner without my precious little ones, and attending a performace of Beethoven's 9th Symphony by the Quad City Symphony Orchestra, an ethereal experience of its own. (Buy tickets here.)

Another unexpected occurrence also happened this week in our developing relationships with Russell and Elliot. Initially when they arrived home, Jared and I attempted to rock the boys while feeding them their bottles, like we had Thomas. We quickly realized that twins really does mean two and accepted that we would probably not be able to bond with Russell and Elliot in this manner, especially since there is also a third child to consider. Moreover, Russell and Elliot never demonstrated any interest in rocking. Rather, they were fidgety, tried to crawl out of our arms, and screamed for freedom. I tried to convince myself that Russell's and Elliot's seeming disinterest in snuggling was due to their age upon arrivng home or their personalities. Still, I desperatley yearned to rock my two children like I had sweet Thomas, for I had so enjoyed it. And so in one last desperate attempt, I pulled out a large, fleecy, Pooh Bear blanket and announced to Russell and Elliot, who stared at me blankly, that it was time they experience swaddling. Russell's response was more positive; Elliot continued to scream. But now, several weeks later, wrapped as if in a papoose, the boys have ceased to resist being wrapped and rocked, and they actually appear to enjoy it. And to me, there is nothing more beautiful than looking into the face of a child I love and seeing them look back at me, smile, sigh, and snuggle into my arms.

And so today, as I hear the hum of the dryer, glance at laundry that needs to be folded and, dare I say it, put away, and bake a name's day cake (ah yes, back to responsibilites), I am thankful for the gifts of love with which we are offered every day that can transform us. There is an Akathist of Thanksgiving, composed by Protopresbyter Gregory Pettrov shortly before his death in a Soviet prison camp, that I treasure:

Glory to Thee, ceaselessly watching over me,
Glory to Thee for the encounters
Thou dost arrange for me,
Glory to Thee for the love of parents,
for the faithfulness of friends...
Glory to Thee for the unforgettable moments of life,
Glory to Thee for the heart's innocent joy,
Glory to Thee for the joy of living,
and moving, and being able to return Thy love,
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age.