I Love You Biggerest

I Love You Biggerest

We have no idea of the love of God. We say to Him, I love you, and he probably looks at us with a smile of tolerance. God's love for us is on such a different level that the words don't even mean the same thing. His love is so much more, so much different, so much bigger.

I love you biggerest. That's what we always said to each other, my little boy and I.

It was sort of a game...who loved who the biggerest, but our love to each other was so different, it's hard to tell who won.

When he looked out of those big, blue eyes with a child's innocence written across his face, he had no idea what mommy's love was made of.

My love consisted of something bigger, something greater than his little child's mind could comprehend. My love existed before he was ever born. When he was safely enclosed in my body, I loved him. When his movements reminded me that a life grew within me, I loved him. And, when I travailed to the point of death, I loved him.

The love that we give and receive, as mommies, is just so much more. We begin our process of showing love after the birth of our little cherubims. I mean, who else but a mother will stumble through the first six months of a baby's life in pure exhaustion, remembering those long forgotten days of sleeping until you actually just woke up? They say that a form of torture that is used to weaken prisoners is sleep depravation, but I say to you, it's not torture, it's motherhood.

We go through infantry (the life of an infant) smelling like milk, spit up, and other odors of unnamed sources, smiling at our husbands with smears of baby food on our faces. Our hair doesn't see a comb unless it's an absolute emergency and sweats become the infantry uniform. No, it's not pretty, but we survive, and now we are introduced to the life of a toddler.

We usually get more sleep during this phase, but we are wakened with the sounds of things breaking, someone screaming, or by that weird feeling of someone looking at you and you open your eyes to a little person staring at you, standing there with a stuffed animal that has lost it's eyes and most it's stuffing, long ago. There's lots of story books, changing clothes, and mud during this phase. There's new goals...no more binky, no more bottle, and no more diapers. There's lots of peekaboo, grandparents acting goofy, and parties around the potty chair.

We've spent all our time and energy making little independent replicas of ourselves only to be heartbroken as they take their first step onto the schoolbus, in the next phase. We have crayon works of art on our walls and refrigerator, we have dried bouquets of dandelions drooping in a glass because we can't bring ourselves to throw it out, and we have our first moment of outrage that our perfect angel gets a check mark beside of "talks too much" on their report card.

Preteen and teen years are the funnest and most exciting years of all. However, from about 12 years old to graduation, it goes so fast that our heads are still spinning until its time to send them off on their own, and we yell, "Hey, wait a minute! I'm not ready! Come back here!" And then, they're gone.

So, yea, I think I won the game. I think I can probably say, "I love you biggerest" and know its the truth.

Now,....where's that grand baby? Grammy has something to tell her....I love you biggerest!

Jeremiah 1:5a. Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee;
 Psalms 139:14,17-18. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.
How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake I am still with thee.

What a Beautiful Song

I don't know how I went from being "mom" to being a funny talking, always gushing, there's nobody like my grandbabies "grammy", but I'm definitely there.  I can whip out my iphone faster than any quick draw gunslinger and have those grandbaby pictures in your face before you can say "I've already seen them a thousand times!"

I had the chance to hang out with one of the prettiest, smartest, absolute most adorable little babies I've ever seen.  Oh, and did I mention that she is my granddaughter?

Okay, okay, I am exaggerating a little...I think.  I'm not sure anymore because becoming a grandparent does something to the brain cells.  I don't think rationally anymore.  Like the time my oldest granddaughter was in a beauty pageant and grammy bought her a "casual" outfit that cost more than my first tv. (I think....again, the brain cells)  Or the time I kept one of my grandbabies for a few days when she was an infant and I slept with her bed in my bed.  How else could I make sure she would be okay?  It was a little bed anyway, so it made sense at the time. (brain cells)

Well, back to the story of spending a few days with grandbaby #4.  She's a doll.  All my grandbabies have something special about them.  #1 loves gardening and has his own garden every summer.  He also likes to tell grammy what she's doing wrong in her garden. 

#2 loves to read.  We spent hours swinging outside on the bench swing not saying anything, just reading.  She loves to read, just like grammy.  She's a cheerleader, just like grammy (approximately 150 years ago).  And she loves bling, just like grammy.

#3 loves...well....just about anything, except loud noises.  She's got some kind of inner rythm that comes out to any kind of music, but her favorite song is "You are my Sunshine" reworded to "You are my Bugaboo."   She loves smiling and grammy's jewelry.

Back to the story of grandbaby #4.  I spent several days with her, and each day I loved hearing her sing.  Yes, she's only 5 months old, but I'm telling you she can sing.  It's so beautiful and I loved hearing it everyday.  Well, of course it didn't have words!  She can't talk, she's only 5 months old!   Do you think I'm nuts?!  (don't answer that)  But it was music.  At least to my ears it was. 

Every morning, I'd go say hi to her.  She'd smile.  I'd smile.  She would try to get to grammy's arms, I couldn't wait to feel her soft body snuggled in my arms.   Then it would begin....the most beautiful song I've ever heard.  Sometimes it would go really high, sometimes low, sometimes very loud, and sometimes just a whisper, but beautiful all the same. 

I'm back home, now, and I sure wish I could hear that song.

Mom

"Mommy."  What a sweet word.  We go over and over it with our little, toothless cherubs.  While we're feeding them, we say, "say mommy", while we're bathing them, "say, ma ma", changing diapers, "say mom mom," and holding them, "say mommy."

And then, one day, they look at us and say, "mleh" and we gush and call everyone we know and tell them that our little genius just said mommy.

In just a few years, it seems that is the only word we hear.  We have a houseful of kids that constantly want mom.  We go in the laundry room and hope to drown out the incessant yell for mom.  We go in the bathroom and lock the door while little miniature people bang on it pleading for mom.  And as soon as we get on the telephone, they gather round with a chorus of "mom".

I saw a cartoon clip where this poor mother was laying on her bed with a glazed look in her eyes while her little boy stood beside the bed saying, "mom mom mom mommy mommy mommy mum mum mum mummy mom mom mom mom."  She finally comes out of her daze and yells, "WHAT!" He says, "hi", turns around and runs away giggling.

At the time, it wasn't much to laugh at, but now I look back on those days with a smile.

From the first glance of our little wrinkled person, we are already beginning to make plans.  We immediately start trying to make them independent.  We try to get them to sleep all night.  It's all we think about.  It's our goal in life.

Then, a little later, we begin to let them hold the bottle, then the cup, then the spoon.  And, eventually, they begin to want to dress themselves. ( I have memories of shorts, cowboy boots, no shirt, and a baseball cap.)

They hold the pencil in their hand, tongue pressed out in concentration, a small frown between their eyes, and then a look of ecstasy crosses their face when they make their first "A".  And pretty soon there are nonstop papers to hang on the refrigerator with scribbled crayon marks, stick figures and smiling suns.

Before you know it, we're not allowed to rush up and hug them in front of classmates.  You start hearing some girl's (or boy's) name over and over in conversations.  And then.....a date!

You start thinking, wait a minute....slow down....not yet!  It's all going too fast, it's getting out of our control....STOP!  But it doesn't.  It just continues on, and they're doing exactly what we've taught them from our first introduction to each other.  Independence.

When they are small, we're too busy raising them to see what's going on right before our eyes, and suddenly, we turn around, and in place of that chubby little person is a young man or young woman.

Sad?  Yea, at first.  Lonely?  For awhile.  Then, there comes the pride.  Not a sinful pride of anything we've done, but a pride that comes with accomplishing a goal.  The goal was to make productive, God fearing adults.  It was to make a person that will be okay, a person that can make it on their own, a person who is independent. 

Goal accomplished.

The days of hearing the word "mom" for the ten thousandth time in one day, grating on frazzled nerves will be over soon enough.  It's replaced with "mom" and hearing a lifetime of I love you's, as being introduced as "my mom" and being a title of honor, and knowing that my independent adult children will do anything to take care of "mom."


Proverbs 23:24,25  The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice: and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him.  Thy father and thy mother shall be glad, and she that bear thee shall rejoice.