Things here on the farm are good. Ok, I don't technically live on a farm, but I thought you should know that things are going well. We have our ultrasound a week from Thursday and my pants no longer fit. We went out for dinner last Friday night and I had to find some new duds before going anywhere. It's weird, exciting and downright surreal to see the changes happening to my body. Some things filling out, smoothing out, protrusions where there were no protrusions before. It's quite magical really, for lack of anything less gay sounding. Every night I go to bed, I talk to baby and find out how their day was. It usually closely resembles mine. At work there are about 6 pre-natal nursing students, so I have learned to find my baby lump in my belly and all seems to be going as planned. I haven't had any blood work or anything of the sort done yet, but apparently that will come next Thursday. Just the other night, as I was laying in bed, staring into nothing and smiling, while Peter snored contently in my ear with his arm thrown over me, I think I finally understood grace. Better yet, the gift of grace. Before it came with a pricetag - given in atonement, a right for a wrong. And this, this baby, this wonderful little lump that makes me pee 3 times in the night and gives me a 24 hr fat feeling, this is my gift. A wrapped up with a big bow and here you go and treat it well because it's just for you kind of gift. And it stops me entirely in my tracks. If my gift is a girl, her name will be Sophia, or Sophie for short. If my gift is a boy, his name will be Ryan. And either way there will be twinkling eyes and laughter that can't be held back. Because gifts bring squeels of joy. And their mom seems virtually incapable of stopping grinning like an idiot.
The height of a land is a geographical... I want to say anomaly, but that's not right.... a glitch... but that's not right either. It's a connector and a divider. It's a physical division in a geographical sense that separates *usually* two watersheds. It's an elevation where one river flows one way, and the next river flows the other. It separates, but at its peak is a point of reference that keeps you from getting lost. Sometimes it's a big peak, sometimes it's not, but regardless it's still a vantage point. Grampie and I talked about the height of land the day that I left home. He said that for years they were his markers, his maps, his spot where he could take a good look at where he just came from, and had the opportunity of a glimpse to see where he was headed. It gave a good perspective. And between each land change was everything that you needed to survive... sometimes in abundance, sometimes not, but for the most part it was there. And while I can't exactly tell you what keeps going through my head about this, I can tell you that I'm at a vantage point. And that there's still lots of work to be done ahead of me. And that I'm still a bit tired from the last run. But it's ok. The view is clear, my needs are provided, and change is on the horizon.
and I can hardly wait.
Let us not look back in anger or forward in fear, but around in awareness.