God's Post-It -- does He have stock in 3M?

Every now and again God sends me a post-it note.  I count on these as subtle, and sometime no so subtle, reminders from Him.  My recent trip to San Francisco for a trade show was a perfect example.  As I sat cramped in a too-small seat on a plane bound for San Francisco I was, for the first time, at a loss for a good reason to put myself through this process.  It was pre-dawn so the shades were still down and for the first time the window seat offered no relief.  My seat-mate, though small in size too up the majority of available space and I found my much larger self trying to take up less room.

As we flew west with the sun chasing us I lifted the shade.  What I saw reminded me of what I love about flying...God's artistry!  Only a master could paint with colors and textures like I saw below.  The ground resembled an old-time country quilt; tan, brown, cocoa and green stitched together with threads of grey and tan.  Circles and rectangles intersected squares and parallelograms.  Triangles crossed rectangles, everything dotted with sunlight and shadow.

A change in heading took us northwest and the patterns changed.  No longer lat, it rose and fell bursting with explosions of red, orange and white highlighted with soft tan and pink.  When I looked again I was mesmerized by the vast expanse of pure white.  as far as I could see the ground was covered in snow, pure white, unbroken and unmarked.  and then suddenly it wasn't all white - there on the soft white carpet were dots of black poking up here and there.  Just like a glass of milk after an Oreo cookie had been dunked.  In the blink of an eye mountains loomed.  Standing majestically they welcomed me like sentries, letting me know silently that I was passing through the unseen gate to my home state.

Below and between smaller hills and mountains were nestled under a blanket of grey.  A downy quilt surrounded them while they slumbered.  When the sun began to gently wake the west, the grey quilt was pulled back to reveal a lush green floor.  Just past the grey edge lay the deepest blue that warms my heart and soothes my soul, filling me with contentment...the Pacific Ocean was yawning it's welcome.  as her welcome home anthem hummed through my veins it was as though everything around me faded to nothing.

This was it, the reason I love flying, God paints the most perfect masterpieces that never fail to fill my soul and remind me of his power and glory.  My favorite, that he creates just for me, is the ocean.  that vast expanse of gentle fury speaks to me and soothes me like nothing else. Ands with every glimpse of the sea the subtle reminder that no matter where I go, the ocean that is part of me is always there, whether I can see it or not, just as He is.

Coming of Age

Technically I should have written this yesterday, but I'm claiming busy-mom-syndrome and writing this at 1:30 the morning after, so it still counts, right? Right!

When I woke up I recalled the excitement of waking up on this day 13 years ago. I just knew that in a few hours I would hold my son. Things didn't work out quite the way we planned, but the day ended and I had briefly held my son.

This morning I knew it was only minutes before I could hug him,m and I was sure that it to would be brief. I was a bit more apprehensive to wake him up this year, after all I was waking a teenager. Still, I thought that the lure of presents and cake would ensure a good mood long enough for me to get my hug. I was right.

I spent most of the day reflecting on the last 13 years of my son's life. There have been moments of unspeakable joy, heart-wrenching pain, white-hot anger, and sheer frustration. But, underneath every one of those moments was an endless supply of love. I never knew I could love so deeply and so unconditionally. I admit it, I am in love with my son. Not in an icky or, I hope, over-bearing way, but in a manner that allows me to see flaws and diamonds and love them both equally and deeply.

JM learned early on that my love was the "no matter what" kind, which for him is a very good thing. I could swear that he lies awake and thinks of ways to test the theory. Fortunately he also learned that I can separate him from his behavior and when I am most angry or frustrated it's at the behaviors not the person.

Today my son turned 13. In some cultures he would be considered a man. In the culture of my heart he's still my baby boy. The one I am most grateful for, and to; the child I am blessed to have call me Mom. It's been amazing to watch him for the past 13 years, I'm sure the future will be just as amazing. And while I suppose I'm not ready for him to move on and move forward, I'm grateful to be included on the journey.