Five Minute Friday: Ache

Today I'm linking up with The Gypsy Mama, using her prompt to write a post that has been forming in my head for awhile.

Go {0700, yep, I'm up early!}

I sit on the couch with a tow-headed toddler, the son of a Marquette student who I just met. We read about Luella the Ladybug seventy four times as his blond curls brush my cheek. The room is buzzing with activity: friends celebrating a baptism, students talking about scholarships and qualifying exams, and moms discussin due dates, car seats and sleep schedules.  I don't know why he choose me, a stranger in a sea of strangers but I was grateful to settle in under the din and read about Luella.

I remember riding to the party, clutching my husband's hand and, with tears stinging my eyes, praying that I'll be able to enjoy a party that centers around a baby when we know that one wont be joining us in nine months. I was surprised at the emotions that surround finding out this time and, despite our prayers, the band around my chest tightened, the physical ache behind emotional pain. 

The ache lessons with acknowledgement -- to my husband, to friends who care and to co-workers who also wish they could "drink the magic water" - and it begins to lift through prayer. But on that Sunday, as the conversations swirled around us I found comfort in the the little hands turning the pages and the promise of God's faithfulness.

STOP {0707, almost!}

About: cousins

{written a couple of weeks ago}

On Friday night we dropped Loki off at "the sitters" knowing that he would get a huge bone, four walks a day and two nights on the couch. We watched a movie sans pooch and left the popcorn dropped on the kitchen floor for him to find on Sunday.

On Saturday morning we drove South through flat Illinois to my cousin's house outside of Bloomington. We were greeted by two girls wearing skirts and their little brother in striped pajamas.

For the rest of the weekend we held hands and tousled blond hair, watched Despicable Me, tested out flowery hand sanitizer and listened to the big sister's songs about historical events (yes, impressive). The oldest called Christopher "Buddy," the middle taught us about hello kitty and the littlest monkey-climbed his way up everything.

We talked with my cousin and his wife about theology, politics and parenting (we filed some info away for later). It was rewarding to have the relationship that used to be about playing Annie Annie Over around G'ma's small garage and spoons around her kitchen table once a year grow up. We talked about our families, discussed the homeschool co-op that they are a part of and toured the construction site (soon to be apartment complex) that my cousin manages. We talked about adult things - because, after all, we are adults. =)

And it was good.

Dear Christopher John

You sleep in our bed, steady and true.
The house is quiet but evidence remains ...
Dishes from dinner, bought by you and prepared by me.
Loaves of bread, brown and high,
new year's goals in practice.

Papers ready for tomorrow, to talk about our financial future.
Loki's bone left in the living room while he sleeps on his own bed.
Theology books, yarn and fabric on the couch.
A game on the floor, to be continued.

Your breathing increases and decreases, like rhythms of life.
Sometimes adventures, traveling and a new city.
Sometimes walking the dog, studying, baking and playing games on the floor.
All with you, by your side for as long as God gives.

Loki

I love my dog.

There. That is my disclaimer for writing a post entirely about Loki.

He hurt one of his legs the other day. And my response to his pain was different than I thought it would be. I'm a nurse so I see people in some kind of pain basically every day I work. Now, I view myself as an average-ly compassionate nurse and I do what I can to help alleviate whatever is ailing my patients. But, when all the tricks have run out, I give my patient the call light and tell them that I hope whatever I did helps whatever their suffering may be and I leave the room and continue about my shift.

My response to when my husband is in pain is usually "take an advil and let's see how it is in the morning."

So I was a little surprised when my dog's pain brought tears to my eyes and was all I could think about for awhile. Maybe it was because he relies on us to care for him (an argument that could be made for my patients and my husband in a sense); maybe it was because he couldn't really tell us what was wrong. Whatever the case, Loki's pain made me sad and worried.

He seems fine now though and when he went to the vet for his shots yesterday, he was declared "fit as a fiddle."

So, when, during into our walk today, he began limping, I was distressed. Granted, it was a little humorous when he started hopping about on three legs, but after about a block of watching this, I gave in and began carrying him home. And yes, I did feel a little stupid carrying my dog those couple of blocks. But I thought it was worth it - until we got home and he walked just fine. Maybe he just didn't like the snow ...

Wimp.

Home

The last year and a half I have had a hard time defining home.

I struggled with it in this post, soon after we moved and since then, I have kind of waffled between calling Franklin home and calling Rochester home. 

We visited Minnesota last week and I remembered where I was from ... 

and I knew where I am to call home.

I walked with Loki along the Zumbro (a little river in Rochester) 

and I found the place where Christopher and I sat when we first talked about getting married.

I thought of how our life has changed in the last two years. 

and of God's faithfulness. 

I know that I will always call Rochester home, 

in the same way that I will always call Hastings home. 

I bought my first home, developed lasting friendships and fell in love in Rochester. 

And all those things I take with me (except the house, thankfully!) 

Rochester will always be a part of my past - and my future. 

But for now, Franklin is home. 

And in my journey to find home, I have also found contentment, joy and strength.

I think I will always struggle when our life changes but I can look back

and see God's faithfulness in the these years and know that

in the most important way, I will always be home.

 This picture reminded me of the reflection in a puddle picture that my sister in law posted earlier this month.