Comfort

May 10, 2013

 

Five Minute FridayLately my two year old has taken to sitting up tight next to me on our gross green couch, with his roly poly arm tucked in mine, and his chubby little fingers splayed across my forearm. He’s usually otherwise occupied, but must still be next to mama. Occasionally, he will pat my arm … to comfort me? To comfort him? I don’t know why, but at each soft pat, I am wholly his, in love just a little more with this Wee Man of mine.

Regardless of who it’s for, it is comfort. This is grace and goodness. This is unconditional love and the best parts of motherhood, the parts that make the public tamper tantrum and the lightning dash through the parking lot and the daily wrestling match to change diapers and clothes and the potato sack crying babe tossed over my shoulder worth every exhausting second.  

And bombs are exploding, babies are discarded with the trash, evil men live among us inflicting horrors for a decade and my heart is breaking and I need to remember that God is good and omnipotent, just and merciful. That life is hard and ugly and sinful and still beautiful.  

And so my rambunctious, sweaty, cowboy boot loving first son pats me on the arm and the Namer and Counter of Stars, the God of the universe and the lilies of the field and me and the unborn babes and yes, even the monsters, quietly sews His reminders into the fabric of my story. And I will NEVER, for as long as I have breath, forget the comforts of his five fat baby fingers resting on mine.

I love you Wee Man.

~M.

{This post is part of Five Minute Friday, hosted by the Gypsy Mama.}

A few of my {Instagram} faves.

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More about Molly Huggins

I am an unrepentant extrovert with an ongoing, passionate affair with coffee, ellipses, and the written word. I write because it’s how I’m made to worship. I am a story teller, because redemption has a story to tell. And always, I want to be a story collector. So have a virtual seat at my beat-up kitchen table. Read my story. Tell me yours. Stay awhile. And P.S. ... for more about me, click on my mug in the sidebar;)

8 Comments
    1. I love the photos of your Wee Man and your musing on comfort between mother and son. My four-year still loves to touch my bar arm or leg – almost reverently. I remind myself to enjoy every single touch because it will not last. He will grow up and more independent, but loving me in a different way.

    1. I know you said a lot up there but OH MY GOODNESS THE WRESTLING MATCHES! Oz is only 6 months old and he exhausts me. Also, this is beautiful.

      1. I know right?! Every thing they say about boys…all true.

      1. Martha and Molly, you MUST meet! Martha, come and visit…we have a guest suite!

        1. I’m road tripping east next summer. I’m totally looking Martha up:) V-didn’t we talk about road tripping together??

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