One day the oldest asks for the things we love about him. So I rattle them off and know they carry weight and life and all the most preciousness he can believe about himself at 3. The list could go on the way country roads and dirt lanes do, so now at nearly 10 years old, we list off a pile of loves as long as he is old. “Can you do 9 1/2things you love about Augy?” he’ll ask after the hardest of days. Forget my exhaustion or the pile of laundry or the fish gulping for more food, of course I’ll remind you that you are loved. Beyond your years.
And that kid who took 4 years to attempt a clear “Me love you, too, ” every night he wraps himself tight, from top to toe and we sing our songs and say the prayers and he clearly reminds the world, “You’re my favorite mommy, ev-aaaa!” He says it to the wall. And the torn parts of the heart. And the future days when I’ll blow it all.
Then the littlest of the boys, his cute voice we worked just as hard to find, and those gangly arms wrapped around my neck and my soul, he wraps himself around my littlest finger every night. We sing our own song, say different prayers, as I tuck him in just a smidgen differently, he says it, “I love you so much. All the days.” He means all 1,487 days of his life so far. And the 27,373 days to come. Give or take.
The girl-child uses words as grown women, for blessing and cursing. And we learn early she needs lots of loving words in her arsenal. I coin the term we all use now, that we might live, “Big and Strong, Kind and Brave, All our days.” That she might know our strength rests in the way we live with others, not at others. She cannot be Big and Strong, Kind and Brave while whacking a brother with a baseball bat or throwing Barbie across the room in anger. It doesn’t work that way. You’re either these things or you’re not. Aim for using your big strong power the right way and always always remain kind and brave. All your days.
So we measure our days not by agendas checked off or math quizzes accomplished but by living present and loving, sometimes grasping tightly to the mercy. We do that better some days than others. And the day we miss the mark? There’s someone within reach, picking up a brother or sister, reminding them to do the kind thing, the brave thing, the next right thing.
We remind each other that it’s not the size making you big. Rather serving and caring and dusting off the dirt when others hurt. Big in the eyes of God often looks little to the eyes of man. And when we’re scared and nervous or the anxiety creeps in, we remind each other to do it, even when we’re scared. They can borrow each other’s brave for a bit, until they find their own.
Because love and patience, goodness and mercy track them. The words we use guide them. And just when the day couldn’t get hairier or messier or more divine, someone’s little voice chases me loud, “It’s ok, Mom! You’re big and strong, kind and brave! Now, can I have my milk?”
sacred stories 