The Emmaline News

Lately, the news is not my favorite activity, and yet, I have a hard time looking away. Some inner drive empathetically proclaims that the more I read about what is happening, the more I will know, and the more I know, the more I can control. A default assumption that with knowledge comes power.

What actually happens, is the more I read, the more my lack of control becomes evident. The headlines show various peoples’ opinions, governments’ attempts to act (and keep us from acting 😂), and scientists trying their best to lead (we are lucky and blessed to have scientific advances). But the predications of our best scientists about our current situation still need to be proved, partially proved, or disproved over time, and in the meantime, we wait at home. In this case, knowledge of the current situation just reiterates my powerlessness.

And that is good, because, “All flesh is grass and all its beauty is like the flower of the field,” and, “The grass withers, the flowers fade, but the word of our God will stand forever.” And that word includes the words that “He gives power to the faint.” Maybe in this case, it also includes the power to look away from the facts, rumors, and stories zinging from city to city, and to instead turn to our homes.

So, I turn to the news in my home.

In our beloved little home, my tiny daughter decided that the time has come to move. Here, our headlines read: We Have a Crawler, Mueller Family on High Alert.

And oh, how pleased she is to push herself up and pause, and then go across the floor, determined to eat the dog’s food, chew on crayons, or look for cords. All the while ready to smile if a parent or sibling should look her way. Yes, Emmaline Melanie is ready to explore her world, and her tiny prancing brings us joy.

And while I watch, I want to learn to wait in patience and prayer and joy.

“Christ be in my waking.”

Comments

Two Little Girls and a Bench

It was one of those moments before dinner in which I could have easily moved into the busy rush of dinner, clean-up, and bed-time, when I was stopped in my tracks. Isabelle, with her round face, and bright eyes, and fifteen month strength, clamored onto a bench and made it apparent to me that she wanted to jump from its one foot height with the help of my hand. I obliged and a game began, a game that was immediately joined by Emmaline, her three-year old sister, who does everything with full abandon. Soon, I found myself holding two little hands as two little girls jumped off a bench in unison. What joy this moment held for them. Again. Repeat. They would have jumped as long as I allowed. Each little face starlit with the joy of leaving the earth for one brief moment in the company of one’s sister and one’s mommy. Tonight I read in Chesterton’s Orthodoxy that, “Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want t...

A Leaf

A couple of weeks ago, I read “The Leaf by Niggle” aloud to five-year old Felicity. Since I was teaching on the story a few days later, I counted my inspiration to read-aloud as a double win towards homeschooling and teaching prep. Didn’t know that my five-year-old, would once again teach me. Tolkien’s short story follows the life of a Niggle, a painter, who envisions a glorious tree, but only manages to paint leaves, a paltry homage to his vision. About half-way through the story Niggle is sent on a journey, presumably death. After some time in a dismal hospital and workhouse, a train takes him to a familiar green space. As he wanders, wonderingly, he discovers it. The tree. His tree. Felicity turned to me as I read and she said with the joy of discovery in her voice, “Mommy! Did God make his tree real?” “Yes, Felicity. Yes, that is it. That is exactly it.” Tolkien and Lewis both thought that fairy-tales and myths, those bear...

On Soup, Vices, Babies, and the End of the Day

I’m sitting eating soup and hearing phantom cries. At least, every time I jump up the baby monitor confirms that the crying is only in my head. Today, with the rapt attention of my four-year old, I wrote a to-do list on our large kitchen chalkboard. I’m not certain if that was a good idea as the last to-do—a very large pile of laundry still looms a pants and onesies mountain or a shirts and socks field, pick your favorite metaphor of choice. But whatever your choice, it’s there. Strewn along my bedroom floor. Waiting. (Yes, the bed would be a better place, but the baby needed nursing.) The problem with a to-do list is that my biggest to-do, is to be with my three little ones. And really, that is not even a to-do, that is my life, my calling. The other problem with a to-do list is that tasks sometimes seem to stand in the way of just being, a woman, a mother, striving by the grace of God to grow in virtue, to model said virtue so that the little soul...

MuellerMommyAdventures

Search This Blog