i've always been a lover of the water.
As a little girl, i'd dive deeper in the lake - deep enough that i could feel the subtle change in temperature as i reached for the bottom and could feel the pressure of the water around me. It blocked out the noise of the other children's laughter, the blaze of the sunshine, the necessity to breathe, my desire to open my eyes . The only sense that seemed to accompany me with my sun streaked blond head to the bottom of the deep, was the sense of being.
And the seam splitting on the side of my worn pass-me-down bathing suit mattered little. My 9 year old matted hair could wait to be brushed. My big sisters and my parents wouldn't miss me in those moments beneath... and then finally i'd break the surface and hurriedly gasp, cheeks exploding with hoarded air as i submerged once again to the peaceful depths.
Now, i'm a mama with matted hair blondies of my own.
Seven of them... well... eight if you count the tiny son growing in my womb...
And i do.
The house we live in is a smallish one in the suburbs of a bigger Canadian city. There are no delightful depths here during the harsh winter with all those little bodies laughing and shrieking - slamming doors and needing mama. And so i have had to learn how to create that space - that peace of only needing to be.
It happens each time we see those double lines on a pregnancy test. My husband and i look at each other and wonder, "Where will we put this little one?" And as this little son grows - i grow - both physically and spiritually... to accommodate him
in my body, in my life, in our home, in this family... and we carve out a small space for him in this house of ours too...
"We don't really need this, do we? We can get rid of these things to make room for a tiny person, can't we?" And through this physical purging - i dive a little deeper. Fingers outstretched, i feel the cool of the water beneath me.
People... not things...
We'll buy less - and i'll read to them more. We'll need a bigger fridge - and have a smaller bank account. No more bedrooms - who will bunk up this time? Those tiny frayed blue jeans have enough wear left in them for one more son's babyhood... don't they?
The space isn't literal - but the freedom from possessions, from the pressure to have and to look and to own - offers a peace all it's own.
And it's enough.