CL11 -hbratton notxt

©Heidi Bratton Photography

Somewhere, in the recesses of my consciousness, I was aware that it was morning. But the drug of sleep was heavy upon me… and I didn’t much care. My head was lead on my pillow and my face turned away from the alarm clock. Even if I had seen the time… even if it had said Noon… I wouldn’t have moved.

I was becoming increasingly aware of the sunshine. I felt it on my eyelids. Invading. But I drifted numbly back into oblivion. A noise? The children. I don’t care. I’m asleep. Again into the heavy darkness.

I might have stayed that way for quite a while had it not been for a tiny sensation on my cheek. A light pressure. Gentle. Careful. I slowly became conscious of the touch of a little hand upon my face, my forehead, my ear. Stroking, correcting strands of displaced hair.

The sensation was confusing. I was still partially in a place of dreams and this moment was like a dream. A most beautiful and tender moment, unlike any other; unexpected, disarming. I had the sense of being a child. I struggled to recall that I was not a child, but a mother.

I fought through my sleepy haze and saw through barely opened eyelids… tiny knees next to me, inching slowly forward, closer and closer. My eyes widened a bit and took in the miniature person by my side. Born just eighteen months ago. Gazing at me with intensity and devotion.

His little hand was suspended over my temple and he slowly lowered it again to move the hair from my face one more time. He brought his beautifully sincere eyes close enough to me so that our noses were almost touching. The fog was lifting quickly but I was struck silent and still in the presence of this loving innocence.

I had no desire to fall back into darkness but my body lay heavy and unmoving. Overcome by the moment. He looked straight into my eyes. Watching. Waiting. Inching.

My son’s little arm moved forward and stretched across my neck. His knees had finally reached my side and he buried his soft head under my chin. I love you, he said. Actually, he said I wuv ooo… in his tiny little voice that so often makes me laugh. I love you, too… and I held him close in the embrace that he had been waiting for all along. And my tears fell into his hair.

Awakening. To the morning. To beauty. To gratitude. To joy. Every once in a while, God offers a moment of grace so pure and beautiful that life changes. In a household of many blessings, these moments come with frequency. But I am not always awake.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” ~ 1 Peter 2:9

Melody is a Catholic mama joyfully seeking truth, sanctity and a clean kitchen amidst the hustle and bustle of her full house. A happy wife and homeschooling mother of six, she is devoted to her vocation while finding bits of time for a few happy distractions. How does a Catholic homeschooling mother manage faith, family, education, creative pursuits, fitness and fellowship? The calendar is set. The reality is flexible. The days are colorful. The dishes are piling. The children are blossoming. The Lord is merciful. Blessed be the Lord! You can share in Melody’s journey of hope and joy at her blog, Blossoming Joy: A Journal of Home Education, Christian Womanhood and the Pursuit of Sanctity.
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