and it's gently rocked/ by the evening breeze...
And the the two little birds/ in this cozy nest
snuggle down/ and take their rest...
These little birds are truly blessed...
After napping a short while today, Roo sat up with an enormous smile, hugged and kissed his big sleeping brother (a most uncommon event), laid a hand to his chest and said, "I'm all better!"
Stranger still, Roo went on to yawn cheerfully and say, "Mommy, I want to go back to school now! I want to sing songs and read books, play on the playground, eat breakfast and dinner and see Andrew* and Claire-E-Claire* and make stuff. Okay?" Then he tumbled out of bed, grabbed an armload of ImagiNext armored dinos, and ran into the living room with a shout, "Now I play!"
*[Andrew=Roo's best bud and Claire-E-Claire=his beloved teacher]
And Roo's been bubbling with good humor and healthy energy ever since. Even the dogs are looking at him oddly, as if to say, What happened to the slow-moving and grumpy little invalid human? Will he not be giving me all his food under the table anymore?
Well, maybe today Roo hit some sort of milestone in the medical course of a surgical invasion and his body is having a banner day. Maybe he had a happy dream about riding horses and running through fields, and he just wants to get back into the swing. Maybe God brought him peace and comfort, and the embrace of a hundred prayers, and his spirit was lifted. He's four, so who really knows.
But I'm not four, and here's what I do know...
I napped with at the same time as Roo and Toe, which I never ever am able to do. Even when I am up half the night or all night or night after night (and friends, this has been the recent situation), my body clock has never allowed me to sleep in the day, not even sick or medicated beyond the brain inactivity of a stone, not my whole life--even as a child.
And here is what I dreamed:
I was in a sort of heaven, and it was just a neighborhood on earth. Hub and I were outside our house, a humble farmy house on a corner, shoveling and shoveling snow, beautiful fluttering snow as it came down in gentle flakes. I was tireless and singing, my feet gave me unearthly twirl and bounce--like an astronaut in zero gravity, and Hub laughed at me because I couldn't stop bouncing. Our neighbors were out shoveling and laughing too: gentle-souled Ben and Sarah from our church, the young couple who lead the worship music and teach the youth groups. Sarah was singing with her baby on her back, and we sang and twirled and had the best time.
Next I was at a school full of children, but it was outside and everything was warm and suny and green. I was running and running, downhill (and more of the bouncing and laughing), and Hub and Toe and Roo were running and playing. I saw Miss Claire-E-Claire, Roo's preschool teacher playing too, and I said, "Wait! Boys! No running in school!" But Miss Claire said, "Oh, it's okay--everybody runs here, everybody just runs as much as they want!" And I thought to myself, "God, I've missed running--running and bouncing and singing feels so good! I could do this all day!"
And then I woke up, and a knowledge inside me, a rare inaudible voice I recognize as my God, told me, "Remember this dream. Remember the joy, because it is my future for you."
And maybe Roo had the same dream, and now we both feel the promise of a bounce in our step.
Call me crazy. Call me blessed. I don't care.