“But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called—called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.”
—Jack London, The Call of the Wild
The past twelve, even six months brought so many changes for our family. I’ve mentioned that before.
One of which was the unanticipated move into the neighborhood where my sister lived and then four weeks later, our youngest sister joined us.
So here we are, in the throes of young motherhood, raising our little *big* families, doing life and learning alongside each other.
And while we realize only time will tell how long this season lasts, where our dozen and us share similar routines of learning and growing mostly hand in hand with each other,
it’s a messy, beautiful, grace laced chapter we are laughing, crying, forgiving, chasing, tucking it all into the precious places of the heart, together along the way.
Because on days like this where we left the house early (after of course several return loops for forgotten lunches, a missing carseat, a needed coffee, and last *several* bathroom breaks) and spent the majority of the sunlight under the bluest of November skies with leaves big and bright above exploring with maps and questions and skipping and a picnic lunch, despite the hassle and bandaids and fast food we (I) grabbed for dinner because my “super mom-ing” was spent for the day,
I cherish these days as mere glimmers of a harvest of raising children who wonder at beauty and love whole heartedly, enraptured by creation and in love with the Creator, each one alongside their eleven life-long friends who just happen to be called cousins.