That’s what I’m thinking about this morning as I lie in bed. Not by myself. My bed is full. Is usually always full. My husband is on my far right and our two children are wedged in between us.
We’ve decided to take our family picture right here. Surrounded by what’s important.
Don. My sweet husband of 20+ years. Gentle and caring. Facing life’s challenges with determination and an athlete’s “never lose” attitude. Quick to pull himself out of self-pity, doubt, or depression. Quick to forgive. Usually giving, not taking a lot. Except for the stolen pillows and covers during the night…
Jordan. 16 and loud and crazy. And fun. Not serious for very long. Laughing at you – laughing at herself. It’s doesn’t matter because there’s no need to take life so seriously. So unlike me. But so much like me. She has lots of friends who love her because she’s strange and happy – her own unique combination of herself – not changing just because you don’t approve. Long on love. And long legs and arms that now take up way too much room in this bed...
Zion. 10 and cuddly and loving. Most always happy. And why shouldn’t he be? Most every day, he receives one of the greatest delights of his heart – to be carried piggy-back down the stairs to our bed. To whisper, “hide me from daddy” as he scoots under the covers. He snuggles on our pillows and breathes our scent and asks, “Why is your bed always warm?” And many times through closed, smiling, eyes, he says, “I love this bed.”
Today, as I’m lying in bed trying to write, I wish they would be still and quiet and give me a little more room, please. Because I’m telling you, this is not as comfortable as it was when we started this ritual at ages newborn and 7. My husband says we need a bigger bed. I told him, no, we need to get our kids out of this one.
But as I look down at my most treasured blessings squeezed into our queen-sized bed, I realize that yes, my bed is full, but my heart is, too. And everything important to me is in this bed right now.
Kendra Timberlake, 2006
