Bearing Witness

Last night I did it. I opened the folder on my desktop titled Old Fone Pics. Yes, that spelling is correct. My teenage son set it up last year.

It’s the place where old memories got dumped before new ones began being made.

So many memories.

I opened it and began rotating pictures, because many were on their side. Laughing at how small and cute my littles were and remembering the endless trips to Explore More, I marveled that I thought we would somehow grow into an easier season of life. We have grown into a different season of life.

Not easier, though.

Those three years have passed and then a little extra. Things do look different.

Like the lines on my face and the sparkles in my hair.

I found this picture of little Mae looking like her big brother.

Little Mae

KieranWhether it’s the hair, eyes, mouth or a combination of all, I was so struck that I called him to come see me. We laughed as he asked me to post the picture to his facebook wall. I translated the request to mean, That is super-cute and really DOES look like me.

I posted it, as well, captioned by What do you mean all my kids look alike? Little Mae with a Kieran face.

A friend commented, We all told you when she was BORN that she looked like Kieran. So cute!

These are the moments where I am grateful for my community. My village. People who knew, know, and remember. Who can bear witness to my life. Often I just don’t remember.

Thank you for remembering!

I cherish moments like the one I had in Costco last weekend.

I walked in, showed my card, and was talking to little Mae as we decided where to go first. Seeing a familiar face from church, I smiled. She commented on my voice, I recognized that voice!

I recognized her face and smile, but we had never had a conversation at church. I was taken aback. I guess I DO talk a lot, or something similar, I joked.

Later she found me by the bread for a proper introduction. Turns out, we had shared an earlier season when she worked at Good Shepherd as a high school student. Thus the voice recognition. Knowing this made much more sense. I took a deep breath and asked the question I save for these moments.

So what do you remember about me?

That’s a difficult, but necessary, question, because I don’t always remember, and I want to know. What do YOU remember?

She remembered me with three small children, the youngest of which was a baby. We caught up on our present-day lives as only you can in the bread section of Costco.

How do I not remember?

My friend commenting on little Mae’s picture kindly and wisely remarked, How??? Um…there was a LOT going on at that phase of your life… It’s called the “Eighth-Child-BLUR…”

Yes. Every phase has been a LOT. A blur. Thank you for bearing witness to my life, Friends.

2 thoughts on “Bearing Witness

  1. aaron

    You are very memorable because you are beautiful, even in you messiness. I am sure you don’t see the beauty that is you and your life…but I will say it anyway.


Thanks for heart-composting with me! I appreciate your words.

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