Window Panes and Wick-dippers By Kimily Kay
I am up and out the door before my roommates rise. My backpack is full of books as my feet hit the small trail up the mountain toward my college. The moment I’m out of sight, spontaneous songs burst forth from my heart to my lips. My heart shouts, This is what it is to be alive, to leave my sin and loneliness behind, to be loved and forgiven by the Savior who gave his all for us, for me.
Years pass and mountain trails are replaced by a small town on the plains of Colorado. I scoop up my bright-eyed firstborn, tuck him in the baby carrier, and fastens it securely over my shoulders. Our eyes meet; his tiny but bright eyes sparkle with the same excitement as mine. It’s merely an excursion to the park four blocks away, but shared adventures under tree-lined streets are the highlight of our days.
Time flies by and soon there are three children, all of them lovers of trees, skies, rushing winds, and the Creator who made them. They have a cozy country home nestled between swaying cornstalks and a thick green alfalfa field. I am beyond grateful as my children play in the great outdoors all day long. Only in the early light of dawn can I be up and out alone, wandering the ditch roads with my King, feeling like a Scottish princess.
Slowly the friendly country breezes and the wafting heat of the woodburning stove turn sinister. Late summer leaves me with puffy eyes, swollen glands, and no energy for reading aloud to my little country clan. Day trips to town in the sweltering heat bring pollen-saturated wind whipping through the car windows multiplying my pain. At night, the children sleep soundly caressed by the fresh breezes wafting in through wide open bedroom windows.
My husband and I settle into our stuffy living room near an old, clanky, window air conditioner, attempting to rest the best we can. The lack of sleep weakens me more, aggravating all that ails me. Finally, relief comes. My husband finds a way, takes a risk, and purchases central air despite our young-family-tight-budget. We pledge to never live in a home without air conditioning again. Window panes become my connection to creation. Fresh breezes are shut out in the summers. The once cozy wood burner sits dark and cold most of the winter.
Decades later, my sleep-laced-lashes flutter awake and I move slowly, noiselessly away from the blind-covered windows and dark bedroom. The window panes of our city home beckon to me with the pinkish, golden light of dawn. No matter where I have lived, my first morning moments have been spent gazing at the sky like a child opening a much-awaited birthday gift. Like a silent prayer, awe fills my body and illuminates my eyes. The Lord is with me here, even as he was when my younger self walked the hill to classes and roamed the ditch road above the alfalfa field.
We sit together in the candlelight of a long wintery evening watching the flames flicker in the darkness like stars stirring in the breeze of the dusky sky outside. I remember the days when heavily scented candles and their sulfury wicks made even candlelight a trial. Now I have the wonder and the luxury of unscented candles, and a dear little wick dipper gifted to me by a young friend.
Over the years my body has actually grown stronger through prayer and wise habits, but the Lord’s presence remains what I cherish most. Window panes and wick-dippers remind me how God lines even the path of weakness with beauty and wisdom, gifts to strengthen me, when I am willing to embrace them thankfully. And I do.
Lullaby, Hold Me Tight
Beautiful infant eyes gazed upon my face as if searching to know me. Hour upon blessed hour this, my first grandchild, snuggled in my arms as we rocked in the stillness of my small library.
Lullaby, hold me tight.
A few months later her parents announced excitedly, “Mom, Dad, we’re moving back.” Back was where they had met and married. Back was four states and fourteen hours away.
Hold me tight and good-bye.
“Don't worry, we'll still see you.” My daughter assured me kindly. “You'll come and visit us–often.” My daughter, Mary, looked straight into my eyes, clearly, trustingly, full of sincere intentions and faith, like the child she had always been.
Lullaby, hold me tight.
Mary, always attentive and caring, knew me well. The first time I was aware of her intent gaze she had only been five days old. While dressing her to take her home her lovely almond-shaped eyes had gazed into mine and her teeny-tiny finger had grabbed my pinkie. Even though I’d been told newborns couldn’t do that intentionally, I can still see her—right down to the pink and green peppermint-striped sleeper she wore. And now, she wrapped me around her little finger again, entreating me to travel with them.
“You’ll come with us, mom, to help with Addi. And to give me breaks from driving.” Her expression promised we’d have the best of times.
Did I dare go? Could I keep the tears at bay? How would I make it? Would I be too opinionated with my son-in-law? Should I stay home, or could I go and savor every moment together?
I did dare, and our lil’ caravan headed out, Josh in the moving van, us three girls in the small, white Camry. We visited grandparents, parks, and zoos, saving up the sweetest of memories along the fifteen-hour drive.
Home again, I wrestled in anguish and tears. “Father, she doesn’t know why I’ve disappeared. She’s only seven months old. Show me how to pray. Please don't let her feel I've abandoned her.”
Lullaby, hold her tight.
One day, the LORD opened my heart to understand John 4:24 more. “God is spirit, and his worshippers must worship him in spirit and in truth.” He pointed me to the perfection of his creation. We are made His image, each with a spirit, no age restrictions apply to that. So Christ’s Holy Spirit can touch and minister to the spirit of a child even before they fully understand.
After that, I ran to the secret place with God often, closed my tear-drenched eyes, and lifted my palms to him in surrender. Sometimes my prayer came with words, other times with singing or simply listening. I prayed in faith, hundreds of miles away, and knew it was so. I chose to exchange the hows and whys of painful moments, for His rest and comfort.
Lullaby of the light of Christ in my dark night.
A few months later my husband Bob and I made the long drive and arrived just in time to meet them for lunch. I don’t remember where we ate, but I can still see the car seat where my sweet little flower was hidden away as she slept.
“Mom, she's waking up. Do you want to hold her?” My daughter asked with delight and expectation.
“No, I don't want to frighten her.” My heart trembled with fear to think she might burst into tears when Mary placed her in my lap.
“Mom, she will know you. She will.”
I cradled Addison in my lap, her eyelashes fluttering, awakening. I spoke soft words of welcome and she gazed up knowingly, like only a day had passed.
Lullaby, oh so right, this gracious gift of God's delight.
Kimily Kay has a heart for all generations, especially teens, to know the tender, striking reality of God's nearness. In her debut youth novel, Samuri & Jewel: The Forbidden Friendship, readers of all ages find themselves whisked away into the courage, whimsy, and faith it takes to survive a harsh, faithless culture. Her newsletter and website, found at kimilykayduffield.com, focus on Encouraging the Next Generation. She welcomes us into a hopeful space to delve into the struggles, and the abundant possibilities of being the light of Christ for our own teens and the teens among us.
