A Heart Condition


Nash Gillam Norris, born November 11, 2006

I've learned that I have a heart condition. My heart has swelled in the last two months. It has swelled with an aching I've never known before. It's an aching, ever-present love that breaks my heart. It's called motherhood.  

Tears sprang to our eyes in the hospital when they held him up and carried him to the scale. His thick hair was wet and curly. I cuddled him on my chest and cried my heart out. Late that dreamy, bleary night I awoke and heard a cry from the nursery way down the hall and I knew it was him. Don't ask me how; I just knew it was my son. It has been eight weeks now, and motherhood has changed me forever. 

Did you see the national news story about the two kidnapped boys in Missouri? Mothers everywhere know why I choked back sobs when I saw that story of children reunited with their parents. Recently in our area two cars carrying teenagers crashed on icy roads killing their passengers. A new fear of even seemingly innocuous things has made its way into my consciousness…skateboard jumps, trees ripe for climbing, and the street between the local school and our home. I won't let this fear own me, but I am letting it instruct me. 

I want to remember these fears just enough to let them be a catalyst to live my life right. We only get one chance, you know. Life is but a breath, a fleeting shadow. I want to be entirely present for every day I have here on earth as a child of God, as a wife, and now, as a mother. Part of living life abundantly is living in a state of thankfulness, acknowledging the gifts we've received and refusing to waste one moment. We can express our thankfulness with action, even simple little actions. 

Nash is a gift from heaven and I am relishing every day with him. I am kissing him on his rosebud lips because I know he won't let me do that when he's older! I'm smelling his head, laughing at his signature hedgehog hairdo, and drinking in his scent. I'm investigating his toes that are exactly like his daddy's. I'm snuggling him every chance I get. I'm putting my finger in his hand so he can hold on tight.  

What are the gifts you've received? What can you be thankful for and how will you act on that thankfulness? 

I have realized that everything I do for Nash is proactive and initiating. He cannot come to me. I have to bring him to me. I have to reach out to him. I am inputting into his life every day, all day long. With milk stained t-shirts and sleep-deprived bloodshot eyes, I am an imperfect mother, yet I am entrusted with his care. I want to be worthy of this gift every day by acknowledging that he is on loan to me and by living every day as if it were our last. 

My need to initiate with Nash has made me realize how much more I could initiate with others. I am entirely plugged into him and his needs and I want to be this way with others as well. Like responding to a cry from a distant nursery, I want to see needs around me and possess the motherly selflessness to reach out instinctively.  

Whether it is the simple action of a hug or kiss or something more practical, reaching out to others invariably blesses us more than the receiver. Ironically, through lifting up others we, too, are lifted up. 

What does this have to do with ordering your life? For your life to be used to initiate in the life of another—even your own family, your life must first be available. It's hard for the soil of your life to be available when it is clogged up with deadwood…the thorns of chaos and overwhelm crowding your consciousness. Ordering your life allows you to reclaim control and presence of mind and action. My wish for you this year is that you will recognize and act on all the gifts you've been given, even in simple little ways. May you embrace at once the brevity and beauty of life. May your heart overflow with thankfulness until it aches.