Meet my littlest sister, Japhia. She's five. And a half.
Five years ago, when I was fourteen, bedtime was our time. My mom had taken care of her all day (on top of homeschooling the other five of us), and was exhausted. So every night, I would pace the living room or sit in a chair, singing lullabies and rocking Japhia. Once she was asleep, I'd lay her down in her bassinet, careful not to wake her. Once in a while, I would just sit and listen to her breathing, soft and slow. She grew, moving from bassinet to toddler bed to 'big girl' bed. When she grew too big for me to carry and rock, I would lay beside her in her bed. We would sing together, the same lullabies that she now knew by heart.
Japhia turned four, and I went off to college in Wisconsin. When I called my mom a few weeks into the semester, she told me how Japhia would often wake up crying in the night. When my parents asked her what was wrong, she said, "I miss Deborah." It only took a little duct tape to mend my heart.
When I came home last summer, I lived in Japhia's room. We still sang every night that I didn't work late, though she had to correct my lyrics a few times. "No, Deborah, that's not how it goes. You forgot." By the end of the summer, I was humming lullabies to myself at work. I got on a plane back to Wisconsin the day she turned five.
That Christmas was my first away from my family. I worked Christmas Eve, chilled Christmas Day, and didn't feel much different. Japhia sent me a letter, written in large, backward script. "I miss you. When are you coming to visit?"
April of this year, my entire family drove up to Wisconsin to spend four days with me during my spring break. Japhia slept in my dorm room. We talked about dreams, and car trips, and Jesus. Then we sang our lullabies until she fell asleep.
Today, I returned to Kansas. Japhia hugged me only a few hundred times, then sat beside/on top of me at supper. We read a book, and then my dad carted her off to brush her teeth. Ten minutes later, my Mom walked out into the living room. I had been summoned. Once again, I sang lullabies. This time, Japhia was quiet. I asked her if she wanted to sing along, but she said she didn't remember the words. I intend to fix that this summer. In ten minutes, she was asleep.
And now, the perspective. I could go off on a sentimental tangent about enjoying the little things in life and 'living in the moment', but I have never been much for little bunnies in bonnets and unrealistic tear-jerker stories.
Instead, tonight served to remind me that there is more to life than my tiny tunnel-vision window filled with job applications and still-full suitcases. The lullabies were my wake up-call from watching my feet as I trudge tediously along. Now, I'm reading Romans 12:1-2 and recapturing my one, real responsibility this summer.
Not looking at myself.
Not looking at what I've done.
Not looking at what I haven't done.
Not looking at what I might do.
Not looking at the summer.
Looking unto Jesus.
Here's a good read. Check it out, especially if you don't think you have the time.
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