13 November 2018

Remembrance



Do you remember what it was like to be a kid? I remember a lot of frustration at all the things I knew I didn’t know. There was so much I had to learn and I remember feeling a bit shackled by my own littleness. 

At the same time, I loved the wonder and general awesomeness of being a kid. Anything seemed possible. Magic was real and dreams were not just possible, they were inevitable. Childhood was this pristine, happy place full of love and ideas and music. 

Sometimes I look at Ezra and I feel torn between those two memories. I see him already trying so hard to be mobile and I think “I remember that feeling of wanting to be independent and capable.” Then we'll stumble on something magical, like when this little snail crawled into where we were taking photos (I picked him and put him on the leaf for E to look at).

To have a little woodland friend stop and say hello—and to have him look up at Ezra and Ezra look back down at him—it just felt like a tiny fairytale. It made me want to keep Ezra small and sweet forever.


I’ve had these kinds of thoughts a lot lately leading up to the 100 year anniversary of Armistice day (the day that marked the end of WWI). The way Britain celebrates this day is so unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in the States. That heaviness that comes with the loss of life seems to have been passed down the generations so that even the kids feel it. I know I feel it now.

When you hear stories of all the boys that went off to fight, your heart just breaks. It feels so much heavier now that I’m a mum. What if I have to send my little boy off to war one day? Will this childhood be enough? Will it be filled with enough wonder and love and music? 

I’m not sure any childhood is perfect enough to counterbalance all the ugliness of war, but that shadow of sorrow that people here keep passing down to their children and grandchildren definitely serves a purpose. Without that understanding, I feel like people will just keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again. It makes me pray for peace every year a little harder.


On a lighter note, I love the way Ezra is just clutching onto these leaves (it was after we took photos). He’ll probably be like his mama and try to take bits of nature home with him. At the very least, I know that he’ll have an appreciation for the beauty of nature as his daddy is always stopping and pointing at trees and flowers and buildings and making sure I see how pretty they are. I love it and I can’t wait for Ezra to do it too.


This is a little taste of our new village, which was once an old mining town. Not far from our house is the assemblage (on the left). It looks like a sort of modern art piece but is actually bits of the old mine. They decorate it with red poppies especially for Remembrance Sunday. On the right is a church in the middle of town.


I guess no one knows what the future has ahead of us. I have no idea what Ezra's world will look like--everything is changing so quickly. But I hope his little life can be spent seeing beauty in God's creations and dreaming enormous dreams and seeking peace. I hope it is long and filled with wonder and that he learns to appreciate all the sacrifices young men (and women) before him have made. Life is a gift and today I'm extra grateful for it.

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