Some kind of wonderful…

The weight of words

I think it’s some kind of wonderful – the power of words. Words in our house are boomerangs that come right back at us, via Cammy. J This is hilarious, and humbling. Like when he’s frustrated with the stubborn lid of a play dough tub and he says, ‘Ah, give me a break, man!’ or when Scott wakes up from a nap and Cam reports to me, exasperated, ‘Scotty is crying for no reason!’ It’s also chillingly thrilling (which means incredible in the goose-bumps-all-over kind of way) to realise that our words can be the Holy Spirit’s conduits of life and truth and grace. Yesterday Cam was singing ‘Open the eyes of my heart’ (one of his favourites on what he calls the ‘holy holy CD’). He stopped singing and said, matter-of-factly, ‘Jesus is the light and there are so many sad things in the world that make the world dark and then Jesus is the light.’

Five months of looking at life

I think it’s some kind of wonderful that tomorrow Scott will be five months old. Cam was exactly this age when he had his cataract surgery, which brings back eina twinges – to think that, while Scott has had five months of multi-coloured clarity and recognition and beauty, Cam had had five months of light and dark. But: how I marvel at Scott’s enormous, black pupils, sans the milky, blinding shadows of cataracts. And how I remember marvelling at Cam’s brand new, post-operative black pupils. I so often still do. We’ll never understand it all, or have all the answers, but it’s some kind of wonderful that God is in the inexplicable details of cells and atoms and galaxies, that he ‘has plans which mortals don’t understand. He rests in the womb when the new baby forms. Whispers the life dream to infinitesimal cells.’ (Ellease Southerland)

Cameron

I think it’s some kind of wonderful that Cam had his OT assessment at Prinshof School (for blind and VI kids) this week, and that he is doing so well! They’ll probably only need to see him again when he’s five. It’s some kind of wonderful that Samantha (specialist aunt / OT J) has assessed him as a ‘sensory-seeking’ child – he wants to touch as much as possible, move as much as possible, etc. and he is maximising his vision. He’s not afraid of moving into spaces, trying new things in new environments – unusual for a VI child. He remembers things that happened way back, and he makes astounding connections between people, places, objects, colours, events… It’s some kind of wonderful that he is so loved and accepted. He even got to play ‘soccer’ with all the big boys on church camp.

Scott

I think it’s some kind of wonderful that Scott’s vocabulary is beginning to include voluble, enthusiastic squeaks. And that no one makes him laugh quite like his big brother. It comes out in gorgeous, happy, spluttering gulps. If I could bottle it and sell it, I’d make millions.   

Domestic bliss

Picture this, for some kind of wonderful (it really happened – yesterday):

I’m in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Scott is on the counter in his Bumbo, clutching a spatula and drooling intently, ecstatically. Cam is in the play room – singing and drumming simultaneously, as usual, and stopping every now and then to insist that I sing with. I’ve picked basil and coriander from my kitchen garden (which, miraculously, Lola has decided she no longer needs to excavate), and I’m going to add them to dinner, which we’ll be sharing later with people we love. There’ll be a candle on the table, and some lavender, and a breeze, and connectedness.

Life doesn’t really get better.