Wild Catch

I catch it.

I lure it in and catch it.

From thin air I make magic.

I feed it,

I tend it,

I press into it till my muscles are

tired and weary from the effort to

mold and shape it.

Then I wait.


Step back and wait for


To rise up and become something new.

Strengthened by

my care

and work

and patience

it will sustain us.

We will enjoy it’s flavor and

we will marvel at how simple yet

elegant and impressive it is.

We will savor it,

every last crumb.


I’ll start all over again

catching them anew

working to form them into something glorious.


These days, I am home with my children.  At the end of most days I am grateful to be here just doing the simple things that make our house a home.  Lately, I’ve been baking bread.  Real honest to goodness sourdough bread, leavened by a culture I created in my own kitchen.  It started as an experiment to see what would be possible with continual trial and error and a “crap-ton” of flour.  I have been pleasantly surprised that my efforts have produced very good bread: moist but with a nice crispy crust and a delightful tang of flavor that is not at all dull or boring.  It is a source of pride because all of that hard work has produced something I enjoy each bite of.


My bread baking days give me time to reflect on the job I am doing at home, tending my home and raising my children.   I am thankful I get to spend the majority of my time with people I love.  Like the bread cultures, the children are like wild things to me, that somehow I have been lucky enough to catch up into my heart.  Caring for them is such hard work testing the strength of my muscles and the endurance of my patience.  There are days I am so weary of reading the same book over and over or being asked to “find this, fix this, help me do this” that a walk out to the mailbox by myself is restorative in a small way.  In the midst of the toil, I feel like I am on an island in a river of time and I know it streams all around me, and of course I am affected by its passing but I am also somehow immune.  I gaze deeply into my children to appreciate each unique stage of their lives.  I strive to notice all of the little things: the baby’s twinkling eyes lightening from a deep steely blue to a crisp brilliant gleaming blue, the way the boys are growing into imaginative souls with intellects that astound me and hearts full of joy.  How lucky I am to be engulfed in them?  I marvel at how impressive they are to me; little, glorious people full of every good thing.

“Soak it all in as these days are short.”  These are the words uttered by moms with older children who have passed these days and find themselves blazing new trails through parenthood.  It is true that my children are only under my care and tutelage for precious little time, yet so much of who they will be, hinge upon what these days will nurture.  So I will savor the work of parenting, to rise each day and “catch them anew.”  I’ll bring with me all of my strength and patience to mold and shape them, that they may grow with new and different seasons, but always be something good that forever will delight my soul.

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