Reuben's Song

bend low, grey skies

and tenderly descend

a thousand silver

tongues sing praise

lift up your fallen

eyes, you yellow plums

and welcome autumn's

branching silhouette

o let the apples

loose their stems

the waning garden

breathe amen...

I wrote this in the quiet anticipation and celebration of the days surrounding Reuben's birth, watching the fruit in our yard come to fullness and fall. I was intrigued by the almost sombre tone of surrender, thinking, "what kind of a birth poem is this, anyway?" But now I see a prophetic gift in these words: freedom to mourn the easy orbit of a one-child family; to release my eager expectation of being all things to both boys (impossible!); and to lift my heart in worship, even in the wrench of postpartum emotion.

These are the things our second son is teaching me, along with the necessity to drink deep of the fresh joy welling up in his eyes these days. He's a crooner, Reuben is, and I love the songs he sings.