I Will Fail You

The capacity for intimacy means I have the capacity to let people down.


Intimacy is one of the scariest things.

Most intimately, I’m tied to the Lord.

Then my husband.

And then my babies.


They all have a hand in knowing me.

And they all know me at my most exposed.

One of them even thought me up,

Which I sometimes squint my eyes at and think



But then I see them and gratitude overflows.

I’m hungry for the closeness, and for them knowing I will always be close.

Intimacy takes seeing.


The last I remember taking time to sit at a windowsill, I was as curious for the world outside as my toddler is today. Then life happened and my perspective was watered down, bruised, self-absorbed and exhausted. Curtains were drawn, I drew inward.


And then babies.

They like to lick windows.

They like to watch the birds and the trees and the dumpster trucks and the people.

But bigger?

They rip curtains right open and pour light into dark and need, into selfishness and broken.

They tap on the window, they beg you to sit and wait with them. They shift eyes into a state of present seeing and they remind you to slow down.

They remind you that time is a treasure, and that bigger treasures are waiting.


I sit at the windowsill each day for them. With them.

Some days are slow and mundane. Others are unexpected and wading. And still, there are those that are wrapped in grief, hope, surprise, good, pain and dreams.


I try my best to capture the treasures in each day,

In what we can presently see from our windowsill.

But I usually do it messy,

Because life is messy.


I will fail you, 

I tell them,

And I’m sorry.

But I’ll always be close to you with treasures in hand.


I can’t wait to share our windowsill with you.



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