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| iCentra: tips & tricks |
Oh, angel sent from up above
You know you make my world light up
When I was down, when I was hurt
You came to lift me up
Life is a drink and love's a drug
Oh now I think I must be miles up
When I was a river dried up
You came to rain a flood
When they were here in concert my friend Nicole went and said that she cried at the end. I think it's because she felt so good.
And I can't get enough of those songs that hold such good feelings. In Your Eyes or Love Like This...
Maybe it was because I stood next to my sisters at dinner before Christmas and every rendition of “Shake Me I Rattle” they’ve sung standing side by side came rushing back … or maybe it’s because I listened to President Obama talk about the hope he has for the world, and I want my children to wear my love like protective armor as they walk this earth.
So often I wonder what they will remember about me. I want them to remember love.
An answer came unexpectedly while lying in bed with my thirteen–year-old son. Our faces glowed under the tiny, white light he had in his window – candlelight that stayed securely in place when the rest of the Christmas decorations came down. Beneath his beloved candle in the window, I showed him video clips of his recent hockey game.
“Go, Markus!” you could hear me cheer in one particular video. My son watched that 31-second clip seven times.
“What did you say at the end, Mom?” he asked curiously.
“I say: I can’t handle it.” I smiled.
He looked confused.
“I get nervous and excited and my heart beats right out of my chest when I watch you play!” I explained. “Sometimes it feels like too much to handle.”
“I love you,” he said in response to his emotional mother. As he put his head on my shoulder he whispered, “All my friends think you are the nicest mom ever.”
“Probably because you're the nicest son ever,” I responded. That’s when I almost got up. Our heartfelt exchange seemed like the perfect time to kiss his cheek and say goodnight … plus, there were dirty dishes in the sink and Christmas decorations still filled the floor.
But my heart said: Stay. Just sixty more seconds.
I am learning to listen to it. I’m learning my heart knows.
And in those extra sixty seconds, I received an answer to my long-wondered question: What will he remember?
