Under the Stars
A lot has happened since I last sat down to write.
I turned 56.
My baby girl graduated with well-earned honors in a COVID-influenced ceremony from Santa Margarita Catholic High School… and turned 19 years old.
I nourished my soul with a trip to Yosemite and the Sequoias with my Adventure Sisters.
We adopted a new dog — a seven-year-old basset/doxie/beagle/? mix.
My work at RSM Christian School (formerly Mission Hills Christian School) has become crazy, in a good way. In nine years as admissions director, I have never been busier this close to the start of school.
It began to dawn on me that my faith in and love for Jesus is much deeper and broader and more spacious than can ever be confined by the dogmas I have allowed to restrict a limitless, boundless God of love, compassion, creativity, and grace.
I gained a vision for one of my empty rooms.
When Chance moved out a few weeks ago, I sat in the hallway and wept, surrounded by empty, and soon-to-be-empty, rooms. As the days and weeks passed, I was able to envision that room infused with a new purpose. A space to work out with my Pilates reformer and my new stationary bike, and to practice yoga and just sit in silent meditation, free from distractions. This is the only spot in the house with a view — the hills that join themselves to the Saddleback Mountains. This is how I best connect with God. My eyes taking in the majesty of His creation. I can picture myself sitting in a cream-colored comfy chair, maybe a slouchy bean bag, facing the hills, contemplating the scripture — “I lift up my eyes to the hills…where does my help come from…my help comes from the Lord..the maker of heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1,2).”
The last couple of days, I was reminded why the Espinozas do NOT engage in home improvement projects without charitable, patient, DIY-savvy friends present and in charge.
I had removed most of the deep blue starry, outer-space-themed wallpaper from Chance’s walls, retaining an unmarred swatch for him as a keepsake. This is the wallpaper he fell asleep surrounded by for 18 years.
Chip came in to help me move the mounted TV so I could reach the remaining bit of wallpaper in the upper right corner of the room. While unscrewing the TV from the mounting arm, the stepstool slipped, and Chip crashed to the floor, taking the wall-mounted receiver shelf with him. It was terrifying! He could have impaled himself with the foot-long screwdriver he was using, sustained a concussion from banging his head on the wall, broken a rib from the impact, or gashed his gut with the wall mount brackets that ripped from the drywall and came tumbling down with him. Instead, the only casualty was a set of sore knees that broke his fall.
On the up side, I now have to expend zero energy removing the receiver shelf to paint the wall.
Tonight I sanded Chance’s walls and then washed them down with TSP (I Googled it). Next, spackling, then painting. Not to worry. My charitable, patient, DIY-savvy friend Teri will be present to help with the painting.
As I balanced atop the yellow-and-red ladder sanding the intersection of wall and ceiling, I noticed the stars.
The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling only extended a few feet into the middle of the room. That’s how far I could reach when I climbed into the top bunk to affix them to the ceiling of Chance and Chandler’s room when we moved into this house over 18 years ago.
Tonight as my hands reached for those stars, I thought — Chandler knows the stars. He is there. He doesn’t have to imagine as he gazes at the facsimiles from his bunk bed.
And yet…I don’t like this. I want my boys in that room. In their bunk bed. Gazing at the stars. I want to hug them and say good-night prayers with them and know that all is well with them in that moment.
If you are a young parent reading this…please, stick glow-in-the-dark stars on their ceiling. Keep the starry-outer-space themed wallpaper as long as they will let you. Encourage the messes and the Lego creations and the drums and the Play-Dough and the microscopic Polly Pocket shoes, and all of it.
And never let them go to bed without saying, “I love you.”
It all matters. So much.
Under the stars.
