On the Melding and the Great Whisper: a love story

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word-of-testimonyOn the Melding and the Great Whisper

I spend my day skin on skin, our two little boys clinging. One attention hound takes his hands and holds my face, speaks to me from an inch away so I’ll see His imagination, and the other one nurses like an obsessive compulsive vacuum cleaner.

Isaac is two and talks like a ten year old. I hardly keep up. Jude is only a few months old and what we call a hoss. At two months old, he could flex and roll completely over, aggressive. He has teeth, beautiful boy, wide brown eyes, but my milk turns shy. I fear the latch, his lack of response to any discipline from the biting.

Seth sings them love ballads from the early eighties with such heart. I imagine him with long mullet and tight pants, songs I don’t even remember. We’re happy. We laugh. My house is clean near bedtime. Our pillows lie together. We sleep under same blanket, but I am touch exhausted, so we pray and sleep. This is on repeat.

But the morning comes, and he leaves for the wolves, and I miss him, want to be on vacation, in a hotel far away. With him. But we’re on repeat, the days blurred into a season. They blurred so that we didn’t see the melding, the continuation of two becoming one, as a metaled machine. But the touch, being people intertwined, took prayer.

So daily I did, as prayer isn’t better than with small child. I prayed for desire, that passion that threw us out of reason before marriage, to engage after two months. All day I think about him. I wash his clothes. I watch his boys turn into little versions of him. 

And one night, with a bad movie and a good bottle of wine, the desire for desire wins.

I wake early, before the man, before the toddler, before the 4 month old. And in the quiet, morning light bursting yellow on our walls, two pink lines surface and then a flood, tears and unexpected gratitude. How – three babies in three years?

I hold it secret in the long shower,

 and I cry, and I hear God speak, like I’m canyon, and he’s great whisper. He says He’ll take care, and I am honored, and I am hungry. I am store-house for promise, only child myself.

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About me


Soul Practices: Part 2
January 25, 2017
What a Concussion Taught Me
March 25, 2016
When You’re Not a Precious Thing
February 03, 2016
What I Knew In My Dying Day: a Wild in the Hollow Guest Post by Tara Owens
August 19, 2015
Condemnation on the Molehill
June 08, 2015
Tools for the Highly Sensitive Mother: An Introduction
April 27, 2015
The Uncouth: The Hormonal
May 12, 2014
A Haines Home Companion: On Joy and How We Love
April 11, 2014
What Mothers Me
April 01, 2014


Heather of the EO
Reply January 13, 2010

The way you express this clashing of emotions in motherhood, life and marriage always leaves me stunned with a recognition in the very core of my heart gut.

I guess that's how we bloggers strangely end up saying "I just LOVE you" even when we've never met.

Beautiful post, Amber.

Reply January 13, 2010

I love you, too, Heather. Seriously. It is really all gift to me to be able to sort all this out in words. Ann Voskamp writes today about how she doesn't really know what to think until she's written it out, and I feel the exact same way. Exactly.


Reply January 13, 2010

I too have been touch exhausted for 6 years. 4 babies in 5 years will do that. I desire for desire.

Reply January 13, 2010

Wow - this is gorgeous, heart-wrenching, and most of all, so true and real. Thank you - and congratulations - I love the image of you as a store-house for promise. Yes, yes, yes.

Aunt Pam
Reply January 13, 2010


Reply January 13, 2010

and love.

Reply January 13, 2010

Touch-exhausted. I remember.

Do you ever tire of me saying you inspire me?

You inspire me....

Reply January 13, 2010

that post made me tear up because I relate to it too much. I love the phrase "touch exhausted". Great post. Thanks for sharing your heart.

Reply January 13, 2010

Another one that aches with recognition over this one. Love.

Reply January 13, 2010

Oh how WELL I know the desire for desire. The being "touched-out". It's so hard. I also know the unexpected gratitude, even in pregnancies that I knew would never stay.

Reply January 13, 2010

I so get the "touch exhausted" and the need to pray to feel the passion that keeps us together.
Such vivid pictures. Can so relate.

Reply January 13, 2010

Achingly beautiful, as always.

Reply January 13, 2010

These posts encourage me, maybe more than you know. Especially with our baby boy on the way, and things changing quickly for us.

Boy Crazy (@claritychaos)
Reply January 13, 2010

Tears. Chills. I love your stories - the message, the honesty, the poetry of it all.

I saw your comments over at Heather's today. I wish you could have been at that snowy cabin with us, too. You are one I would love to sit with, drinking wine and talking early into the morning.

xo elizabeth

Lora Lynn
Reply January 13, 2010

Methinks you've hit a nerve, dear one. That is the classic cry of young mothers every where, being "touch tired." And yet you and I each get to stare at our room full of tiny heads in wonder that they happened at all. ;-) So very beautifully said, as always. Cannot wait to see you!

Reply January 13, 2010

Amber! I feel the same way (as Ann V.)! I need this outlet... to express and give hope to others, and to myself.

This post was gut wrenching beautiful, as always!


Reply January 13, 2010

PS: Loved this line:

and I cry, and I hear God speak, like I’m canyon, and he’s great whisper. He says He’ll take care, and I am honored, and I am hungry.



Reply January 13, 2010

Beautiful. He will take care. He always does.

My words often precede my thoughts as well. It's how God speaks to me and reveals Himself in my situations.

Reply January 14, 2010

Chills. Beautiful. Is that congratulations?

I have one of those vacuum cleaners with teeth. He is 9 months and can beat up his daddy now. We call him Viking. He nearly kicked my rib out - came out with his arm beside his head - 9lbs and 4 oz of "I'll never catch labor pain amnesia again".

Epidurals only work on non-aggressive children. I know first hand.

Sara Sophia
Reply January 14, 2010

for the hand-touch to grow tired
the spirit-touch we crave.

you have this way of peeling back all of me
until the core gleams through.

I feel the cool air and remember.

I love you Mary Amber.

Reply January 14, 2010


I stumbled across your blog following other mom blogs and I do say I agree with the other comments -- you have aptly described what I feel like I'm going through myself.

Congratulations on the new life you are carrying! I, myself am carrying our second child after 2 years of marriage and so I find myself resonating with all you have written. God bless you and thank you.

Kristen - Moms Sharpening Moms
Reply January 14, 2010

I'm not gonna lie. I wish I could voice my thoughts like you! I mean, I can voice my thoughts in my own country-girl way, but you. Your words are so clear and concise and courageous! Like Heather explained..."I just love you!"

Have a great rest-of-the-week!

Reply January 14, 2010

You, friends. Thank you for your words to me here. It's so good to know I'm not alone in my struggle to be both wife and mother. Goodness, you feel like the kids would starve or poke themselves in the eye if you don't attend to their needs, so when the lights turn down, and they are safe in bed, we are just pooped, sometimes almost offended at more touch.

I want to explore this more.

Also, just to be clear, I am not pregnant, that I know. I started telling our Love Story a year ago, and I'm just now to the part where we have our 3rd born. There is still a lot more to the story.

Reply January 14, 2010

Where you were is where I am.

Thank you for sharing!!!

Reply January 14, 2010

So beautiful. heartfelt. sincere.
Your words are poetry and your love is real.
Echoing in my own heart today-- those God whispers.

Reply January 14, 2010

touch-exhausted... that is me right now, thanks for giving the malady a name :)

To Think Is To Create
Reply January 14, 2010

Your stories are therapy to me right now. Thank you. xoxo

the scooper
Reply January 14, 2010

Always, always captivated by your writing and your story.

Reply January 15, 2010

Beautiful....and awe inspiring. Amazing what we can do thru the inspiration of God. Not just anyone has the talent U do for words. Embrace all it can B. I've been a Mother (gave them back 2 God , for His safe keeping) and am now a grandmother and proud. Full circle......introspective ! ? Thanks 4 sharing.

Kelly Langner Sauer
Reply January 15, 2010

"It’s so good to know I’m not alone in my struggle to be both wife and mother. "

You make us feel that we are not alone either. And you say it so beautifully, Amber. And it doesn't take you forever to say it, either. Which, I think, is a good thing (coming from one who rambles on and on and on and on and on... :-D).

Kelly @ Love Well
Reply January 15, 2010

Touch weary. I thought about this post as I got into bed last night and my husband reached out for me and I jumped.

I think after a day of a sick girl at home and a toddler who always wants mommy and a baby-in-utero who never stops kicking, I just want to scream EVERYONE LEAVE ME ALONE!

But that is giving all of me to the children and none to my husband. Like you, I pray for desire. And God, who is so gracious, always supplies.

Adventures In Babywearing
Reply January 15, 2010

Breathtaking as always.


mandy Eoff
Reply January 15, 2010

love, love love it. i smiled several times as you put to words what i have felt so often. (the daydreaming of a vacation and my husband, the daily rhythm of life and endless needs and the wonder of will i ever want to again?!)

Reply January 16, 2010

The more I read your posts, the more I connect with the depth of who you are. You really show your stories instead of telling them, the sign of a good poet.

tiny twig
Reply February 15, 2010

this post gave me goosebumps of understanding...ahhhh, touch exhausted. so true. i've heard it doesn't last forever, though. and i've been praying those same prayers you describe. ahhh, the desire for desire. :)

p.s.--your writing is brilliant and beautiful.

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