By Mary
"From your head down to your toes, you're not much goodness knows, but you're so precious to me, sweet as can be, baby of mine."
I sing snippets of these lyrics to the little ones in my house, sometimes as I marvel at their preciousness while my heart proclaims their perfection and sometimes in more of an effort to remind myself that no matter who's doing the screaming this time or why, they are just as precious. And really, they are sweet. I mean, don't ask me why I had to have a conversation with my almost 3 year old about licking people (maybe she hangs out with the dog too much?) And don't ask me why my little guy decides he can't be happy about anything after his afternoon nap unless someone will take him for a walk first. I'll never know.
I do know I want to be a visionary mommy, with eyes that see beyond temper tantrums and inconsolable baby moments and messy rooms and sleepless nights. I don't want to view my role as simply a management position, keeping everyone and everything organized and functioning. I try to remind myself to look for the heart of the matter, the heart of my child, and to not see a difficult moment as just something to get through but also something to use. And I hold my baby a few extra moments at night before I lay him in his bed and find rest in mine again, savor his head against my shoulder, my cheek against his hair.
I pray for them...that they would be excellent in what is good, innocent of evil. I pray Gianna won't outgrow her confidence, her loving and helpful spirit. I want her always to be able to accept that she's something special in the same easy, assured way, without vanity.
In the first weeks after my son was born, I'd hold his sweet tiny little self and just pray for that innocence in his darling little face, those trusting blue eyes. I don't know if it's just because I'm personally (obviously) less familiar with being a man in the world today than with the struggles women face, but there just seems to be so much out there ready to attack and hinder my little boy from being a real, strong, gentle man.
But while I can waste the days away worrying, it all comes back to the same thing: these precious-as-can-be babies of mine aren't mine. And there's two ways for my to view that. They are not mine to manage and train into something for my ease or enjoyment or quality of life. And they're not mine to save.
When I think of babies, it's easy for me to almost put them in the same category as puppies-lots of work but so cute and sweet and making life even more enjoyable. And I really find it so necessary to remind myself that this is how God brings each person into the world. His unique creation for His unique purposes. It awes me and humbles me. God doesn't just create grown people and place them around the world at the right moment for a specific task. Even His own Son came as a newborn. May I never be shortsighted and see the now as all there is--or the now as insignificant. And may I never take up the pattern of fear and worry by assuming the role of God. I hope rather to humbly seek Him on their behalf as their mommy...and let Him use me as He wills.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Friday, November 14, 2014
relearning
by Alanna
I started writing a nice blog sometime early last week I think. It was about lingering, and the way that baby girl makes me slow down and just be. Open my eyes and breathe in the world, thank God for it and every precious moment I have with her. I never got to finish or post that blog, but it was just as well.
Last Saturday we took our first trip out of the house since her birth, and that night I came down with a high fever. I've spent the last 5 days in bed, with no energy to read or check e-mail. The exception was the trip we made to the emergency wing of Lutheran hospital, where I was hooked up to IVs for an hour and gave away lots of blood to the doctors so they could check all kinds of things. (And no- there's hardly anything wrong with me. And yes- I do feel that hospitals and doctors alike tend to overreact to a fever). Baby girl slept peacefully in her dad's arms for hours. I got sent home with antibiotics. My husband made me a little schedule of the 5 things I need to do every 2-6 hours, depending. Between taking pills and doing hot and cold compresses, I try to sleep and nurse the baby and even occasionally eat food myself.
I've been grumpy a lot. I cried a few times, got impatient with the baby, impatient with my husband, impatient with myself, impatient with God for not healing me faster. Just when I was starting to feel recovered from giving birth, I felt like I was back to square one. Stuck in my dark bedroom, helpless and weak. Winter arrived while I've been in bed. All my high talk of gratitude and gifts and lingering was just talk. Too easy because life was beautiful and the sun was shining. Nursing wasn't too hard, I hadn't been really sick in years. But accept infections and weakness as a gift? I refused it. Refused to accept pain and chills as from Him. And when your fist is closed tight, no good thing can be placed in it.
I got a card from my dear friend here (glittersmallworld.blogspot.com), with these convicting words "so thankful we are seeing his gifts so clearly." Oh but my heart is ugly these days, and my eyes all tight shut like the curtains in my dark room. Then a few hours later, a phone call. Someone who just had spinal cord surgery, telling me how thankful she was for time spent in a neck brace in bed, unable to do anything. Because she listened to the Bible on her ipod, and God taught her and blessed her so much. And me? Crying over a simple infection. Using pain as an excuse for all kinds of unlove toward my family.
So by God's grace I turned over my tight fist and opened my palm and breathed thank You God for this. Thank You Jesus for this infection. For being bound to my bed for days. For my husband's patience with me. For my baby girl's smiles. For being gifted with a family at all. For my eyes that still open and my hands that still turn and my lungs that still breathe air. Why do I wake in the morning and take all this for granted? My dear friend told me that if we prayed more often for daily bread, we would be more thankful and see more answers to prayers. I don't want to lose sight of this- 'small' gifts that aren't small at all. I feel that all my words and ramblings always come back to this. I am so very unworthy. My Father is astoundingly good.
I started writing a nice blog sometime early last week I think. It was about lingering, and the way that baby girl makes me slow down and just be. Open my eyes and breathe in the world, thank God for it and every precious moment I have with her. I never got to finish or post that blog, but it was just as well.
Last Saturday we took our first trip out of the house since her birth, and that night I came down with a high fever. I've spent the last 5 days in bed, with no energy to read or check e-mail. The exception was the trip we made to the emergency wing of Lutheran hospital, where I was hooked up to IVs for an hour and gave away lots of blood to the doctors so they could check all kinds of things. (And no- there's hardly anything wrong with me. And yes- I do feel that hospitals and doctors alike tend to overreact to a fever). Baby girl slept peacefully in her dad's arms for hours. I got sent home with antibiotics. My husband made me a little schedule of the 5 things I need to do every 2-6 hours, depending. Between taking pills and doing hot and cold compresses, I try to sleep and nurse the baby and even occasionally eat food myself.
I've been grumpy a lot. I cried a few times, got impatient with the baby, impatient with my husband, impatient with myself, impatient with God for not healing me faster. Just when I was starting to feel recovered from giving birth, I felt like I was back to square one. Stuck in my dark bedroom, helpless and weak. Winter arrived while I've been in bed. All my high talk of gratitude and gifts and lingering was just talk. Too easy because life was beautiful and the sun was shining. Nursing wasn't too hard, I hadn't been really sick in years. But accept infections and weakness as a gift? I refused it. Refused to accept pain and chills as from Him. And when your fist is closed tight, no good thing can be placed in it.
I got a card from my dear friend here (glittersmallworld.blogspot.com), with these convicting words "so thankful we are seeing his gifts so clearly." Oh but my heart is ugly these days, and my eyes all tight shut like the curtains in my dark room. Then a few hours later, a phone call. Someone who just had spinal cord surgery, telling me how thankful she was for time spent in a neck brace in bed, unable to do anything. Because she listened to the Bible on her ipod, and God taught her and blessed her so much. And me? Crying over a simple infection. Using pain as an excuse for all kinds of unlove toward my family.
So by God's grace I turned over my tight fist and opened my palm and breathed thank You God for this. Thank You Jesus for this infection. For being bound to my bed for days. For my husband's patience with me. For my baby girl's smiles. For being gifted with a family at all. For my eyes that still open and my hands that still turn and my lungs that still breathe air. Why do I wake in the morning and take all this for granted? My dear friend told me that if we prayed more often for daily bread, we would be more thankful and see more answers to prayers. I don't want to lose sight of this- 'small' gifts that aren't small at all. I feel that all my words and ramblings always come back to this. I am so very unworthy. My Father is astoundingly good.
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