I can already hear the buzz of the next ten weeks. Preparations for baby girl. Thanksgiving feasts. Christmas traditions. Extra appointments. End of the year meetings. Meanwhile, I feel my body slowly shutting down. Legs won't move. Back won't bend. Baby has a clear need to do her jujitsu practice in my womb at 4:30 a.m. when I so desperately need to sleep. Time ticks away, and I get slower each day.
The future terrifies me. I live under the shadow of fear all the time. Fear of never sleeping again. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of disaster. Fear of the unknowns that I don't have the awareness to fear. Fear of being too much and not enough all at the same. time. My coping mechanism for these fears is normally to do something. Make a phone call. Freeze an extra meal. Clean a bathroom. Do another load of laundry. Write down a to-do list. Just do something to prepare.
But right now, my knees are physically, forcibly bent to touch the earth. These have been some of the most humbling days of my life. The deep-seated need to prepare has been overpowered by the complete inability to move. In other words, my body won't allow me to try to be Spunky the Super Mom right now. Ha! Right now as I hobble around the house, struggling to make a bowl of cereal for my preschooler and to cook that egg for my toddler, I have to laugh. Spunky is LONG gone. She has been replaced by her 80-year-old great aunt Wimpy, who spends her afternoons crocheting and her days trying not to move more than is absolutely necessary all while sporting the latest fad... drumroll, please... compression hose.
I can't do it all. I can't prepare for all contingencies. I can't predict the weather either. Grrr... I'm just so powerless it's pathetic. And it's in these moments that I hear a still, small Voice calling to me... Trust, my daughter. Rest. Attack one REAL problem at a time. Let me worry about the unseen because, unlike you, I can actually see what is coming. Open your hands wide to receive my grace. Trust that I know all that you need and am looking out for your good. It may not feel good; but, my child, it will do you so much good. The enemy might intend it for evil, but it will be oh, so good. So let go, and give thanks.
So I return to my list, the list of gifts that somehow miraculously returns me to the present moment, focuses my heart on the now.
145. Cookies showing up at my door
146. A friend who lives her life at my house so I don't have to lift or even move.
147. A husband who does dishes... endless loads of dishes.
148. The Body who prays. I can feel the strength of your prayers.
149. The kicks of a wee little girl, itching to see the world.
150. Technology. It's at times like this that PBS Kids finds its way into our home.
151. Our new speech therapist. Love how well she loves my boys.
152. Caleb's love for information, for books, for a good story.
153. Ben's new ankle braces. So amazingly provided for.
154. Food IN my house when I can't leave my house.
155. Teacher Man's phone call. I love talking to him in the middle of my day.
156. The light in my house reflected off the snow outside. Just. Beautiful.
157. The good news of a friend's healthy pregnancy. For this child, we have prayed!
158. Teacher Man's "secret project" during naps yesterday. Woke up to bookshelves just for Caleb so he can read in his bunk bed.
159. Making jelly for the first time and just talking to a friend.
160. Ben's new words.
161. Resting on a Sunday afternoon with my big boy.
162. Laughter. (Ben brushing his hair with Teacher Man's toothbrush.) Still laughing about this.
163. God's Word about forgiveness. Needed to hear this again. and again.
Food gets eaten and clean carpet will get dirty, but the souls around me will live forever. Praising God for another day, even if I do have to live it sitting down.