It's a Saturday morning, a gloomy one, which to me is the best kind of Saturday morning there is. The baby's sleeping, my husband is off to drama practice at church, and I'm sitting in the living room, steaming cup of coffee in hand, enjoying the quiet and taking a moment to attempt to sort out the many thoughts swirling around inside my head.
It's these moments that I've come to miss. The ones in which I've got time and space to explore my thought-life, sort through it, make sense of it. And I miss my hot cup of coffee. Oh, how I miss my hot cup of coffee.
The trade off is amazing, though. Having a five week old is a miracle on so many levels. For one, there's the sheer fact that I actually believed having children would not be possible for me. I had no medical basis for this crazy idea, just my own insecurities, hurts, and scars that taunted me whenever I paid my dream attention for even a moment. And yet, here she is. It's a miracle that she's healthy. It's a miracle that I'mhealthy. It's a miracle to watch my dreams come true, to literally watch the Lord answer my prayers in a tangible way, to see his blessings, to feel his approval and pleasure.
I can't remember when it was, exactly, but a few weeks ago I was sitting in bed watching the Today Show while I nursed Addie. It was during a particularly painful time of adjusting to breastfeeding, the time when it feels like you'd rather go through labor and delivery again instead of endure the constant (and seemingly unending) pain of nursing. I was frustrated because I thought that after giving birth, I'd feel so much better. No more acid reflux, no more feeling bloated and disgusting, no more sharp pains or difficulty breathing. But what I learned is that just when one difficulty is over, a new one presents itself.
There I was, the baby latched on and eating well, and me feeling like I wanted to give up, but feeling bad that I felt that way (because it was selfish of me, wasn't it?) when a segment about some male ice skater came on. I don't remember his name, I don't remember why he was being featured on the show, and I don't remember who sang the song he skated to. What I do remember is that he skated to "The Climb"--not the Miley Cyrus version, but a version sung by some other man. Anyway, tears started spilling down my face as I listened to it. The words rang true to my frustrated, exhausted heart. Isn't that the way of life? That there isn't just one trial, one hardship, one difficult season. There may be some relief in between them, but there's always going to be another one, right? And I don't say that to suggest that life is all terrible hardships, either. There are moments of brilliance shining among the dreary, difficult moments. There's the bitter, and the sweet, which when taken together make something complex and interesting--and truly wonderful.
As I sat there with a tear-stained face, I began to enjoy the sweet moment that was quickly slipping away. It was a miracle I was holding, one that I'd prayed for for years, one that I knew would soon be too old to nurse, one that would eventually go on to face her own share of hardships and heartbreaks. But for that one moment, there was just the two of us, learning to master this particular difficulty together.
And now I can see the fruit of our labors--she's growing so much, so fast. Just like my heart is for her. It's such a miracle.
It's these moments that I've come to miss. The ones in which I've got time and space to explore my thought-life, sort through it, make sense of it. And I miss my hot cup of coffee. Oh, how I miss my hot cup of coffee.
The trade off is amazing, though. Having a five week old is a miracle on so many levels. For one, there's the sheer fact that I actually believed having children would not be possible for me. I had no medical basis for this crazy idea, just my own insecurities, hurts, and scars that taunted me whenever I paid my dream attention for even a moment. And yet, here she is. It's a miracle that she's healthy. It's a miracle that I'mhealthy. It's a miracle to watch my dreams come true, to literally watch the Lord answer my prayers in a tangible way, to see his blessings, to feel his approval and pleasure.
I can't remember when it was, exactly, but a few weeks ago I was sitting in bed watching the Today Show while I nursed Addie. It was during a particularly painful time of adjusting to breastfeeding, the time when it feels like you'd rather go through labor and delivery again instead of endure the constant (and seemingly unending) pain of nursing. I was frustrated because I thought that after giving birth, I'd feel so much better. No more acid reflux, no more feeling bloated and disgusting, no more sharp pains or difficulty breathing. But what I learned is that just when one difficulty is over, a new one presents itself.
There I was, the baby latched on and eating well, and me feeling like I wanted to give up, but feeling bad that I felt that way (because it was selfish of me, wasn't it?) when a segment about some male ice skater came on. I don't remember his name, I don't remember why he was being featured on the show, and I don't remember who sang the song he skated to. What I do remember is that he skated to "The Climb"--not the Miley Cyrus version, but a version sung by some other man. Anyway, tears started spilling down my face as I listened to it. The words rang true to my frustrated, exhausted heart. Isn't that the way of life? That there isn't just one trial, one hardship, one difficult season. There may be some relief in between them, but there's always going to be another one, right? And I don't say that to suggest that life is all terrible hardships, either. There are moments of brilliance shining among the dreary, difficult moments. There's the bitter, and the sweet, which when taken together make something complex and interesting--and truly wonderful.
As I sat there with a tear-stained face, I began to enjoy the sweet moment that was quickly slipping away. It was a miracle I was holding, one that I'd prayed for for years, one that I knew would soon be too old to nurse, one that would eventually go on to face her own share of hardships and heartbreaks. But for that one moment, there was just the two of us, learning to master this particular difficulty together.
And now I can see the fruit of our labors--she's growing so much, so fast. Just like my heart is for her. It's such a miracle.
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