Every So Often
... when I look at my little girl snoozing away in the crib, I am overcome.
I see her small frame rising and lowering with each breath. I look at her tiny, chubby fingers clasped onto the blanket and her little mouth slightly agape. She's our baby. She's actually the product of Hubbs and I.
I can hardly believe that what was once a dream, a longing, and a seeming impossibility is now my reality. I am a mother. I am her momma.
And with that comes another thought - I am responsible for this life. *I* am responsible. Her very survival depends on me, on us, on Hubbs and I. The magnitude of this realization hits me hard, and as the awareness sinks in like water seeping into fertile soil, I feel my heart rate suddenly increase and my breathing quicken. The enormity of the task nearly overwhelms me, and my mind begins to race through the many ways in which I am wholly unqualified to look after this beautiful little gift. I suddenly feel light-headed and have to steady myself and take deep, cleansing breaths.
Before my mind begins a downward spiral into the dark and ugly places, I must interrupt my own thoughts and turn from thinking to prayer. Where is your center, woman? Who is your center? Questions that trigger my trained, Sunday School response: Jesus. And as I dare to utter His name, even out of habit, suddenly the cloud lifts and the heaviness of my burden as a mother dissipates like a mist. I remember. This road is not one that Hubbs and I travel alone, nor is it one that has never been tread; we walk on holy ground because He accompanies us the entire way. Jesus. In Him, through Him, for Him. Right!
And with that, anxiety is turned into adoration, and worry to worship.
Thank You Jesus.
I see her small frame rising and lowering with each breath. I look at her tiny, chubby fingers clasped onto the blanket and her little mouth slightly agape. She's our baby. She's actually the product of Hubbs and I.
I can hardly believe that what was once a dream, a longing, and a seeming impossibility is now my reality. I am a mother. I am her momma.
And with that comes another thought - I am responsible for this life. *I* am responsible. Her very survival depends on me, on us, on Hubbs and I. The magnitude of this realization hits me hard, and as the awareness sinks in like water seeping into fertile soil, I feel my heart rate suddenly increase and my breathing quicken. The enormity of the task nearly overwhelms me, and my mind begins to race through the many ways in which I am wholly unqualified to look after this beautiful little gift. I suddenly feel light-headed and have to steady myself and take deep, cleansing breaths.
Before my mind begins a downward spiral into the dark and ugly places, I must interrupt my own thoughts and turn from thinking to prayer. Where is your center, woman? Who is your center? Questions that trigger my trained, Sunday School response: Jesus. And as I dare to utter His name, even out of habit, suddenly the cloud lifts and the heaviness of my burden as a mother dissipates like a mist. I remember. This road is not one that Hubbs and I travel alone, nor is it one that has never been tread; we walk on holy ground because He accompanies us the entire way. Jesus. In Him, through Him, for Him. Right!
And with that, anxiety is turned into adoration, and worry to worship.
Thank You Jesus.
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