One evening while we
were on our beach vacation back in April, we came across a young
couple who were chasing around their three small kids on the shore.
Our kids started running around with theirs, so since I was expecting
our third at the time, I struck up a conversation with the parents by
asking, “So, what's it like having three anyway?”
The dad joked in his
country accent, “Well, I woulda advised you against it, but I can
see I'm too late.”
I laughed, and even
though I wasn't quite there yet, I knew what he meant. It's always a
little crazy adding to the mix.
My two big kids are
growing up so fast, and I want to give them all I can, yet I have
spent so much time in the last year unable to be at my best for them.
I was too pregnant and too nauseated or too tired or too
uncomfortable for several months, and now the new little one requires
so much attention that I feel like this summer completely ran away
from us. I think about how I want to be doing more with them right
now and how guilty I sometimes feel that I have to divide myself up
even more, but they don't even notice any of that. They are loving
every minute of each day. They are loving their baby sister. And they
hug me and tell me how much they love me every night.
Those kids give
me grace.
My 2-month-old is a
great night sleeper (fingers crossed it stays that way) but is a
fierce little nap fighter during the day. I think my butt is
permanently imprinted in the recliner from spending so much time
nursing. It gets better each day, and I'm figuring her out, but I
don't always know exactly what she wants. As I forge ahead, trying to
meet the demands of a newborn without getting too frustrated, I don't
always succeed. But at night I lie in the dark and listen to her
little squeaks and contented sighs coming from the bassinet next to
me as she drifts off, satisfied, and I know she loves her mama.
That baby gives
me grace.
In the midst of all
this activity, I often feel that I've forgotten how to pray. I
struggle to put into words what I want to say to my heavenly Father
and don't often enough remember to talk to Him. I brush that
communication aside to meet the many needs around me and manage just
fine, or so I think, until I remember that I need guidance and wisdom
in order to do any of this life stuff right. Of all the frustrations
I face, I have the hardest time with the ones that come from within.
But He knows every one of them and loves me just the same.
That Father gives
me grace.
As this little
family travels along its path, I hear the clock ticking along with
the steady pace of the kids' growth. I want to keep them small enough
to fit in my arms, to keep them close enough to rest their heads upon
my chest. I want to know what lies ahead so I can prepare them for it. But I can't, so I savor the sweetest moments, the ones I'll always have to hold on to.
Even time gives me
grace.
I wouldn't advise
anyone against any of it – because even in all of the messy
madness, the fleeting failures, and the crazy chaos, grace surrounds
us. Grace carries us through.
I wish I knew how to
give it as freely as it is so often given to me.
