This past month was really hard. The stomach virus hit, and Caroline got an ear infection and RSV. Isaac woke up one night throwing up all over his bed at 2:00 o'clock in the morning, and bless his heart, we didn't go back to sleep that night. A week later, he got the crud and ran a fever for a few days. Caroline cut three teeth. Heath had a migraine one night and the stomach virus another. I got sick, too, and when Mama's sick, well, everybody's sick. February was the month of no sleep.
One of those crazy, chaotic nights in particular after I had gotten Caroline to sleep, I remember standing at the sink, elbow deep in medicine syringes, sippy cups, and bottles, when I had a sobering thought:
I don't remember who I used to be.
And for a minute it took my breath away because it scared me. It scared me and made me feel sad. I even felt a huff of anger and a flash of resentment. I was tired. I was exhausted. I thought about the load of laundry that I had forgotten about in the washing machine. I thought about the pile of towels that needed folding and the sucker wrappers in the car. I thought about the sticky hand prints on the front door, the trash that needed taken out, and the puffs littering the floor by the high chair. I thought about the half-eaten bag of Goldfish sitting on the counter. I thought about my morning coffee still in the microwave where I had tried to warm it up--three different times--and still forgot about it. I thought about all the places I had to be and all the things I had to do and I GOT REALLY SAD. I got sad because my babies were sick and I was tired and I just wanted a nap and please someone just let me wake up before the kids in the morning! I could feel the devil rising up inside me, and I knew he was rejoicing.
But then I heard something.
I heard a slow, steady voice talking in the back of the house. I took a deep breath and inched towards the hall. What I heard stopped my heart: Heath was praying with our son. It wasn't one of those Now-I-Lay-Me-Down-to-Sleep prayers; it was real, and I could feel love and power and strength and perseverance coming from that little room in the back of the house. Tears rolled down my face and I just felt so proud. I thought about our little town and our state and this big ole world and thought, "How many daddies are praying with their little boys tonight?" I felt such strength emanating from that room. God had allowed every bitter feeling to flee my mind in that swift instant. I felt so shameful for ever doubting the Lord in where he was taking me in this life. I felt so silly for thinking that my suffering could ever amount to anything our Lord and Savior has ever undergone. I scolded myself as I wiped away the tears and vowed to never take what I had for granted again.
Mamas, you aren't mundane. Not mediocre. Marvelous. Magnificent. That's what we are.
My prayer for us this week, ladies, is that we will take what we see as the mundane, the mediocre, and realize that it's just a brush stroke in the painting of our lives. We aren't complete without each and every mark, each and every moment. It might seem tedious, boring, we might not even remember who we used to be back when life seemed to be full of excitement and spontaneity. But we are building something for our babies. Each and every moment, each time we discipline, each time we react can be a reflection of Christ, and we have to take that responsibility and respect it. When it feels like it's too much...when you feel overwhelmed and you know you're going to snap, just stop. Breathe. Pray. Even though we can't see the big picture, we can draw amazing strength from the small, tiny moments in our lives.
But be not thou far from me, O Lord: O my strength, haste thee to help me. Psalms 22:19
-Mallory
Thank you
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