I went to bed last night determined that this would be the week I would begin waking up with an alarm clock before the little mister, that I would daily exercise and get those abs back into shape (or at least, into a new shape; not sure they’ll ever go “back”…), and that I would spend a few moments alone in thought and prayer.
Except that I fell asleep while nursing the baby and forgot to set the alarm, so I woke with his wiggling at 7:30. (No, he doesn’t sleep straight through to 7:30. I’m just skipping over the unnecessary details of midnight feedings.) No problem, I thought. I’ll just nurse him, lay him back down, and get on with my plan.
Except he wouldn’t go back to sleep. No sirree. So at 8:30, I brought him to daddy, cooing happily, so I could shower. After that, I could put him to sleep, exercise, etc.
You can guess how the morning went. By the time I realized he wasn’t going to cooperate with my new plan, the exhaustion that I had failed to calculate was turning me into a fuzzy, weepy zombie.
So here I sit, unexercised, no alone thoughts, with a baby napping on my chest. And this, I realize, is my daily bread. As much as I’d like to be a size 4 again, and as much as I’d enjoy a few minutes to journal here and there, I’d much rather be faithful to do my Father’s will for each day. And I figure, I might as well learn to be content with sacrificing for my children while there’s only one — because I think it’s going to get harder before it gets easier!
This idea that the Lord knows my needs and is caring for me has ministered to me so much since my first week with Jameson. I had no idea that recovery from delivering my baby would be so incredibly long and difficult. I knew about the waking up in the middle of the night part. I didn’t really know about the body feeling like I’d been run over by a truck or pummeled by a prize fighter. Didn’t know I’d be so tired I could fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. Or that walking to the bathroom would require that I stop and rest two or three times on the way. I remember one night, as I nursed Jameson, praying in tears and telling the Lord that I really needed to sleep for a long time — please, just make the baby sleep? And the Holy Spirit spoke and strengthened my heart in such a real way: I know what you need. If you only get 5 hours of broken sleep, then I promise, I’ll help you through tomorrow.
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that whispered since then, or how many times I’ve rested in that thought. Sleep, to-do lists, devotions, Christmas shopping, meal planning, church ministry — it’s so much easier to just do my best and trust that He’ll help me with each day. He knows the season I’m in much better than I do, and when my every plan goes awry (and I mean every plan!), He provides the grace to deal with the outcome. And most of the time, I find that He gives me 5 minutes here and there to do what I need to do. It’s not the way I used to live — with each day planned to the minute — but you know what? It works. It works just fine.
And just in case I ever need to be reminded of His grace for my season, I’m going to hold onto this article for future reference.
“He will . . . gently lead those who are with young.” — isaiah 40