In answer to this question, I’m always getting perspective. I certainly am not going to go on record as saying that I always possess it, that’s for sure.

I think I got off on the right foot, thanks to examples like Mom and Brietta; growing up with tons of younger siblings and seeing with my own eyes that toddlers do eventually outgrow habitual juice-spilling ; and being ridiculously task-oriented my whole life and therefore constantly having to learn that God cares about my response to the process.

Before Jameson was born, I found ann v’s blog, and her posts on joy, gratitude, and worshipful living reinforced all I knew to be true: that all I do is part of my worship sacrifice to the Lord. How that elevates the mundane!

Sometimes (read: last week), I still don’t remember. I still believe the thoughts that I’ve failed. I still look around and think that I’m not sowing the right seeds — after all, we’re eating at a hastily thrown together table with paper plates, watching TV when in my ideal imaginations he’d be building entire cities out of blocks, and I haven’t done a thing to make Thanksgiving anything other than read a pilgrim storybook over and over — and doesn’t all of that mean I’ll have lousy fruit? That my kids will never have manners, won’t appreciate creativity, and are destined to a childhood lacking any stability and tradition?

Yeah. I succumb to those things sometimes, too. And it sounds silly all written out like that, but it’s not silly in my head, I assure you. They’re bullying thoughts. I have a hard time refuting them. (Isn’t a good lie the kind that’s half truth?)

Of course, that’s the perfect setup for being rescued, again. For being drawn out of many waters. I can’t even tell you how, but God hears my cries of, “Uncle! I don’t know what to pray, what to read, what to memorize, what to say… just FIX ME!” — and He does. He restores my joy. He pushes away those dark, menacing clouds and says, “Just trust Me.”

Tuesday night I fell asleep crying. Wednesday morning I woke up ready to just enjoy each moment as best I could, as a gift from God. It’s not like He had painted this clear picture of a brilliant future in my dreams — a future where everything will play out exactly the way I have it envisioned. In fact, He didn’t really speak to my worries and doubts and self-deprecation at all. He just lifted my head, helped me to see Him.

And He is the lamp for my feet. All the light I need to take my next step in confidence.

(But I am really hoping that the future does include sons who know how to eat politely!)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.