These little steps of mine

In so many areas of my life, I am eager to run full stride. To find a rhythm that allows me to syncopate what is in and around me. Maybe this is part of why I love running . . . allowing my body to let loose on the pavement, pound away at my questions or insecurities of the day, and return home sweaty but sure. I was raised with a sound work ethic and dreamers inclination, so often this finds me believing that if I just work hard enough I can achieve, attain and accomplish whatever it is I've set my mind to.

(Enter adulthood i.e. . . reality.)

While yes, this belief is in part true and has served me well, there are experiences where no amount of hard work or determination can speed the process along. This is a hard truth for dreamers like me, and is perhaps why algebra as an 8th grader or studying Chinese as a late twenty-something were identity-altering experiences. It seemed that no matter how hard I worked, formulas, equations, or verb tenses would not instantaneously appear in my mind or pour out of my mouth. These things took time, patience, and perseverance. 

Motherhood I'm finding to be no different. While I'm savoring each moment of Brooks' development, I do not savor the "working out" of my own salvation per say. I want to snap my fingers and have identity issues solved and neatly tucked away. I want to wake up and instantly know how to balance ministry and motherhood. I want to wiggle my nose "Bewitched" style and have beautifully mastered my home, meals, and relationships. (Experienced mothers everywhere snicker). 

As I've wrestled with the reality that just like Brooks my own development is in fact a process, several passages of Scripture have come to mind about how Christ calls us to move. While my heart is eager to run, so often we see the children of Scripture take small step after small step. I can't imagine the agony of thousands of tiny steps in dessert sand by the wilderness wanderers, or the hopeless shuffle of those waiting and watching for the Messiah.  

But then I think of the children of Israel at the edge of the Jordan waiting to move towards Jericho and their promised homeland. They're commanded to "come to the brink". Yikes. We see in Joshua 3 that "when the soles of the feet of the priests bearing the ark of the Lord . . . shall rest in the waters of the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan shall be cut off from flowing, and the waters coming down from above shall stand in one heap." What a first step that must of been. One small step, stepping from the brink. Waiting, expecting, hoping, praying . . . that the waters would still. Not wave a magic wand, dance around or make a fuss, just take a step. A small, wholly trusting step. 

And then I think of Peter. Rash, often foolish Peter. So eager to encounter Jesus that his small physical step had him walking on water. Sure, he sank like a rock as soon as he saw the wind, but he took a step and experienced the enabling and saving power of Jesus. 

I'm reminded that we are called to step out, never knowing if the miraculous or the mundane will ensue. But I believe that it's in the faith of these tiny, often monotonous steps, that the God of the universe meets us. We never know what these little steps of ours will result in . . . dry ground to conquer strongholds, logic-defying intimacy with our Lord, who knows? I just know that my heart is so often ready to run or leap, and just skip over all the little steps along the way. Funny, how the Kingdom of God so seldom works that way. Yes, we are often called to make bold leaps into the unknown, but how do you think the Lord brings us to that brink? Tiny step after tiny step, in which we are proving that we are faithful to follow. 

And yet, also as those who carry the very presence of God in our midst, I want to be like David who erupted in dance and worship after six measly steps. Six steps that proved God was true to his promise to bless and secure those His presence dwelt among.

I'm not sure where you are today, but I'm striving to be faithful with these little steps of mine. Faithful to follow, so that when I come to my own brink of faith, I have developed the faith to simply leap.

Mommyhood 101

Naptime, glorious naptime. Those precious few hours of the day where you choose to Tasmanian devil it around the house trying to get things done, or do something indulgent like shower, have lunch or even blog. While I'm not thankful my little man wanted to party two hours earlier than normal last night, I am thankful for good naps today. That my friends, is the stuff dreams are made of. Or at least the dreams of a new Mommy.

It's in these quiet moments that I find my heart trying to catch its breath, and my mind trying to be still just long enough to figure out what the heck is going on and what might be next. As I plod along down this golden albeit sometimes rocky road called motherhood, I'm realizing more and more just how much I stink these days at dividing my time and attention. I used to be proud of how I could multi-task, but I am convinced that skill went out the window along with a non-muffin topped waistline. Because you've see, I've learned that when these tiny people of ours arrive they fill up just about every inch of your heart and mind and then some. In my 4.5 months of knowing Brooks Michael Bentley he has filled up more of me than I even knew existed.

I maybe should have caught on that my sweetly packaged life and sense of self was in for some undoing when we reached hour 40 of labor, still with no sign of a baby. I should have maybe known that crunches would take a back seat to breast feeding when my voracious little eater latched on at minute 5 of his life. And I maybe should have caught on that how I know and understand God was forever changed the second I heard his gusty cries and almost topped them in gusto and volume with my own.

Babies have a way of doing that I'm learning. Changing, altering, taking over. My plans, my body, my time . . . all belongs to this bald, pudgy, gummy smiled little guy who has taken up residence in my home and my heart. It's hard, really hard for people like me who like to plan and always "have it together". Babies aren't so interested in that. One of the many things I've learned to love about Brooks so far is he is a passionate little fellow with opinions to be shared. (I can't imagine where he inherited that trait). When he plays, there is no stopping the constant motion of his legs. And when he's hungry, me and most of the building are made well aware.

I think the Lord knew I would need a baby like this, one that would throw down the gauntlet per say and invite me to give it up and give it over. Because when I decide to quit worrying about my inbox or calendar and just decide to spend a few hours on the floor blowing raspberries on a bulging tummy, my heart soars to the heavens in worship as we laugh together. When I chose to r-e-l-a-x about that days health, feeding or sleeping concern, I can treasure the sweetness of this miracle nestled contentedly against my skin even if it's not at a planned or even preferred time of day.

I don't want to miss this; this season, these lessons. I want to get over myself and my ideas of how things should be so that I am who my baby, and more importantly, my God needs. There is worship in surrender, and yes, it's painful. But Lord oh Lord, if my 42 hours of labor are any indication of how the pains of mommyhood are repaid . . . sweet Jesus is it worth it.

Brooks Michael, Jesus?

I'm in.

(gulp)