Motherhood

It is a beautiful day.
Sun starting to rise and my sweet 4 turned 5 year old snuggles close.
She smells like spring.
I am a mother.
I am not a new mother.
My heart has been beating babies for 10 years.
Maybe longer.
But it seems my season is changing too.
It seems that God has His hand over my womb,
and is slowing its course.
My body seems to be falling into fall.
I am trying to learn acceptance,
for He controls life.
To have . . .
or not to have . . .
And I am thankful.
Thankful to have birthed all 5 of my precious peas . . .
Thankful to see 4 of them grow,
thankful to be allowed to hear someone say,
I love you Mom.
Thankful to give God all the glory,
and thankful to trust.

When Grief Becomes Sin

It happened so subtly, so sneakily, I hadn't noticed.
This grief became an excuse.
I never said it out loud. True enough.
But the lasting effects my health has dealt with,
the lasting effects my emotions have dealt with,
have allowed complacency.
A cold indifferent complacency.
My smile has been a sacrifice.
One I haven't been to ready to make.
I have sinned.
The Lord has put it on my heart to speak softly and sweetly,
but I have become crass, crude and coarse in my tone and language.
I thought what else was a woman who has lost a child supposed to do when hope deferred hits hard.
I never thought it consciously of course.
Satan is much to smart for that.
No he whispers in my ear, that this lot,
to lose a child, to deal with health that hasn't completely mended,
is unjust.
And after I rebuke that,
he whispers I deserve it.
That one tends to pervade.
I am weak.
And so the lies slip in.
Permeating the truth,
and choking me dry.
And so I give in and I sin.
I believe I cannot conquer and so I react painfully wrong.
Lazily, cowardly, and harshly.
To myself.
To others.
I compromise convictions.
I tell myself it is right.
But, I know . . . I know that it isn't.
It happened so small, so bit by bit, morsel by morsel,
that I hadn't realized the trail was set, the bait taken,
and the straight and narrow had become quite wide.
But, God.
God.
He keeps calling,
although the whisper was hard for me to hear this time.
I feel his fingers reaching for mine,
and I am turning back.

I Haven't Written

My fingers haven't typed,
My words haven't poured,
but they are here in my heart.
I have so much to say,
and yet I hold back,
sometimes laziness, discouragement, or true lack of time.
There are faces that grasp me,
that I don't gaze at enough.
I pray often as to whether I should blog.
I pray often as to whether I should use the computer at all.
I have to prioritize.
I have to ask God what each day should bring.
I have to wake each morning with prayers singing straight out from my heart.
But very often, so very often,
I wake to sleepiness, lack of fortitude,
lack of resolve.
Lord help me to do better.