As our hands circled the dinner table,

we sang the overly familiar song,

the same song sung evening after evening,

day after day,

week after week.

Even though I try and try to sneak in a new tune,

grace is never fully accepted from our three-year-old until “the song” is sung.

 

 

 

 

“God our Father,

God our Mother,

Once again,

Once again,

We thank You for our blessings,

We thank You for our blessings,

Amen,

Amen.”

As we sang this song again,

but now with arms enfolded around our newest,

completing our family circle to five,

yes and yes…

so many blessings.

I have all I have ever wanted in life.

An adoring and compassionate spouse,

three children who bring so much joy to life,

family and friends,

and a sense of call and purpose.

Blessings truly abound. 

Maybe there is something to be said for repetition.

Once again,

Once again,

We thank You,

We thank You…

For I have a hard heart that so easily glosses over the truly good things in life,

and wants to rest on the annoying song sung…again.

But true re-orientation happens as I recall again and again,

those blessings both large and small,

that breathe over me each and every day.

Yes, truly grace abounds.

Joy floods over me like a tidal wave.

And there is only one way to respond to these gifts,

Thank You.

Thank You.

How does the name,

“Isaac Job,”

sound for our baby still (yes, still) waiting to join us this side of the world?

Isaac for the long-awaited child-gift,

Job for being perhaps the most patient man in the entire world.  

I kid, I kid, (this will not be his real name,) but really, I can hardly believe week 41 is approaching tomorrow. So, so difficult.  At points I feel as though this child will never come, will never make his appearance into my arms, that I will be pregnant forever.

And yet, I too, know that this shall pass.

But oh, the waiting.

The expectations of what is to come, what the story will be, who this person will be, and how he will change our lives.

This morning, as I went to pen some thoughts in my journal, I came across the birth story I had written for Owen nearly six years ago.

It brought tears to my eyes to see the similarities of his story with this babe’s slow and patient emerging one.

On the day you were born…  (written January 14, 2007)

On the day you were born, darkness covered the earth, and the stars twinkled and danced high above in expectation.  For the entire earth knew something marvelous, that something incredibly special was about to happen.

It was when the moon was at its highest that I first felt you awaken.  Like a dream, I too, was awakened to the feel of your announcement, “I’m ready!”  Emotions flooded me–feelings of excitement to finally meet you, to feelings of nervousness of how it would all play out.   For this was the day which you would be born.

As your space inside became more cramped and as you tried to wriggle into position, I too, became more uncomfortable and together Daddy and I got our things around and headed to the hospital.  The drive to the city was mostly silent.  We moved through the street lights, like counters–each one passed brought us closer and closer to meeting the love of our lives.  A love that is deeper than words, for a person never yet met.  Such a strange paradox–such mystery.

As we settled into the hospital, it seemed you sensed a nervous energy within me, as I rather detest them, even though your Daddy works in one.  Such strange sounds, such uncomfortable positions–and following my cue, you decided once here that perhaps you would wait a little more.  To wait a little longer until the coast was clear and all was right with the world.  But dear child, the world will never be right, and the coast will always remain a bit clouded.  However, coming into arms held wide, stretched open in love to receive you forever is surety.

We labored long and hard together–it was as though our first argument erupted.  To come, to coax, to retreat, to stall.  There was nothing I could do to fully convince you to come into this bright, cold, open world from your warm, dark, cozy home of nine months.

So the doctors needed to convince you.  With silver spoons they took you and gently guided you along with my heart beating faster and faster, as you transformed from fetus to infant.  With a final push at 6:07pm on August 29, 2006, you emerged into this world.  A little angry, from being taken from the only home you knew, you wailed and told me the entire story of how unfair it all seemed.  As I held you on my belly, my eyes were peeled at this gift before me, and heart full of unbelief that you were finally,  finally here.  All 8 lbs. 6.7 oz of you, cradled in my arms.

It was as though the entire earth itself took a giant breath in as you took your first.  That even though you emerged into a cold and somewhat rogue place, you were/are held so dearly, and are loved so fully by your father and me.

What a gift you are.  And what a gift to the world you will be; spreading light into the darkness, twinkling brightly as a ray of hope to those who sit in the shadows of night.

Just as the day began, so too, Owen, will your life take form and shine.

Owen, the day you were born, the whole earth smiled, and gave thanks.

________________________________

“Isaac Job,” our dear patient one, we too, wait in anticipation and expectation for you.

The entire earth is poised in celebration of your coming arrival.

And first to meet you and welcome you home will be your Mama.

I can’t wait!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I awoke this morning to two monkeys jumping around, over, and on top of me.

Please, watch this belly.  Yes, it is huge and in the way, but it does carry your brother!

(Who, by the way, you should be meeting any day/hour/minute, but who is counting??!)

They were wrestling, they were kicking, they were squealing, giggling, tossing and turning my once peaceful retreat into a full-fledged WWF ring.

Good morning to all.

As I dodged the hoopla and struggled with every fiber in my being to roll to the side and then prop myself up on the edge (which is near the proportion of turning a large barge around),

I wondered why.

Why do boys love wrestling?

Why can boys simply not keep their hands off of one another?

Why all of this commotion in the morning?

For the love of all things holy and quiet…and by the way, where is my coffee?

Can’t they just go off and knit and read or have a quiet conversation with one another about dreams and unicorns and rainbows?

I know, I know…they are boys. This physical play is something that I will never fully understand or have a need for.

I know, I know…I am 40 weeks pregnant.  Life just seems that much more overwhelming at this point.

I wondered if this type of behavior bothers my husband, Shawn, as much? Being a guy, does he experience these squeals and slams, jokes and jack-knives in the same way?

Because let’s be honest, they are often like nails on a chalkboard for me.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

What is my role in all of this as the only female in this testosterone dominated household? Would it be better if the main parental duty was fulfilled by Shawn?  Because I just. don’t. get. it.

And if I’m really honest, I just. don’t. want. to get. it.

Pregnancy hormones rage.

As I was breathing a prayer of strength and sanity arising from the bed-ring, I was reminded that my role is to also teach compassion and empathy.  To offer a balance, warmth and love, even in the midst of the rough and tumble.

This is not to say that men do not offer these qualities, because if any of you have ever met Shawn, he embodies these, personifies these–most times, much, much more than me.

But as I placed my feet on the carpet, rising to another day of parenting and shaping lives, I found strength and purpose to put one swollen foot in front of the other, because they need me and my perspective I bring to this world from a feminine point-of-view.

As these flying munchkins jump off their ring to chase each other to the next, I open my wings and pull them both close.

For a moment, they quiet and nuzzle in the morning warmth.

And then off they fly.

And I realized in that brief moment, they fly because of the warmth and security of my mother wings.  Giving them a home to always fly back to in the crazy and unpredictable world.  A place of peace, nurture, and love.

God, shelter me today, in your all-encompassing wings, supporting and uplifting my own frail arms to provide a nest for my squawking brood.

May we all be sheltered in your breast and find our home in you today.