i have been writing a new collection of poetry. the last time i committed to that, it was as a gift to my parents before i got married. this time it is for my son.
becoming a mother is no joke. social media shouts at expectant mothers to prepare for mental and emotional struggles from day one, to expect anxiety, depression, exhaustion, discouragement, overwhelming doubt, and more. while these feelings and experience are medically proven to be common among post-partum women, i found myself so engorged with information that i was unable to process it or what was happening in my own brain and body. something was wrong in that picture.
i am learning.
motherhood, no matter what social media says, is not about me. it is not about my feelings, my need to be needed, or my insecurity. this journey is about the maturation of my son's soul, and i will miss it if i listen to the voices that tell me it's about my fulfillment. he needs support and tools for a life beyond me.
yet, no matter how deeply i grasp that truth, i will always have thoughts, feelings, and insecurities. i am human and i deeply feel my own emotions as well as those of the people around me. so what do i do with that? right now, i am writing a collection of poetry.
i think the sun is rising. i think i am learning to breathe a little more deeply. i think i am learning grace in every sense of the word. i think we are coming around the corner.
Zechariah told Israel
how their Messiah would come
riding in on
the foal of a donkey;
saving His people
in conquering glory --
two mountain top moments,
millennia apart.
But Israel was so ready
for glory
they missed their Messiah
even as they sang hosanna
and cut branches for His way.
He taught them.
He cried over them.
He cleaned their temple.
He told them glory was coming.
He told them He would die first.
But Israel was so ready
for glory
they cut themselves off from
their hosannas and
their Messiah and
they cried crucify --
two mountain top moments,
barely a week apart.
Imagine
the true vine
bringing out all the stops,
knowing they'd cut themselves off.
Imagine
his life hanging
in the balance
when Israel tossed
the balance out.
Imagine
knowing Israel's choice
before they made it.
Imagine
crying over them anyway.
Imagine.
Realize we're still
waiting for glory.
Imagine.
And remember
our King.
we are moving in less than a month. it will be my seventh move in eight years, my second with Tanner and our first with Arlo. how do we clean, pack, drive, unpack, settle in, etc. with a baby? thousands, maybe millions, of people have done it. it's possible for sure, but we've never done it before. how do we know we're doing it right?
updating our friends and family has not gotten easier for me since Arlo's birth. the days seem to pass in a twilight zone and I am lost in a flurry of paperwork, study, and preparation for the future. this morning I was encouraged by an elderly Brazilian missionary. he said, "the only thing you cannot do is give up...for the work God has ahead of you. it is not the work you will do that will count, but the work God does through you that will last for eternity." I share that because this flurry is blurring my vision. I'm struggling to see what I have to do and what will just be, does that make sense?
like, God is working through me, yes, but if I never fill out the paperwork that needs to be filled out, will we ever get where we need to go? probably not. so what are my responsibilities and where does God say, "no matter what you do, Vivian, I have ordained this to take place"?
that's where we are right now.
moving forward and waiting for answers.
i am afraid that my son will stop breathing while i am asleep.
i am afraid that he sleeps too much.
i am afraid that he doesn't eat enough.
i am afraid that i don't engage his developing mind while he is awake.
i am afraid of the future:
will i know what he needs to grow well?
will i allow him to do dangerous things carefully?
i'm not just afraid of things with my son;
i am afraid of slacking.
i am afraid of myself.
and i know that all of my cares and fears and worries should be cast on Christ. i know these burdens aren’t necessary for me to carry alone, yet they’re all twisted and tangled up in my mind and they’re hard to sort from the thoughts that are helpful.
we’ve survived for six weeks, but survival isn’t the goal. we want to thrive. so i’m praying, Lord, let us thrive.
