This is my boy.
He is over 5 weeks old and over 12 pounds now, and clearly,
he is a heart-breaker.
His sweet get-up is a gift from my dear friend Jana, who hand appliqued
the suspenders and tie. What a good looking fella, my Miles!
Last night I had a fussy baby.
On the floor I sat, in a soft glow emanating from the open bathroom door.
5 week old baby Miles lay on a small flannel blanket spread before me.
Since I couldn't make him comfortable in bed, I brought him into the light
for a diaper change and a visit - I hoped (perhaps in vain) to obtain quiet
so the hard-working daddy could sleep; and in the business of being comforter
I didn't even track the time.
It could have been 1am or 5. I could have been there for 20 minutes or and hour
I don't know, but the low steady sound of breathing from behind me was a balm as
Daddy slept on.
To my supreme pleasure, the clean diaper and small-talk with Miles seemed to
be just what the boy needed. Since I was already awake, I took some time to
marvel over all his small parts, features, and the pudgy rolls in his arms and legs.
He is a "plush" baby, as my friend Lauri likes to say :-)
I've been told he looks like me.
I think he looks perfect.
I smile in his sleepy face and whisper endless "I love yous", bending lower
over his body to smell his hair.
How do mothers do it? How do mothers function on so little sleep?
When asked, I'll stare blankly. "Do it?" Do you really think I am doing it?"
That's what I think to myself.
I happen to know that I'm running on prayer, grace, and the fumes of imagined sleep.
Just yesterday my 10 year-old Clayton asked me if I was thinking something.
"No... no," I replied "I'm sleeping with my eyes open."
And yet I savor this baby of mine in no particular hurry. I know that middle-of-the-night
rendezvous of this nature are fleeting.
He fusses. I turn him to his tummy and pat his back rhythmically.
The sound wakes my beloved and he offers help if I need it.
The offer is all I need this time - just the knowledge of his care - and I pick up my
now-quiet baby boy and hold him close in that soft light spilled on the floor.
There are lots of things I could think in a moment of nighttime solitude;
self-pity could be my theme, and yet...
yet I find myself surprised by what fills my consciousness.
Out of the darkness I hear my own voice say "This..."
This is exactly what I want to do with my life."
And I know it to be true.
Amazingly, there is always just enough supernatural strength to get through.
There is not always an abundance, or even as much as I would like there to be.
But there is always enough.
The Lord is exceedingly faithful to grant endurance through this season.
And because this situation (this number of children, this decision to educate at home,
this need to provide meals and direction, this lack of sleep) appears so impossible,
I can do only one thing:
Point to the Author of peace in my life, and the Giver of grace who sustains me.
He sustains, supports, and encourages.
In the darkness He whispers His delight of me.
I must believe Him, because ever so slowly I am learning to love what He loves.
And in an improbable turn of events, when my eyelids are heavy and my back burns and the
night seems never to end, I can't help feeling grateful.
As that tiny face looks up into mine and overrides all comfort and sanity
my heart cries this knowledge and my mouth agrees:
"This is exactly what I want to do with my life!"
4 years ago