Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Some Nights

Some nights, I go to bed so empty and so tired ... just spent from all that it takes to keep three small humans alive and relatively happy. It's worthwhile work, but it can be weary work, and there's just no sugarcoating that fact.

Some nights, and tonight is one of those nights, I go to bed full. My kids and I had a good day: we colored, we practiced patterns, we picked tomatoes, we ate our lunch out of little compartments in egg cartons, we took good naps, we had a good dinner, we played outside in the golden hour sunlight while daddy worked on the car, we giggled and tickled after baths.

I read the synposis of the latest Planned Parenthood video today, one where they talk about cutting a baby's head open to "harvest" its brain, while its heart is still beating. I couldn't watch the video for fear of totally undoing myself; the key quotes were enough. And so while I dressed my baby for bed, I particularly savored her perfect little body. The rolls on her legs, the peach-fuzz on her head. Her budding teeth that are causing us both so much grief. I marvel over her and I grieve for mamas everywhere who, for whatever reason, whether they have been deceived or exploited or they have no explanation whatsover, who have empty arms. I grieve for the babies whose souls went straight to heaven before they had a taste of earth. I'm convicted that in the bad days, I take these three little lives for granted, or that I even resent them. I'm so convicted it makes me ache. I want to take back all my wicked thoughts of days when I resent those babies, when I resent the gift that is life, just life, that I didn't create, but that I'm given to steward and to enjoy. I can't take it back, but I can rest in the Blood that covers my past ingratitude and my future short tempers and short-sightedness and short everything.

Tonight, I am full. But, upon reflection, it is a humble full, one that recognizes that this fulness is a gift, as is the very recognition thereof. I would love to fix the world so that every baby at least sees the light of day. Tonight, I start by asking God to help me treasure what he's given me, and then to let it ripple out from here.







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