Candles are lit, Jon is gone, Ella Fitzgerald's Christmas album is playing, and I'm picking at some leftover gingerbread so it's high time I wrote again.
Everyone loves October, but for me November takes the cake. But literally, my birthday is in November, so that's when I get the most cake. And all of the other celebrations are looming ahead: the family birthdays, Thanksgivings, anniversary, Christmas, and then the newest celebration added to the calendar: the birth of my daughter who up until that point will have only been a kicking, prodding being in my belly that keeps me awake. But in a moment, she will no longer be a faceless baby in my head, but a real child in my arms, and if what I'm told is correct, I will never be the same.
That phrase scares me and I'm grieving the life I have now that is close to ending. My wonderful, 40 hour-a-week job that feels so holy and exciting and fulfilling will become only a small part of my calling. I will trade in long work days for sleepless nights, staff meetings for diaper changes, and talking about crushes to talking about feedings. This adjustment seems too distant to deal with now, but the weeks are flying by and before I know it, I'll be in the hospital I toured last week. And these dying leaves falling one by one remind me ominously of this life that will end as a new one is brought forth.
I am more excited than I thought I would be, and I can't wait to tell her all the places I've carried her while she's being knit together in there. We drove her tiny body down to North Myrtle Beach and I sleepily drug her with me up and down that beach sharing the Gospel. We drove her back. The first sounds she heard of my voice were likely me sharing the Gospel and praying for students. She sat nestled in my womb as I spoke to multiple varsity teams about our athletic ministry, she kicked and crowded my lungs all the way through my Cru talk about the holiness of God, and just yesterday I lugged her 4 pound self all around campus following around an illusionist who would share the Gospel with 650 students that evening. Already, she has been amidst Kingdom work.
And right now, her heels kick around while she does who-knows-what in there to entertain herself. I tell everyone "I don't have time to even think about being a mother!" but here I am with an entire evening, and I'm not sure what exactly I'm supposed to think about. So I'm looking at Christmas pins, I'm eating gingerbread, I'm messing around on snapchat. I am going to be a mother. Everything will change. And perhaps there's no real way to prepare for that.
Everyone loves October, but for me November takes the cake. But literally, my birthday is in November, so that's when I get the most cake. And all of the other celebrations are looming ahead: the family birthdays, Thanksgivings, anniversary, Christmas, and then the newest celebration added to the calendar: the birth of my daughter who up until that point will have only been a kicking, prodding being in my belly that keeps me awake. But in a moment, she will no longer be a faceless baby in my head, but a real child in my arms, and if what I'm told is correct, I will never be the same.
That phrase scares me and I'm grieving the life I have now that is close to ending. My wonderful, 40 hour-a-week job that feels so holy and exciting and fulfilling will become only a small part of my calling. I will trade in long work days for sleepless nights, staff meetings for diaper changes, and talking about crushes to talking about feedings. This adjustment seems too distant to deal with now, but the weeks are flying by and before I know it, I'll be in the hospital I toured last week. And these dying leaves falling one by one remind me ominously of this life that will end as a new one is brought forth.
I am more excited than I thought I would be, and I can't wait to tell her all the places I've carried her while she's being knit together in there. We drove her tiny body down to North Myrtle Beach and I sleepily drug her with me up and down that beach sharing the Gospel. We drove her back. The first sounds she heard of my voice were likely me sharing the Gospel and praying for students. She sat nestled in my womb as I spoke to multiple varsity teams about our athletic ministry, she kicked and crowded my lungs all the way through my Cru talk about the holiness of God, and just yesterday I lugged her 4 pound self all around campus following around an illusionist who would share the Gospel with 650 students that evening. Already, she has been amidst Kingdom work.
And right now, her heels kick around while she does who-knows-what in there to entertain herself. I tell everyone "I don't have time to even think about being a mother!" but here I am with an entire evening, and I'm not sure what exactly I'm supposed to think about. So I'm looking at Christmas pins, I'm eating gingerbread, I'm messing around on snapchat. I am going to be a mother. Everything will change. And perhaps there's no real way to prepare for that.
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