A Year Ago Today

I'm a fairly sentimental person, I suppose. I like looking through old journals and reading entries from the same day a couple of years ago. I frequently wonder what I was doing four years ago at this time, and I'll go digging through old journals or blog entries until I find the answer. I don't have to wonder what I was doing a year ago at this time. I know exactly where I was. I was in a labor and delivery room at Eliza Coffee Memorial Hospital, thinking that the contractions really weren't all that bad. My story soon changed, and I sprang for the epidural late in the afternoon. Micah arrived about five hours later, at 8:17 p.m. She weighed 7 pounds, 9 ounces, and she was a tiny 19 1/4 inches long. She was a sweet baby, even then, and I'll never forget the wonder of holding her in my arms for the first time.

Today she celebrates her first birthday, and she has no idea why I keep singing to her, but she likes to dance along. She sparkles with life and energy, offering slobbery, open-mouthed kisses to me when I ask and patting me on the back when I put her on my shoulder. Watching her teeter and totter around the house as she's become a more confident walker has been fun, and it's equally as fun to see how delighted she is with herself. She loves to clap and will sometimes wave "hey" and "bye-bye," but she's a strong-willed child who does practically nothing on demand. When I go into her room to get her in the mornings or after a nap, she plays peek-a-boo with me through the rails of the crib, and her giggle is contagious.

She is truly a sweet little girl, and I'm blessed to be her mommy. Last week, she started cutting three more teeth, so now she has four on top and two on the bottom. Even though she's still tiny, she's grown a lot in the past few months. When I weighed her Monday, she came in at 18 pounds, 3.5 ounces, which is nearly three pounds more than she weighed when they discharged her from the hospital a month ago. She loves to talk, although few of her words are recognizable, and when we sit down to read a book, she scrambles to turn the pages. She is precious.

This morning when I prayed for her, I prayed that God would guard her and protect her throughout her life - that he would call her by name and whisper stories of his love in her ears - that she would grow into a strong young woman whose heart is stayed on him - that her heart would be big enough to love both the loved and the unloved - that she would be gracious, kind and merciful, showing the world what her God is like. I pray that as the Lord shapes and molds her into a beautiful young lady that he will shape and mold me into the kind of mother who honors and glorifies him - one who is patient, kind and gracious with her children. I know that we cannot do this without him, so I pray that God would enable us to nurture and protect this tiny little girl that he saw fit to bless us with.

She is a precious little girl, and I love her more than I ever imagined.

Happy birthday, Micah!

Until next time, grace and peace.

Growing Pains & Sabbath Rest

Saturday I had a nervous breakdown. As soon as I sat down on my chaise lounge with my journal and Bible, I felt my face crumpling and knew that I was about to have a full-on-uglyface cry. It was not pretty. Let me go ahead and confess that last week I didn't get up before 7 a.m. a single time. Well, maybe once. The rest of the week, I dragged myself out of bed around 7:15 or 7:30 because I was so. very. tired.

I'm talking the kind of tired where you just want to crawl into the bed and pull the covers over your head and stay that way all day long. Have you ever been there? I was there.

For the past 361 days, I have been solely responsible for Micah's nourishment, and for 361 days, I have been looking forward to the day when she was weaned so that I could just sleep in on a Saturday morning while someone else worried about what she would eat for breakfast. There we were, just one week away from her very first birthday, and it was my first opportunity for someone else to take complete responsibility of her in the morning.

Except I never communicated that to my wonderful husband.

So when he didn't magically read my mind and know that I wanted him to get up and take care of her just for a little while, I had a little breakdown.

OK, a big breakdown.

I felt the anger and bitterness rising up inside of me, and I counted down the minutes until it was time for Micah to nap. I laid her in the crib and went straight for the bedroom, where I secluded myself and bawled for almost 30 minutes.

Not that Dennis knew about any of this. He was busy working his tail off to get our deck finished up before Micah's birthday party this week.

It was not his fault. It was just easier to blame him for my morning not working out the way I wanted than it was to deal with the real issue.

The real issue is that I'm tired. Very, very tired. I've been working like crazy over the past several months, and I have taken absolutely no time to rest. When Micah naps, I work. When Micah goes to bed at night, I work. Sometimes I work while Micah plays on the floor at my feet. I work, work, work, juggling taking care of Micah and taking care of my business, never stopping to take care of myself.

I started this challenge because I recognized the need for a major change in my routine. My priorities had become ridiculously skewed off-center, and my obsession with being perfect in all areas of responsibility has kept me from taking some time just to enjoy the amazing life that God has blessed me with.

I had gotten into the habit of cramming Bible-reading and prayer into Micah's naptimes, and I honestly chose not to do it more often than I should have simply because there were so many other things screaming for my attention that I had to accomplish while she slept. Since I have begun this challenge, I have spent almost an hour of time alone with God every single morning. I may not have made it up at 6 a.m. yet, but I am very proud of the progress I have made so far.

Life is much better when I start the day with some time with my Savior. Much, much better. I've found that just a taste of peaceful time to myself every day has made me crave it. I look forward to that time, and I have a feeling that this challenge, no matter how difficult it is for me in these early stages, is the beginning of a new lifestyle for me. It's worth getting up for.

I'm pretty sure that Saturday's breakdown was a bout of growing pains. It was God prodding me, letting me know that something has to give if I really want Him to restore my parched soul.

Real rest, Sabbath rest, is absolutely crucial for spiritual growth. I think I need some Sabbath in my life.

So after I cried and prayed and cried some more, I wrote in my journal, read my Bible, and ditched the plans I had to complete work on an article that was in-progress. Instead, I soaked in the tub, talked with my sweet husband, told him how I was feeling, and took the afternoon off while he took care of our daughter.

I didn't do a single bit of work over the weekend, and it was so very nice to simply rest and enjoy the company of my little family. I feel much better now.

As for this morning, you'll be proud to know that I got up about 6:45. It's slow-going, but it is going, and that's what matters.

Until next time, grace and peace.

Just a Little (handwritten) Note

It should come as no surprise that I believe in the power of a word fitly written. Especially when it's handwritten in a card that has been delivered the old-fashioned way. We live in a world that's constantly connected and plugged in. We leave comments on facebook walls, carry on conversations in text messages and send tweets to one another all day long, which is all nice and convenient, but I really miss the days of handwritten letters and cards.

The best relationships of my life have been maintained by handwritten cards and letters, posted with a stamp and delivered to my mailbox. I have stacks of personal notes stashed in a box in my desk drawer, and I pull them out from time to time to relive a memory or receive some encouragement. Those cards and letters mean the world to me.

One of the greatest women I've ever known is a master of written correspondence. I don't know how many cards, letters, and thank you notes she writes in the course of a week, but it has to be in the double digits. I have a stack of postcards in her signature script, all delivered to my campus post office box when I was a student at Mississippi State. Any college student knows the value of a real piece of mail. There's nothing more depressing than trudging all the way across campus to peer in the window of your post office box, only to find nothing but a CD from AOL. Mrs. June taught me that a handwritten card can change a person. The fact that she noticed when I was struggling and took the time to sit down and write me to let me know that she was praying for me changed my life.

I've tried to emulate her, but I really don't sit down to write a note as often as I should. I've been working to change that lately. I do, after all, own a custom stationery business. Recently, a college friend posted a snapshot of a card I had written her on facebook. The card was several years old, but she said she kept it because it still cheers her up when she's down. My jaw dropped when I saw the photo. I couldn't believe that a simple note that I had completely forgotten about had made such an impact, and it inspired me to pick up my pen and start using some of the stationery that I make. Over the past week, I've dropped two cards in the mail, and I'm planning on writing more over the course of the next few days. I hope to make it a lifelong habit.

So, keep your eyes open and don't forget to check your mail. You may just find a note from me in that rusty old box!

What about you? When was the last time you got a handwritten note in the mail? How did it make you feel? Who are you writing to this week?

Until next time, grace and peace.