Our three-room scanning monitor (which was well worth the money we forked over for it) is scanning through two quiet bedrooms. That means neither one of our diapered dudes is presently hungry nor afraid. They are both, in fact, asleep. I plan to hit the hay shortly myself. But right now I am contemplating fear. That's right, nasty, pesky, keeps-you-awake-all night fear. It plagued me last night. I was up at 4:30 in the morning at my kitchen table, frantically scribbling down all of the fears consuming my tired mind. Nuclear warfare and moving to a new country made the list. But my biggest fears had to do with my children. Is Bright getting enough attention? Are his little needs getting met? Why has he not taken a nap in five consecutive days? Why is he crying himself to sleep at night all of a sudden? Is Zion going to continue to wake up hungry at 2:30 in the morning until he hits puberty? Will our boys know their grandparents after we move overseas? Are we doing the right thing? And the worst part about the whole night was I didn't feel I could wake Daniel because I needed him rested so he could watch the boys while I slept today. Finally, at 5 a.m., I woke him, and he prayed over me and we talked. I was reminded that I have authority over the Author of Fear. I was reminded that kids are just kids. It is when I expect them not to be kids that I get so horribly disappointed with how things are going. My mom shared with me recently that whenever a person is anxious, there is something they are refusing to accept. So, I accept that I cannot meet my sons' needs. G0D is the only one who can. I accept that I won't get 8-10 hours of beauty rest while I'm raising kids. It just won't happen. OK. It feels good to admit that to myself. I accept my stretch marks and my mothers' tummy that crunchers are no match for. I accept that our kids won't see a lot of their grandparents. And in the mean time, I will put down the Southern Living magazine that just came in the mail and get down on the floor to push matchbox cars with my son. I'll do what I can do. And G0D will do the rest.
September 22, 2007
Chasing away my fears
Our three-room scanning monitor (which was well worth the money we forked over for it) is scanning through two quiet bedrooms. That means neither one of our diapered dudes is presently hungry nor afraid. They are both, in fact, asleep. I plan to hit the hay shortly myself. But right now I am contemplating fear. That's right, nasty, pesky, keeps-you-awake-all night fear. It plagued me last night. I was up at 4:30 in the morning at my kitchen table, frantically scribbling down all of the fears consuming my tired mind. Nuclear warfare and moving to a new country made the list. But my biggest fears had to do with my children. Is Bright getting enough attention? Are his little needs getting met? Why has he not taken a nap in five consecutive days? Why is he crying himself to sleep at night all of a sudden? Is Zion going to continue to wake up hungry at 2:30 in the morning until he hits puberty? Will our boys know their grandparents after we move overseas? Are we doing the right thing? And the worst part about the whole night was I didn't feel I could wake Daniel because I needed him rested so he could watch the boys while I slept today. Finally, at 5 a.m., I woke him, and he prayed over me and we talked. I was reminded that I have authority over the Author of Fear. I was reminded that kids are just kids. It is when I expect them not to be kids that I get so horribly disappointed with how things are going. My mom shared with me recently that whenever a person is anxious, there is something they are refusing to accept. So, I accept that I cannot meet my sons' needs. G0D is the only one who can. I accept that I won't get 8-10 hours of beauty rest while I'm raising kids. It just won't happen. OK. It feels good to admit that to myself. I accept my stretch marks and my mothers' tummy that crunchers are no match for. I accept that our kids won't see a lot of their grandparents. And in the mean time, I will put down the Southern Living magazine that just came in the mail and get down on the floor to push matchbox cars with my son. I'll do what I can do. And G0D will do the rest.
