My sweet motherest is here.
And we are waiting.
Not sitting around twiddling our thumbs (is anyone capable of that with four children?)
But trying to cover all the baby bases.
Think evening primrose oil, black cohosh, and jumping on trampolines...
My babies like to stay put.
And get really fat and really, really big.
They've got it backwards.
I would prefer they do all their growing post partum, thankyouverymuch my little womb baby.
On the more emotional note (everything is emotional at this stage and be forewarned this is A LOT of emotions I'm throwing out there),
I've struggled with losing my peace during this pregnancy.
There are still some stormy emotional experiences I've had to work through, but I've felt the gentle healing hands of my God re-binding old wounds and walking me through forgiveness.
Over and over again.
It's the only thing that truly frees us, isn't it.
Forgiving. And being forgiven.
I've wanted to understand, thinking that would make forgiveness easier.
I've wanted those I've forgiven to understand as well.
But I'm learning that love covers over all wrongs.
Just chooses to focus OVER the offense and LOOK into the face of Jesus.
And then there was the phone call last night.
My dear, sweet Uncle Johnny passed away.
My mother has been caring for her mentally handicapped brother and her 90 year old mother for the past few years.
Only two days ago, we found out that his body was completely infected with cancer.
He was sick for the past two weeks and when they had tests done, they were taken aback by how quickly cancer had spread.
My mom was here with me and I know it broke her heart not to have been there when he breathed his last breath.
It happened peacefully.
In his sleep.
On the way to the cancer treatment center.
It's hard to explain just how special my Uncle Johnny was.
He loved Jesus with all his heart and with the purity and intensity of a little child.
Johnny was an eleven year old boy in a 65 year old man's body.
And in many ways, I believe that was a gift.
He knew Jesus and trusted him absolutely.
And I believe that God, in his mercy, spared my Uncle Johnny the worst possible pain, and gently led him home in his dreams.
I'll never forget his shy hugs or his loud, exuberant voice as he would sing along to his favorite gospel songs.
Even with all the medical problems he faced, he never wavered in his belief that Jesus loved him and was taking care of him.
He's an inspiration to me.
The greatest thing in life really is to love God and to be loved by Him.
Somewhere amid all the hurt and pain that gets so intense it robs the breath of life, I can lose my focus.
I get afraid.
Hurt can do that.
We wonder where God was when the blow landed hard.
Fear inhibits trust.
And love can't flourish without trust.
I have to trust my God's heart towards me.
And the more I trust Him, the more His love can fill me.
It's his perfect love that casts out fear.
I can look up into the skies of tomorrow with joyful expectation, not fearfulness or despair,
because I'm looking into the eyes of my Savior, the Love of my Life, my Soul Maker, who is completely worthy of all my trust.
And even as I was typing this, my two year old woke up screaming...again.
He has night terrors almost every night. Sometimes two or three times a night.
He cries and screams inconsolably. I try everything.
But mostly all I can do is pray. And usually cry along with him.
I feel worry sink into my exhausted brain and with it comes the fear of having a newborn and a toddler both keeping me up all hours of the night and somehow still be a patient mom to my oldest three.
I get afraid that my mother won't get to meet Story before she has to leave on a plane for the funeral.
So many worries. So many concerns.
But then I hear Johnny's sweet voice, feel his pat on my back and his shy, boyish smile and the words he would tell me when he was going through yet another surgery,
"It's ok, Joye, God's taking care of your Uncle Johnny."
And it's that kind of trust I want.
It's that kind of trust that I need.
In quietness and trust in my God is where I will find my strength.