Before I even knew there would be a need, God was working out the details.
I was opening a week's worth of mail today when Dwayne said, "I think you have a check in there from your doctor's office."
"Nah," I thought. "I still owe them money," I said aloud.
The envelop was about halfway through the stack of junk mail, bills, and cataloges. It sure did look like a check, but that's so odd.
And then I opened it.
And it's an answer to prayers.
Before I even knew we would need some extra money in the upcoming months so we could visit my dad, God was working out every single detail.
The check from my doctor will cover two (T.W.O.!!!) visits to my dad. Almost to the dollar.
Dwayne and I talked on the way home Sunday afternoon about how much money we needed to budget for our next trip to visit my dad. And about how many times we thought we'd go down to see him in Jacksonville.
We decided on a certain amount of money. And that we'd try to budget for two trips.
That's EXACTLY what the check will cover.
I cried.
Do you understand the significance here?
I thought I still owed my doctor money. NOPE. God took care of that.
We needed X amount of money from our already strapped budget to cover two trips to see my dad (trips that we feel are not negotiable...that we need to take). No need to stress. God took care of that.
God worked out every single detail for us. We know God is in the miracles (Luke's conception, Luke's full term pregnancy and healthy delivery, my dad's new lungs...big stuff, people). But, He's also in the tiny, dirty, nitty-gritty details. He's THERE. He's working things out for us even before we know we need something worked out.
I am so very thankful. SO very thankful.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
So many thoughts
Many of you probably already know that my dad, OB, had a double lung transplant on Monday, January 17, 2011.
48 hours ago we were anxiously waiting for any word from his transplant surgeon.
24 hours before that, this picture was taken:
I was standing in the waiting room, waiting for the radiology nurse to come get us for Luke's upper GI test. He was fretful, Dwayne and I were taking turns walking him around, when my phone rang. A bit unusual to have a call from my dad so early in the morning.
"We got the call," was my dad's greeting.
"The call for what?" I responded.
"From the Mayo Clinic. Okay, bye. Love you." Click.
I was so shocked that I didn't get to deliver my very thought out speech I had prepared to share with him. I immediately asked Dwayne to call the church to get out a prayer e-mail.
At that point, Luke fell apart, screaming and crying. I was cuddling him and crying (as I was thinking, I don't want my dad to die) when the nurse walked in. She thought I was crying for Luke.
"Honey, this test is not that big a deal."
Blubber, sob, blubber.
"Oh...I'm not crying for him. He's going to be fine. I'm crying because my dad is going to have a lung transplant today!" BLUBBER, S.O.B.
Her immediate response was "PRAISE GOD! PRAISE GOD!"
God had sent me an angel in the flesh. When the devil was planting seeds of doubt in my mind, God was sending me my very own angel to remind me to praise Him!
17 years ago on January 17, 1994, my dad was diagnosed with puliminary fibrosis. Exactly 17 years later, he got new lungs. Don't tell me God isn't in the details.
From the months before my dad's diagnosis, God was preparing our family for this journey. Actually, from the beginning of time, the Lord knew that steps we would take, but let's focus on the fall of 1993 and move forward. Well, it really starts before then...the story is so large and so grace-filled that I don't even quite know where to start.
In October 1993 (on my 16th birthday!), we moved from a house with stairs at every entrance to a ranch style house with only one tiny step at the entrance. This would prove to be an important move. At this point, my dad seemed healthy, but Mom noticed that he was coughing a lot. She thought he must have walking pneumonia and told him she was making an appointment for him when he came home for the holidays. (My dad was working in a town 5 hours away and commuting each weekend...that's another God inspired decision for my parents.)
When Dad was home for an extended vacation during the Christmas holidays (1993), he went to his regular doctor to check on the coughing and shortness of breath. It was the appointment that would change his life. The doctor realized pretty quickly that something was very wrong and sent my dad to a specialist. My dad never returned to his job.
On January 17, 1994, he was diagnosed with puliminary fibrosis. They (always a mysterious they) aren't sure what caused the disease...he might have been born with it or it might have been caused by chemical exposure on his job.
The doctors were able to pretty quickly stop the progression of the disease and for many years, my dad just lived a modified life style that allowed him to have a fairly decent quality of life. Granted, he relied very heavily on medicine to have that quality of life, but he enjoyed seeing all of his children graduate from high school and college, two of us get married and start our families, one of us graduate from the police academy...he's been actively involved in our maturity into adulthood. He would have missed many of our "milestones" if he'd still been healthily working hours away from our hometown. Instead, he was there. THERE. For everything. He never missed a play, a ball game, a special event. Despite being sick, he was present. God made that happen for our family. He designed a life path that forced a workaholic father to be present.
There were scary times during the past years when his disease would rear its terribly ugly head and he would have a rapid decline in lung capacity. There was a drug trial from a university with meetings from drug companies and refrigerated medicine boxes delivered to the house. There were mistakes in dosage that resulted in manic cleaning episodes and night terrors. There are funny stories that only our family can laugh about because the only other option was to cry. Dad chose to laugh, so we chose to laugh. God was there. He was in the details.
Then a few years ago, something changed. The disease wasn't being managed by the medicine any more. The doctor in Savannah realized he'd come to the end of his expertise and it was time to call in the Big Shots...it was time for drastic measures. So, the doors were opened for a relationship between my dad and the Mayo Clinic. (Ironically...or not, a lady that my mom taught with for years had a heart transplant at the same facility with the same group of surgreons and was a source of tremendous knowledge for my parents. God in the details...again.) 18 months ago, my parents took a trip to meet with the doctors. At first, they determined that my dad was eligible for a transplant, but not a candidate yet. They wanted to try a few things to manage the disease. Six months later, his status changed and in January 2010, he was placed on the transplant list.
12 months later, the call that we've all been waiting for finally came.
And today...48 hours after the new lungs have been transplanted, my dad was sitting up in a chair, talking to us on the phone, eating applesauce and drinking gingerale. He was moved from his ICU room into a regular hospital room. Tomorrow, three days post transplant, he will work with the physical and respitory therapists to practice walking and breathing with his brand new, perfect, beautiful lungs.
We are so very thankful for the gift of the donor family. We will never meet them. Never know the story of their loved one who gave my dad a new lease on life. But we will forever be thankful to them. So very, very thankful. They have, literally, given the gift of life. God was in that detail, too.
48 hours ago we were anxiously waiting for any word from his transplant surgeon.
24 hours before that, this picture was taken:
OB and Luke
(6:00 pm 1/16/2011)
I have so many thoughts I want to share. So many details that I never want to forget.
Mom and Dad (Nona and OB) got the call from the May0 Clinic as they were waking up Monday morning. OB called us as we were waiting for this:
I was standing in the waiting room, waiting for the radiology nurse to come get us for Luke's upper GI test. He was fretful, Dwayne and I were taking turns walking him around, when my phone rang. A bit unusual to have a call from my dad so early in the morning. "We got the call," was my dad's greeting.
"The call for what?" I responded.
"From the Mayo Clinic. Okay, bye. Love you." Click.
I was so shocked that I didn't get to deliver my very thought out speech I had prepared to share with him. I immediately asked Dwayne to call the church to get out a prayer e-mail.
At that point, Luke fell apart, screaming and crying. I was cuddling him and crying (as I was thinking, I don't want my dad to die) when the nurse walked in. She thought I was crying for Luke.
"Honey, this test is not that big a deal."
Blubber, sob, blubber.
"Oh...I'm not crying for him. He's going to be fine. I'm crying because my dad is going to have a lung transplant today!" BLUBBER, S.O.B.
Her immediate response was "PRAISE GOD! PRAISE GOD!"
God had sent me an angel in the flesh. When the devil was planting seeds of doubt in my mind, God was sending me my very own angel to remind me to praise Him!
17 years ago on January 17, 1994, my dad was diagnosed with puliminary fibrosis. Exactly 17 years later, he got new lungs. Don't tell me God isn't in the details.
From the months before my dad's diagnosis, God was preparing our family for this journey. Actually, from the beginning of time, the Lord knew that steps we would take, but let's focus on the fall of 1993 and move forward. Well, it really starts before then...the story is so large and so grace-filled that I don't even quite know where to start.
In October 1993 (on my 16th birthday!), we moved from a house with stairs at every entrance to a ranch style house with only one tiny step at the entrance. This would prove to be an important move. At this point, my dad seemed healthy, but Mom noticed that he was coughing a lot. She thought he must have walking pneumonia and told him she was making an appointment for him when he came home for the holidays. (My dad was working in a town 5 hours away and commuting each weekend...that's another God inspired decision for my parents.)
When Dad was home for an extended vacation during the Christmas holidays (1993), he went to his regular doctor to check on the coughing and shortness of breath. It was the appointment that would change his life. The doctor realized pretty quickly that something was very wrong and sent my dad to a specialist. My dad never returned to his job.
On January 17, 1994, he was diagnosed with puliminary fibrosis. They (always a mysterious they) aren't sure what caused the disease...he might have been born with it or it might have been caused by chemical exposure on his job.
The doctors were able to pretty quickly stop the progression of the disease and for many years, my dad just lived a modified life style that allowed him to have a fairly decent quality of life. Granted, he relied very heavily on medicine to have that quality of life, but he enjoyed seeing all of his children graduate from high school and college, two of us get married and start our families, one of us graduate from the police academy...he's been actively involved in our maturity into adulthood. He would have missed many of our "milestones" if he'd still been healthily working hours away from our hometown. Instead, he was there. THERE. For everything. He never missed a play, a ball game, a special event. Despite being sick, he was present. God made that happen for our family. He designed a life path that forced a workaholic father to be present.
There were scary times during the past years when his disease would rear its terribly ugly head and he would have a rapid decline in lung capacity. There was a drug trial from a university with meetings from drug companies and refrigerated medicine boxes delivered to the house. There were mistakes in dosage that resulted in manic cleaning episodes and night terrors. There are funny stories that only our family can laugh about because the only other option was to cry. Dad chose to laugh, so we chose to laugh. God was there. He was in the details.
Then a few years ago, something changed. The disease wasn't being managed by the medicine any more. The doctor in Savannah realized he'd come to the end of his expertise and it was time to call in the Big Shots...it was time for drastic measures. So, the doors were opened for a relationship between my dad and the Mayo Clinic. (Ironically...or not, a lady that my mom taught with for years had a heart transplant at the same facility with the same group of surgreons and was a source of tremendous knowledge for my parents. God in the details...again.) 18 months ago, my parents took a trip to meet with the doctors. At first, they determined that my dad was eligible for a transplant, but not a candidate yet. They wanted to try a few things to manage the disease. Six months later, his status changed and in January 2010, he was placed on the transplant list.
12 months later, the call that we've all been waiting for finally came.
And today...48 hours after the new lungs have been transplanted, my dad was sitting up in a chair, talking to us on the phone, eating applesauce and drinking gingerale. He was moved from his ICU room into a regular hospital room. Tomorrow, three days post transplant, he will work with the physical and respitory therapists to practice walking and breathing with his brand new, perfect, beautiful lungs.
We are so very thankful for the gift of the donor family. We will never meet them. Never know the story of their loved one who gave my dad a new lease on life. But we will forever be thankful to them. So very, very thankful. They have, literally, given the gift of life. God was in that detail, too.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Out of the fog
I can't believe Luke is 2 months old. Yesterday was the big day.
Two months...how can it be?
Yet, I'm so thankful we survived it.
I've never, in my entire life, been so tired for so long.
I feel like we're finally emerging, a tiny bit, from that newborn {infant} foginess that goes with having a new baby. We're not in the clear yet. Not even close. But the world is a little sharper. A little less fuzzy around the edges. I can actually remember a conversation I had a few minutes ago instead of it slipping away immediately.
As the world is coming into focus again, I realize how incredibly in love I am with this little guy.
His first few weeks and months have been trying...absolutely. He doesn't feel good. He has terrible reflux. He doesn't really like to sleep and he doesn't understand the concept of schedule. The combination of these things has caused me more stress than I can dare to express. There have been nights when I just sit up, squeezing him in my arms (because he likes the be held T.I.G.H.T.), rocking back and forth, praying for the grace to make it one more moment. And I do. Every single time.
Just a moment ago, Dwayne was feeding him and then putting him to sleep. My heart squeezed tightly in my chest with love.
Here are a few pictures of our precious boy.
Tired after watching the circus for 2 hours. We all loved the circus!
Just some strong man cuteness. Meryt used to hold her arms JUST like this. 
I just missed his "almost" smile. It's super sweet. We don't see it often enough.
Sleeping in the swing....the only place he'll sleep.
His one month old picture. It was a little late, so the comparison between one and two months will be a little off. Two month picture coming soon.
Sleeping sweetness.
I am NOT a turkey! Love this picture! :)
Sleeping sweetness.
I am NOT a turkey! Love this picture! :) Friday, December 10, 2010
Single parenthood
I don't want to forget the details of this day. It's not really blog worthy, but I know it'll be safe here.
Dwayne is out of town this weekend doing his annual continuing education.
Day 1:
-Take Meryt to preschool. All is well. Good morning.
-Pick Meryt up and go to Wal-Mart (what in the world was I thinking???) where we get craft stuff for the weekend and she's allowed to pick out a present for Luke. He fusses (not screams, thank goodness) the entire time, even though he should have been sound asleep and finally falls asleep on the way home.
-I grab a handful of bags and asked Meryt to grab her lunch and close the van doors. She doesn't come in for a few minutes so I go check on her. She's SCREAMING bloody murder because her fingers are crushed in the door of the van. Oh, yeah...mother of the year award for me. I feel TERRIBLE. Terrible isn't even close to how bad I feel.
-We all have a quiet afternoon. Luke and I nap on the couch while M has quiet time in her room.
-We paint wrapping paper for over an hour after rest time. Gretel, the cat, spills an entire cup of water on our paper. I try not to cuss. We start over again.
-We eat dinner in the car as we do a drive through nativity at a local church. Then Meryt says, "Uh-oh, Mama...I don't have any milk left. I think it all spilled." Yep...her entire thermos of milk spilled between the two car seats. Dwayne is just going to have to deal with that when he gets back. I'm not strong enough to release the latch on the car seats to take them out so I clean the upholstry.
Clearly I'm not cut out for single parenthood.
Dwayne is out of town this weekend doing his annual continuing education.
Day 1:
-Take Meryt to preschool. All is well. Good morning.
-Pick Meryt up and go to Wal-Mart (what in the world was I thinking???) where we get craft stuff for the weekend and she's allowed to pick out a present for Luke. He fusses (not screams, thank goodness) the entire time, even though he should have been sound asleep and finally falls asleep on the way home.
-I grab a handful of bags and asked Meryt to grab her lunch and close the van doors. She doesn't come in for a few minutes so I go check on her. She's SCREAMING bloody murder because her fingers are crushed in the door of the van. Oh, yeah...mother of the year award for me. I feel TERRIBLE. Terrible isn't even close to how bad I feel.
-We all have a quiet afternoon. Luke and I nap on the couch while M has quiet time in her room.
-We paint wrapping paper for over an hour after rest time. Gretel, the cat, spills an entire cup of water on our paper. I try not to cuss. We start over again.
-We eat dinner in the car as we do a drive through nativity at a local church. Then Meryt says, "Uh-oh, Mama...I don't have any milk left. I think it all spilled." Yep...her entire thermos of milk spilled between the two car seats. Dwayne is just going to have to deal with that when he gets back. I'm not strong enough to release the latch on the car seats to take them out so I clean the upholstry.
Clearly I'm not cut out for single parenthood.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
It is well...
I am so very thankful that when I can't go any more, when I'm at the end of myself, there is something bigger than me, something I can rely on to carry me, something called GOD.
We are in a good place.
Luke is doing better. He isn't screaming as much. He is sleeping a little more during the dark hours. He is nursing great and taking a bottle when needed. Every now and then he lets us peek at the cutest little smile ever. I know it's probably just gas, but I don't care--it's reward enough for now.
Meryt is such an incredible big sister. God is giving me the strength to parent her as needed right now. She's definitely acting out a little bit for attention. She's suddenly unable to find something when asked (like socks, shoes, bibs, etc.) or fully dress herself. As long as I realize she just needs a few extra snuggles or a little affirmation, she settles down again. She is so sweet to Luke and never, ever acts unkindly to him. I'm so thankful she loves him so much. If anything, I have to remind her to give him a little space.
God gives me all these little moments of encouragement so I can continue to get up in the middle of the night, when I just need a little more sleep. So I can be a little more patient when I want to snap. So I can love a little more and a little harder when I think about those whose arms are empty, when I remember how much this is exactly what I wanted.
Pictures soon. I've got a few sweet ones.
We are in a good place.
Luke is doing better. He isn't screaming as much. He is sleeping a little more during the dark hours. He is nursing great and taking a bottle when needed. Every now and then he lets us peek at the cutest little smile ever. I know it's probably just gas, but I don't care--it's reward enough for now.
Meryt is such an incredible big sister. God is giving me the strength to parent her as needed right now. She's definitely acting out a little bit for attention. She's suddenly unable to find something when asked (like socks, shoes, bibs, etc.) or fully dress herself. As long as I realize she just needs a few extra snuggles or a little affirmation, she settles down again. She is so sweet to Luke and never, ever acts unkindly to him. I'm so thankful she loves him so much. If anything, I have to remind her to give him a little space.
God gives me all these little moments of encouragement so I can continue to get up in the middle of the night, when I just need a little more sleep. So I can be a little more patient when I want to snap. So I can love a little more and a little harder when I think about those whose arms are empty, when I remember how much this is exactly what I wanted.
Pictures soon. I've got a few sweet ones.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
At the end of myself
There are times when I want this {blog} to be only a happy place. But the reality of this world is that it is not a happy place.
I am at the end of myself. I'm relying on strength that I, honestly, do not possess. I don't know where the strength is to put one foot in front of the other, to be patient with the baby that never stops screaming and the 5 year old who talks all the time, to wake up to nurse after only 45 minutes of sleep. I don't know how to do it any more.
And then I remember: He is our miracle baby.
And I see this face:
And I help the sweet 5 year old chase down the mail lady to send off her very-first-ever hand-made (all by herself) card.
And then I got the best reward of all: the tightest hug and whispered words "Thank you for helping me, Mama. I love you."
I am at the end of myself. I'm relying on strength that I, honestly, do not possess. I don't know where the strength is to put one foot in front of the other, to be patient with the baby that never stops screaming and the 5 year old who talks all the time, to wake up to nurse after only 45 minutes of sleep. I don't know how to do it any more.
And then I remember: He is our miracle baby.
And I see this face:
And I help the sweet 5 year old chase down the mail lady to send off her very-first-ever hand-made (all by herself) card. And then I got the best reward of all: the tightest hug and whispered words "Thank you for helping me, Mama. I love you."
And I realized that the strength never comes from me. It comes from God. It comes from Him through my children. He will continue give me the strength to be (a little bit) patient, to nurse when I just need some sleep, to show grace and compassion when I don't have any more grace and compassion. It's never within me.
These are my miracles. I can do it...even though I'm at the end of myself.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Change of Plan
This post has been rambling around in my head for a few days and I'm still not sure my thoughts are polished enough to post, but I keep coming back to it, so I'm going to give it a try.
For those of you that know me or have read this blog for any length of time, you know {are glaringly aware} that I like a plan. I'm a planner. I want to know the plan. Let's make a plan. More importantly, let's STICK TO THE PLAN. I'm no good when Dwayne says, "Get in the car. Let's go." Let's go where? What are we doing? Why? Where? When???
I don't know why I'm this way. God just wired me to get caught up in the details and the need to know. Sometimes this serves me well and sometimes...well, sometimes it doesn't at all.
Right now I'm on the roller coaster called "Change of Plan." And it is the wildest roller coaster I've ever riden! Have you ever felt that way?
I had everything all planned out.
Birth plan. Check.
It went something like this: Luke's birth will be easier than Meryt's birth was. (Which was a breeze, by the way). I will go natural. The lights will be low. We'll whisper. It will be a beautiful, National Geographic moment in my life.
*cue audience laughter*
Enter Change of Plan.
Luke's birth was tremendously harder than Meryt's. It was longer. It was harder. His heart rate would plummet. My blood pressure wasn't stable at the beginning. There was an epidural. There was medication for my blood pressure. The lights were bright. It was most certainly not the beautiful, National Geographic moment I'd envisioned.
The Lord used that to teach me a lesson.
Nursing Plan. Check.
Nursing Luke will be a natural, easy thing. It's natural. It's the right thing to do. All mother's do it. I can do it, too. Hellllloooo...National Geographic!!
*cue audience laughter*
Enter Change of Plan.
Not so much. Nursing is HARD WORK. I feel terrible for Dwayne. With Meryt, he gots lots of snuggles because she was on a bottle and he could feed her. She also didn't need ME every.single.moment.of.every.single.day. Little Luke, on the other hand, never leaves my arms. Whenever poor Dwayne tries to hold him, he screams and cries because, honestly, he just wants me and he just wants to nurse...all...the...time. ALL.THE.TIME.
The Lord used that to teach me a lesson.
Schedule. Check.
We'll work on our schedule as soon as we get home. I'll feed Luke every third hour, he'll sleep and rest in between and I'll nap when I can.
*cue hysterial laughter from the audience*
Sad, huh? I'm not even a first time mom. But that's how easy it was with Meryt! She was so schedule oriented that it literally required no work from me at all. She scheduled herself and rarely got off the schedule. She was the easiest baby ever. Luke is by no means difficult. Not at all. But he most certainly does not understand or care one bit about my schedule. He cries when he wants to eat, regardless of the last time he ate. He sleeps when he wants to sleep and only cuddled in my arms or in the swing. Some nights, we're up for hours. Other nights, he sleeps awesome for 2 hours and nurses for an hour. I never can predict how he's going to do.
The Lord is teaching me a lesson here.
I can't help but continue to go back to Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. (it goes on) See, I'm not really in charge. Despite all the time and energy I spend "planning," it's not up to me. I can't make Luke follow my schedule. He's hungry when he's hungry. He can't provide for himself. I get frustrated, sure. Makes me wonder how God feels when I refuse to follow his plan. I can't provide for myself. All my needs are supplied by the Lord. Why in the world do I spend so much energy planning and working out every single detail WHEN THE LORD ALREADY KNOWS THE PLANS HE HAS FOR ME? Why do I constantly struggle to take control from the One who is in absolute control and only wants good for me? These past 10 days have been a lesson on control and changing plans. I know I can't (won't) easily relinquish control. I haven't in the past. But I want to journey to a place where I can and will let the Lord make the decisions in my life without constantly trying to pull the strings out of his hands. Ultimately, it boils down to a trust issue for me. If I do it, I know it will be done the way I want. (ha) If I let go of the control and trust in the Lord, I don't have the security (false as it is) of knowing that things will work out the way I thought they would.
So, I'm on the roller coaster. God is in charge of the controls. I'll ride "Change of Plan" until I've learned my lesson that it's not about me. It's about Him. He who knows the plans he has for me.
For those of you that know me or have read this blog for any length of time, you know {are glaringly aware} that I like a plan. I'm a planner. I want to know the plan. Let's make a plan. More importantly, let's STICK TO THE PLAN. I'm no good when Dwayne says, "Get in the car. Let's go." Let's go where? What are we doing? Why? Where? When???
I don't know why I'm this way. God just wired me to get caught up in the details and the need to know. Sometimes this serves me well and sometimes...well, sometimes it doesn't at all.
Right now I'm on the roller coaster called "Change of Plan." And it is the wildest roller coaster I've ever riden! Have you ever felt that way?
I had everything all planned out.
Birth plan. Check.
It went something like this: Luke's birth will be easier than Meryt's birth was. (Which was a breeze, by the way). I will go natural. The lights will be low. We'll whisper. It will be a beautiful, National Geographic moment in my life.
*cue audience laughter*
Enter Change of Plan.
Luke's birth was tremendously harder than Meryt's. It was longer. It was harder. His heart rate would plummet. My blood pressure wasn't stable at the beginning. There was an epidural. There was medication for my blood pressure. The lights were bright. It was most certainly not the beautiful, National Geographic moment I'd envisioned.
The Lord used that to teach me a lesson.
Nursing Plan. Check.
Nursing Luke will be a natural, easy thing. It's natural. It's the right thing to do. All mother's do it. I can do it, too. Hellllloooo...National Geographic!!
*cue audience laughter*
Enter Change of Plan.
Not so much. Nursing is HARD WORK. I feel terrible for Dwayne. With Meryt, he gots lots of snuggles because she was on a bottle and he could feed her. She also didn't need ME every.single.moment.of.every.single.day. Little Luke, on the other hand, never leaves my arms. Whenever poor Dwayne tries to hold him, he screams and cries because, honestly, he just wants me and he just wants to nurse...all...the...time. ALL.THE.TIME.
The Lord used that to teach me a lesson.
Schedule. Check.
We'll work on our schedule as soon as we get home. I'll feed Luke every third hour, he'll sleep and rest in between and I'll nap when I can.
*cue hysterial laughter from the audience*
Sad, huh? I'm not even a first time mom. But that's how easy it was with Meryt! She was so schedule oriented that it literally required no work from me at all. She scheduled herself and rarely got off the schedule. She was the easiest baby ever. Luke is by no means difficult. Not at all. But he most certainly does not understand or care one bit about my schedule. He cries when he wants to eat, regardless of the last time he ate. He sleeps when he wants to sleep and only cuddled in my arms or in the swing. Some nights, we're up for hours. Other nights, he sleeps awesome for 2 hours and nurses for an hour. I never can predict how he's going to do.
The Lord is teaching me a lesson here.
I can't help but continue to go back to Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. (it goes on) See, I'm not really in charge. Despite all the time and energy I spend "planning," it's not up to me. I can't make Luke follow my schedule. He's hungry when he's hungry. He can't provide for himself. I get frustrated, sure. Makes me wonder how God feels when I refuse to follow his plan. I can't provide for myself. All my needs are supplied by the Lord. Why in the world do I spend so much energy planning and working out every single detail WHEN THE LORD ALREADY KNOWS THE PLANS HE HAS FOR ME? Why do I constantly struggle to take control from the One who is in absolute control and only wants good for me? These past 10 days have been a lesson on control and changing plans. I know I can't (won't) easily relinquish control. I haven't in the past. But I want to journey to a place where I can and will let the Lord make the decisions in my life without constantly trying to pull the strings out of his hands. Ultimately, it boils down to a trust issue for me. If I do it, I know it will be done the way I want. (ha) If I let go of the control and trust in the Lord, I don't have the security (false as it is) of knowing that things will work out the way I thought they would.
So, I'm on the roller coaster. God is in charge of the controls. I'll ride "Change of Plan" until I've learned my lesson that it's not about me. It's about Him. He who knows the plans he has for me.
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