With the first two, I just didn't know.
All I could think about was self... My sleep, my body, my time... Always wondering when it would be over and I could get back to being "me".
With the first two, I didn't know how to soak them up in wee hours, how the time would pass so quickly, how the months would disappear and I would wake up one morning to an 8 year old boy who cleaned the whole house and got breakfast on the table for his brothers and sisters, simply because he wanted to bless his Mama. I didn't know how the dark hours could really be the best hours, I knew only how to survive.
I didn't know that my squishy body was indeed another miraculous thing, and how saying goodbye to donuts, adding in some exercise, and eating a few more carrot sticks might bring a body back to size.
I didn't know that the way they break you in labor, the way your hips feel out of place for a season and other parts feel like they just might fall right out (or off) of you those first few weeks, I had no idea that I was indeed made for such endurance. I knew that the task of birthing new life was going to be a difficult one, but I had no idea how grand the reward was going to be. I didn't know how endurance can produce perseverance, and perseverance, HOPE... Hope, that we really can do all things through Christ who gives us HIS strength.
There was a time when the only way I knew how to live, was for myself.
But motherhood, it can rip the pride right out of a woman.
It can open her eyes to truly one of the most miraculous gifts that He can possibly give.
And once a Mama gets a hold of that gift it is nearly impossible for her to let go...
So when she calls me on the Tuesday after our Solomon is born and tells me that Jackson, born yesterday, didn't make it through the night, my heart rips right open and I break all over again.
He gives and takes away.
And I never cease to struggle through the taking away.
Then in the wee hours, in the hours that I once dreaded, I find myself staring. As I look down, I watch his body rise and fall, and I whisper praise because sleep is over-rated, and the view of a miracle lying long in a Mama's arms is pure gift.
As I look down, there are details in my arms that were not tangible last week. My little Solomon's tiny, see-through eye lashes, that wispy black hair. Those little white dots on his little button nose. Perfectly formed lips, painted the most beautiful shade of red... all this, surrounded by the most flawless skin I have ever seen.
My Solomon Jude, his name is "peace" and "praise". And at 3am, in the stillness of our room, I find myself thanking my Jesus, for every breath that He's given me with this son, each breath a gift that He didn't have to give, but He gave anyways.
And now I know, that these long nights in this short season, are nothing but moments given to me by my little guy's maker... moments given to remind me that my Solomon is simply on loan to me and that every breath is a gift.
So I hold him long, and I no longer wish away the sleepless nights... Because He didn't have to give me even one... but in His kindness, He has chosen to lavish on me, many.
And I'm sorry Lord, that in the beginning of my journey, I just didn't know yet how to thank you for these seasons.
But now that I know,
Thank you for each breath.
Thank you for each detail on his face.
Thank you for quiet moments in the wee hours, intimate memories just between my Solomon and I.
Thank you for a farmhouse full of life.
Thank you that You are ALWAYS good, and I am ALWAYS loved.
Thank you for 3am and all that You didn't have to give, but You gave anyways. :)
