Tuesday, January 29, 2013
|I wish MY legs were that skinny.|
Jones never really nursed. (Still haven't crossed the threshold for "Too Much Information"? Read on.)
Because I developed pre-eclampsia at the end of my pregnancy, Jones was delivered three weeks before his due date. At that point, he wasn't interested in eating anything, much less having to work for it, so in those early days of force feeding him through a syringe, I committed myself to six months of giving my sweet little man breast milk in bottle form, which, in essence, has amounted to "expressing myself" multiple times a day like some kind of dairy animal who's been removed from the farm.
Trust me. There IS a point to all this.
For the most part, pumping has been a pretty easy experience. I'm so thankful to be able to give Jones the health benefits of breast milk, while at the same time giving myself the convenience of, say, having his daddy give Jones his breakfast bottle. In fact, the only time pumping really presents a problem is when mealtime hits, and I haven't yet ... oh, how should I say this? ... "prepared" it.
I KNOW he eats at 4:30. This happens every, single day, but today, for whatever reason (ahem, Facebook), I wasn't ready. Minutes before zero hour, I snuck out of Jones's room, where I'd stepped in to check on him. Since he'd just started to stir from his nap, I thought I had time. Well, no sooner had I gotten connected to my "equipment" then my very sweet-natured son started to let me know, so to speak, that I was late with his lunch.
What could I do? I couldn't feed him what I hadn't yet produced, so I pumped on. As I sat there, I thought to myself, "If he only knew what I'm doing in here ... if he only knew, he could quit the crying, knowing that I'm preparing right now to meet his need."
As the thought sunk in, I could sense God saying to me, "Exactly."
If only I'd known about the UGA acceptance, I wouldn't have cried through three years of applying to doctoral programs. If I'd had any idea that Jeremy was waiting, I wouldn't have fought Him so hard for leaving me single so long. If I'd known in advance what He was up to in these and so many other situations, I could've just sat back and let Him do His job. Instead, I cried and complained, like my three month old son, sweating out whether or not I'd remember to feed him.
But the truth is, I DO know what He's up to. He tells me in Romans 8:28. He's working all things together for my good. Even when I don't know what He's doing. Even when I'm crying my eyes out. Even when I think He's forgotten to feed me.
He's always there, preparing right now to meet my need.
Posted by Kristin at 9:51 PM