Libby is in school. Five days a week. Just half days. But still. It was so hard to let her go. Because last year she was home with me. Every day. All day. Actually, both of my precious babies were with me. Sure, we had doctor appointments and therapy appointments. But we had a lot of free time, too. We slept in. We did a lot of playing. We got to make our own schedule.
So, how is the transition going? Well, no surprise here. Libby is doing beautifully. And I, on the other hand, am not handling things all that well. And that's one heck of an understatement. Just ask my husband. He's contemplating getting me professional help. Because I've flat out told him I need it. :)
Yeah, my three- year-old puts me to shame. She wakes up everyday eager to start her day. I barely have breakfast on the table before she's telling me it's time to go to school. (She does seem to have inherited my impatience) She loves school. She adores her new friends. She works so hard. She's learning so much. Some days she makes mistakes. Her progress reports have come home with the occasional frowny face. But Libby always has a smile on hers. She's excited to get home. She's always up for what's next.
Libby, how was your day? Was it awesome?
Did you behave today, and listen well?
(Sure ya did)
And here's the thing. Libby has a lot going on. She hasn't been completely well since before school started. Nearly two months ago. She's had these nagging ailments we just can't seem to clear up. She's been nauseas in the mornings. Her port is messed up. Again. She has surgery and chemo this Friday. We've had a slew of doctor's appointments, a new chaotic schedule, BUT she's perfectly fine.
At the same time, I've been really struggling. I don't typically wake up eager to start my day. Mostly, I wake up thinking about all I have to accomplish. I stress about it. Then, somehow I decide the best way to deal with it is to complain about it. I worry about Libby's health and her development. I'm afraid I'm not spending nearly enough time with my little Annie. And I realize...I don't trust. I don't trust there is One who loves me the way I love Libby. One who just wants to hold me. Talk to me. Take care of me. One who yearns for me.
Is this how you feel about me, Father? Do you really love me this much?
I love you much, much more.
My inability to grasp His love for me is the root of all my anxieties. My complaining. My worries and fears. Like it or not, I'm where I am for a reason. He's orchestrated these circumstances for me. The perfect marriage. The perfect children. The perfect job. All of it. They're avenues for intimacy with Him. I may not understand it all. I may not like it all. I can complain all day long. But I guess He knows eventually I tire. My hands unclench a little. And I let Him reveal a little more of Himself to me. Me with my frowny faces and all. His is an unfathomable love.