Prayers and Grace

Libby is finally ready for her first treatment of the interim maintenance phase. Thursday is our day. She will also be getting another IVIG treatment. I’m thankful, and yet a little apprehensive about the impending treatments.  This is supposed to be an easier phase, but you always hear the other stories, too. And there’s nothing like a compromised immune system and the beginnings of flu season to boot! As always, we so appreciate your prayers!

We’re praying Libby keeps feeling as well as she has been, because she has made some awesome strides with her physical therapy lately. Today, she pulled herself up to a standing position! I know it doesn’t sound like much of a feat for a two-year-old. But for this munchkin, it’s been a long time coming. Physically, her little body is weak. She has to work extra hard. She tires quickly. And super mom that I am, I have really been pushing her. Pushing her to the point that she fell earlier this week and busted her lip. Oh yeah, she was crying, there was blood everywhere, the works. I felt like a monster. And I didn’t make her do another thing the entire day.

In our small group we’ve been studying a book about parenting. The most recent series at our church has been “Future Family”, and also touched on parenting. They’ve both been excellent. We’ve learned a lot. We’re thinking about a lot. We’re trying to implement a lot. We’re attempting to break Libby out of her little toddler microcosm and help her recognize that, as her parents, we call the shots. We’re attempting to have her do things, small things, for herself if she can. We’re disciplining. We’re teaching. It can be difficult. Rewarding. Frustrating. Hilarious. And it’s almost always humbling.

With all I’ve been learning, I’ve come to one resounding conclusion. I am immensely thankful for prayers and for grace. Because what I’m discovering is that even with our greatest efforts as parents, things can (and do) blow up in our face.  You know, like when you give your child a bloody lip. Grace. When a fun bath turns into a rescue mission as one sister tries to drown the other. Prayers. When you sit down with your daughters to feed them lunch, catch your back pocket on the back of the chair, rip a hole in the rear of your pants, and say s*** right to their sweet little faces. Grace. Hoping s*** isn’t one of the words either of them decides to start saying. Prayers.  Wrestling the spoon out of your daughter’s hand as she tries to eat (forget her independence) so you can feed her more quickly and just get out the door. Grace. Contemplating if she’s cutting a tooth, or if it’s just her general disposition. Prayers. And Grace.  I could go on.

Parenting brings me to my knees. And I’m thankful I can pray. And I’m so thankful for His amazing grace. Somehow, with prayers and grace, some of the pressure is off. Easier said than done.

Thank you, God!