I've been compiling a vague mental list of why parents need children, why they are a gift from God, besides the obvious of course. One reason we stodgy adults need little people in our lives is to get us in touch with the whimsical, impulsive, nonsensical side that surely everyone has, buried at some level.
My favorite memory from today is of "dancing" to and fro for an audience of one chubby cherub propped up among the pillows on our enormous sleigh bed. Leaping along the footboard with arms waving back and forth, and an arabesque thrown in for good measure, I then ran up and jumped onto the bed with a "boo," all for the smile on her formerly whimpery face and the "you're silly but very entertaining, Mommy" look in her eye. It was all I needed to make my universe complete, and to motivate still sillier exhibitions in the near future, I'm sure.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Fear not
I was feeding Annelise yesterday of a gorgeous morning, after flinging the windows open around the house and letting the fresh air blow in. She is very alert to sound and gets easily distracted while eating, pulls off and looks around, then goes back. It's almost like she's having a stress dream sometimes, as she startles and tries to sit up, all in one motion, and figure out what's going on and what she's supposed to do about it. Which is strange because she's so relaxed and chill most of the time. Of course I try to reassure her in my best mommy voice that everything's okay and can we please keep eating.
Yesterday, the cool breeze kept blowing in to my delight, and consternation. The blinds in the kitchen kept banging around every time the wind blew, and babykins would startle, stop, look around, and finally go back to eating, over and over again. And of course I would reassure her each time and explain what it was she was so unduly afraid of. Finally, while I was burping her I said, "You don't need to worry, honey. I'll tell you what to be afraid of."
And then it happened. As happens even more often now that I've entered the land of parenthood, where God's voice rings louder than ever, a parallel flashed into my mind, a mind increasingly receptive with increasing life experience. "Do not worry, Janel. Do not be anxious. I will tell you what to be afraid of." Just as I know the blinds banging in the wind is harmless and irrelevant to Annelise, and completely unworthy of her energy, because of my knowledge and maturity compared to hers, so God sees me worrying unnecessarily, expending precious energy on trifles so far beneath my status as His child. Oh that I would listen to His reassuring voice and get on with what matters most.
Yesterday, the cool breeze kept blowing in to my delight, and consternation. The blinds in the kitchen kept banging around every time the wind blew, and babykins would startle, stop, look around, and finally go back to eating, over and over again. And of course I would reassure her each time and explain what it was she was so unduly afraid of. Finally, while I was burping her I said, "You don't need to worry, honey. I'll tell you what to be afraid of."
And then it happened. As happens even more often now that I've entered the land of parenthood, where God's voice rings louder than ever, a parallel flashed into my mind, a mind increasingly receptive with increasing life experience. "Do not worry, Janel. Do not be anxious. I will tell you what to be afraid of." Just as I know the blinds banging in the wind is harmless and irrelevant to Annelise, and completely unworthy of her energy, because of my knowledge and maturity compared to hers, so God sees me worrying unnecessarily, expending precious energy on trifles so far beneath my status as His child. Oh that I would listen to His reassuring voice and get on with what matters most.
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