A mom with a heart too big for her frame, but He’s working on me.

This morning has been weird.
After 5 hours working a wedding yesterday my muscles are reminding me that they are busy carrying a baby and don’t have time for these shenanigans. My shoulder aches from what I can only imagine was holding the surprisingly heavy camera. My hips complain when I sit and when I stand, and when I do anything else in-between. My chest has a hard time taking in enough oxygen and mutters, “For goodness sake Woman, would you stop sitting cross-legged. Baby doesn’t like it very much.”
Our baby.
The baby that is approximately 3 and a half inches long and weighs something around 1.5 ounces.
The baby that I have no control over, the one I could still lose any day although the statistics lean somewhat in my favor.
Back to the story of this morning.
As my pregnant body bids me to stay flat under the warm blankets, my mind wanders. Need to find something to think about; something to do.
I’m starting to hate Pinterest.
Not because of the great ideas for distressing a paint finish or adorable ideas for the nursery I’ve been planning in my head…. okay, maybe those ARE parts of the reason I’m hating Pinterest. I’m hating Pinterest because it reminds me of all the things I “should” be doing. Or, because people are pinning pregnant lady check-lists, the things I “should” be worrying about. It tells me the things I should be thinking or complaining about. It tells me how I should be thinking about this baby inside me and how I should work out so that after the baby is born my body doesn’t have to look like it has grown, housed, and nurtured a human being. And right now as I remember all the Pinterest offenses, just like when I first experienced them, my heart-rate is rising and tears are filling my eyes and I’m getting angry. Angry? Straight up furious. And then confused why I’m angry, and then angry again.
Yep, it’d be a lot easier to chalk this all up to the raging pregnancy hormones, go back to complaining, and find myself back on Pinterest. That’s what it feels like the invisible, yet formidable and highly judgmental “they” would tell me to do.
But I think it’s bigger than that.
I think there’s more to this to uncover; more of my heart to discover.
In this confusing, mind-swirling thought process, I decided to go blog, thinking that typing to the invisible “they” might help me untangle all this mess. I went to thebump.com to start a pregnancy website/blog.. cute and helpful right? Except I stopped before I could start because I had to pick from one of their stupid baby-theme layouts covered in cribs and tiny baseballs and bows and.. gross. (Sorry to offend you if you’ve picked them… its just a personal thing.)
So I moved on to Tumblr to type some thoughts in my old blog I use so rarely that I keep thinking the blog police are going to come and confiscate it. Before I could open a new, blank post, I read through the last one I put up. I posted it in June, almost 4 months ago and pre-pregnancy. So much has changed since then. House stuff hasn’t gone anywhere circumstantially and we are coming to terms with the fact that maybe this whole thing was for the process and journey, not the result and destination.
Although the Kyra who typed that seemed to be a million light-years away, the God who inspired it is the God of today… and I could feel it through the warm, healing tears washing away the angry ones that had been on my face moments before. The same God who needed me focusing on Him 4 months ago is the same one who whispers in my ear today, “Peace be with you. MY peace I give you.” The same God who comforted the frantic housewife then is the same God who meets my worried glance when I feel a strange pain or a new symptom. He’s the same God who sits next to me and tells me He’s singing over our baby and placing in their heart dreams of Himself. He’s the same God who sits up with my when I can’t fall asleep and tells me all His dreams for this child He adores. He’s the one who catches my tears and gives them value, telling me its the stretching of my heart to fit twice as much love as ever before.
And I guess that leads to why I’m angry. I’m angry because I’m sick of babies being seen as inconveniences and pregnancy seen as misfortunate. I’m sick of pregnant women complaining way more than being thankful for the new life they are blessed with experiencing. I’m sick of children being minimized to nothing more than cartoon covered fabrics and adorable clothes. My baby isn’t a baby. He/she is a precious child of the King of Kings whom He saw fit to come and die for. They are beloved and miraculous and He is knitting them together intricately and perfectly. Their heart and value to Him is no less than the value He puts on me. And in the middle of the Pinterest clutter I’m angry because it steals from me the joy, awe and wonder that I’m allowed to have because He has it. Because He is enthralled with His child, I can be. I get to be and that is nothing I should ever let be taken away from me. Out of anyone in this world I get to be this person’s biggest fan because He is, and until they are able to hear Him say it, how else will they know?
So Baby, dearest child of mine, the precious one of the One who breathes stars and holds the universe in His hand, I’m sorry I let the world steal my joy. I’m sorry I let them tell me you weren’t as miraculous as you are. I’m sorry for every complaint I have made that wasn’t followed by a hopeful smile that it just means one day closer to meeting you. And if you go home today, I can’t wait to meet you and worship our Daddy together in the throne room, side-by-side as beloved daughters. What a day of rejoicing that will be. When we all see Jesus, we’ll sing and shout the victory.
– A mom with a heart too big for her frame, but He’s working on me.


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