I had a little thought this morning. It's personal. I almost don't want to post it here. But I think I will.
I looked at little Eleanor Carolyn, and I thought how thankful I am for her. She's fun. She's sweet. Not that that isn't also true of my other children, but I tend to be slow to come around to things, and my adjustment to motherhood has been slow and grueling at times.
I recall that sometime last year --I can't quite remember just when-- I was struggling, treading water, and having a particularly hard time with life. Not for any particular reason, or even any good reason. It's just the way life is sometimes, I think. So I started to pray for joy. Joy in my children, joy in my life. There I was, trying to figure out how to love and care for three boys-- two who were so little, both still nursing, needing me so much. I didn't want to hate it. I didn't want to feel the air being slowly squeezed out of my lungs. Then I was pregnant again, and I was sure I was really going to drown.
So I kept praying --desperately imploring God-- for joy. I thought it would elude me forever.
So I looked at Eleanor this morning, and I laughed out loud. My Heavenly Father --I think HE laughed out loud-- heard my prayer and answered it. "Here's some joy." He said. "Joy in the form of a sweet baby girl." He knows me well, of course. He knew I wouldn't be happy at first. He knew I would cry. He knew I would complain. He knew the work would be hard.
I was (and am) more overwhelmed than ever.
And more joyful.
To refresh my joy in motherhood by increasing my motherhood? Only God can pull off a stunt like that.