During church on Sunday, I looked up and down our pew and smiled at my quietly-sitting children. Then I furrowed my brow and did a double-take. All of them were sitting quietly. When the heck did that happen?! How many years did I wrangle with my children on church pews wishing they would just. sit. still.? How many church meetings did I listen to from the foyer of the church while I bounced, corralled and tried to hush my wiggly babies? How long did I look longingly at the mothers of older children and envy their not moving row of children? All of this ran through my head as I looked at my children, puzzled as to how it could be! My head and heart knew this was supposed to be a great and grand moment.
But what I want, more than anything, is a wiggly, chubby, raspberry-blowing baby on my lap.
It was just over a year ago when the spirit of our sweet baby slipped quietly away from her developing body to return to the arms of her Heavenly Mother. I am glad she is there, but I am also sad that she is not here.
I thought we would have another by now--or at least be expecting one or two. But here I sit, empty. I don't think another child could remove the sadness of losing our Eowyn, but I do think it could help fill up my emptiness.
It is something that the thing I prayed would end is now the thing I pray to have once again.
Dear mothers who are currently struggling with your little ones who fill up your row,
Change your perspective. And pray for patience. You never know what is coming.
The MotherShip Who Has Learned
PS Moments after this train of thought, our youngest wet her pants. She was sitting on my lap. Well, you take the moments, right?