Come, Thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
-Hymn
I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.
-Jesus, John 15:5
There’s a lot about being a mom NO ONE TELLS YOU.
Like, how it now takes 3 hours to watch a 45 minute episode.
Or about the FLUID. Oh, the fluid. So much of life now is about the FLUID.
Or how you develop laser eyesight in the darkest of nights, searching for a fallen pacifier for your desperate infant. And your own desperate self.
Or how 3 in the morning feels much the same as 3 in the afternoon.
Or how you will cry more than your baby over trying to get her to eat.
Or how you don’t really mind all the poops and diaper changes.
Or how you can live off your baby’s smiles FOR DAYS.
Tonight I was dead tired. Like, so tired. I haven’t slept for a full night since the SPRING OF THIS YEAR. AND IT’S PRACTICALLY CHRISTMAS, PEOPLE. It’s just better not to think about it. And for the countless time, I had to go wash a sink full of bottle parts and pump parts because this is my life now and for the foreseeable future. WHEN ALL I WANT TO DO IS WATCH TV. That’s really ALLLLLLL I WANT TO DO. And eat snacks. My desires are oh so simple now. Oh, wait, that’s all I ever really wanted to do before…ahem.
But alas. My task was in front of me—the approximately 2432587235 bottle and pump parts to wash. I stood in front of the sink, waiting for the water to heat up. And I had to while the Daughter napped. THIS WAS MY WINDOW.
And a strange thing happened.
In spite of my aching exhaustion, in spite of just needing to zone out, in spite of feeling generally discouraged, I felt the urge to SING.
Oh yes, that’s another thing they don’t tell you.
As soon as they hand that baby to you, you become a freaking SINGER and SONGSTRESS. It’s innate. It’s inevitable. And thankfully, my daughter has a father who is NOT tune-deaf and can teach her to sing correctly. Her mother, on the other hand, loves singing but it’s a total happy accident if she sings in tune.
Anyway, I’ve been singing pretty solidly for 6 months now. In the beginning, it was old Keith Green songs and hymns, as those were all I could remember at 2 in the morning. Now I’ve STUDIED UP and can sing some more common lullabies and baby songs, and let me tell you, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and You are My Sunshine are BIG hits around here. Also, Good Morning from Singin’ in the Rain, because this is ME we’re talking about.
So there I am, the hot water spilling out of the tap, and suddenly, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing starting spilling out too. And as I sang to myself about Jesus seeking me when I was a stranger, and rescuing me from danger, and how great a debtor I am to His grace, and asking Him to seal my heart for His courts above, my super annoying and very repetitive task wasn’t the worst. And my exhaustion, a very real thing, wasn’t too much. As I reminded myself about His gospel, His good news, I remembered that it’s good news for me now.
In this new season of life. For a tired new mama with fibromyalgia and a million things to do and think and worry about. The gospel of Jesus—the news that God loves me, a sinner, and invites me into His kingdom—is a refreshing wind, a long and peaceful and deep exhale. As I moved into O Holy Night, I was more at peace. Not because anything had really changed. I’m still going to have to wash these finicky plastic pieces many more times. I’m still going to be exhausted for what feels like FOREVER. I’m still surrounded by temptation to worry and fret and complain about hard things. But the simple act of lifting my voice lifted my spirits and thoughts to the One who listens, who hears, and who is with me, always.
So as long as motherhood feels crazy and wonderful and reveals HOW COMPLETELY OUT OF MY DEPTH I AM, I will be singing away. So for the rest of all time, really. So sorry not sorry. Good thing I’ve been practicing night and day, huh.
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| Your coffee should be the size of your infant's head. |
