In small group a few weeks ago, I was talking about my teensy bit of anxiety about giving birth and hoping I could do it all without induction and an epidural, blah, blah, blah, and my wonderfully wise leader completely blew me away. Yes, she said, all this is important, but this is a fleeting moment in a woman's life that needs to be celebrated with some serious gratitude. What a gift it is to bring a child into the world.
I doubt she realized the effect her words had on me. I'm doing this all wrong--more celebrating, more enjoying, more thanking God for this beautiful gift, and A LOT less worrying about things that won't matter in the grand scheme. This is such a short season of my life.
Celebrating means that I stop and take notice when my husband wraps his arms around me and tells me I am beautiful, I am a good mother, that he loves me. That I remember his words and celebrate him while we're both working away later in the day. It means that when I hit my swollen foot against the corner of a wall, yelp in pain, and receive hugs and a concerned "you okay, mom?" from my sweet two-year-old, I stop and celebrate her caring and sympathy (cause we all know plenty of adults with none of that). It means that I stop and allow my heart to melt when Cara runs into a wall and hits her head and begs for her daddy because "daddy is big and strong!"
My brother is leaving this week to serve his country, and we celebrated him today at his yellow ribbon ceremony. I'm so thankful for his sacrifice and selflessness, especially since he's leaving behind an adorable girlfriend who obviously cares about him a lot. He's awesome in so many ways, and I seriously can't brag about him enough.
Do your job, and come home safely, Uncle Josh. We love you.