Friday, December 30, 2011

Whiling Away the Hours

Patience has never been my strong suit. If you don't believe me, call up my mom; she'll tell you. So will Jim.

If I can't find someone to restring my sweat pants, I throw them in the trash...because I've cried in frustration every time I've ever tried to restring them. Also, I get really bent out of shape when technological devices (especially printers) don't work the way I think they should.

I yell at Cade for tapping. I yell at Clementine for all sorts of things.

I go barefoot or wear flip flops most of the time, but I should wear steel toe boots because I get angry, instantly, when someone steps on one of my feet.

Patience has never been my strong suit, and here I am: more than two weeks into the craziest waiting game of my life. My doctor told me I will probably miscarry over the holidays, but I haven't shed so much as one drop of blood. He told me--in the unlikely event that I haven't begun to miscarry--to call, next week, for a third ultrasound.

I know, whatever happens: I will follow my doctor's instructions. The crazy thing, though, is that--should Monday arrive without incident--I will struggle in scheduling another ultrasound.

The waiting has gotten easier.

I've come to see: every day that I don't bleed or cramp is one more day of more day with my baby. Whatever the healthcare professionals see or say, I'm still pregnant, and that's a blessing. I'm cozy and lazy, sleepy and warm. I'm resting, and there's beauty in having a legitimate excuse to lie around: to encourage stillness and hush.

I've never waited on the Lord, before, like this. I think back to when my brother was at his sickest and how I raged: how I fell into a pit; how I refused comfort; how I looked Christ in His kind, steady eyes and threw tantrum after tantrum.

Knowing I had no control over that situation infuriated me. Knowing I have no control over this situation relieves me. It's in God's hands. His hands are bigger, warmer, more capable than mine.

God and I have come so far. (Thank You, Father, for growing my understanding of Your character.)

I'm whiling away the hours (conferring with the flowers, consulting with the rain).

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