We've got an 11 month old in the house who's cruising and babbling with some successful words thrown in.
A growing 8 year old who says things like, "I do not fear death." and I respond, "But can you please just put your shoes where they're supposed to go."
Segue, you can still find me grating cheese at around 1pm almost daily. Who knows what for- lunch? Snack? Dinner? Apocalypse?
The other day after dinner, we looked up what a wombat looks like and surprise THEY'RE ADORABLE:
I'm still walking and seeing CANIGETAWITNESSUPINHERE!? People stop me and go, "Wow! I remember you in the wheelchair!" And now I'm pushing a stroller. Jesus did it.
Still doing the Lovely Girls Club deal even though I'm so unworthy, but have so much passion for what God wants and needs HIS girls to hear. DGMS about that I will go on for a fortnight.
We're taking pics of our precious dears, but not posting them on FB because it would not be prudent given the nature of our foster to adopt case. It's so funny, not ha ha funny, but surreal funny. We take pics, we do the events/carnivals/obligatory kid things/birthdays/etc. and yet, it's like God has taken away that I MUST HAVE THE WORLD SEE THIS rigmarole.
Heck, I'm not judging. How else can g'ma see those fun times if she lives in Montego Bay? By the way, can I go and visit your grandmother if she lives there? Is that weird? Yes? I thought so too.
I'm so conflicted. Maybe I haven't written in a while, because I feel too many emotions and fear I'll come off: at best a flibbertigibbet (If you've seen Joe vs. the Volcano- we are instafriends) or at worst, certifiable.
Maybe I don't want to have a DTR with the world? DTR= Discuss the Relationship.
But maybe that's just the enemy getting at me.
It ain't no lie that sometimes I go through stuff that can be sort of isolating. And I remember when I am going through those moments how much I hate feeling as though no one gets it. And then I think to my self, "Self, I should blog about that."
Everybody goes through isolating trials. So we can get off people perhaps and grab on to Jesus?
I get it. I get you in my limited human capacity.
And really, truly, Jesus gets you always.
This Sunday, i.e. yesterday, the one that I love had another birthday. I made him crepes and I'm the worst baker ever. THE WORST. And now, a Rodney Dangerfield-esque rant on how bad of a baker I am:
I think I blacked out and someone actually came in and cooked them and then woke me up and made me think I did it.
I'm so bad that I regularly look at cakewrecks.com to make myself feel better and laugh!
I'm so bad at baking, I could have my own show: Baking Bad!!!
We can get this ebola thing under control guys because I made a freaking crepe! 3 of them! Then I didn't want to push it and stopped. Perfectionist people problems.
We went to church. I cried and journaled and wished for a better pen collection so I could write faster to match my emotional flood writings.
We've got this darling baby girl. We've got her for who knows how long. But again I say, we don't know for how long we have anyone. Everyone's on loan from God's People Library, right?
So we have this child we love. She loves us. She calls me mama and Johnicles, dada and Leelah, lala, and Boo, dughhhghsh.
And in our hearts, our will for her is to be with us forever. But we have to daily surrender this to what God wants, His Will for her, and to be real honest I'm not that great at that. Most days I just go through them afraid to really let my heart guard down until some next man-made hearing/trial/appt/meeting/conference when we will FINALLY have her as ours. I know, I know, that's pretty selfish of me.
So at church I just felt the need to just let that guard down. I cannot hold my feelings hostage any longer.
We love this baby. She is ours for however long God deems. So I'm just gonna love her and let my heart be broken like every other mom on earth who has to let their kid grow up, go to school, go on a mission trip, get married, and sometimes, very, very unthinkable hard times go to be with Jesus.
Now I feel freer. I know this will be a continued process of telling the beavers to yet again stop damming up my heartworks so I can freely love this little angel without fear, but God can do this in me.
And I know nothing. And I'm trying my best, in my very imperfect perfectionistic way to say, that's okay.