I love to write.
It's how I think, process, grow, and create. It's been the easiest, most open "artistic" avenue of my life. Everyone has one. I'm convinced. You may make a moist banana bread, or paint walls, or refurbish furniture, or pound your way across a soccer field. Everyone has that one, "easy" thing that just flows out of them. It doesn't mean it's effortless, but it is enjoyable. And delightful. And (though we might never say it) it gives us a sense of worth and quality.
I am amazing, because I _________.
You don't tell people that.
You just think it.
About three months ago, two things violently collided into my "amazingness."
I got pregnant.
We got our first foster kiddie.
First of all, I am not good at being pregnant. I epically suck at it. I'm talking debilitating nausea and massive blackouts. I can barely stand upright. And this happened during spring storm season (read: migraines almost daily). Basic functions start to look monumental. (Yes. Walking to the bathroom was my Mount Everest.) But the worst part (in my mind), is the fact that I am incapable of creative thought. Completely. Totally. No thought. None. I sat down to blog, as this tiny human wreaked havoc on my body, and I would come up with one sentence.
"Toddlers should do chores." Then, I'd stare at the little blinking cursor. What else could possibly be said about this? Nothing. Nothing at all.
All of my attempted blog posts were one liners. (Which may not be a bad idea...)
Then, hard on the heels of my dead brain, came our first "raindrop baby." While we were climbing through the mountain of paperwork to complete for foster care (it rivaled Grant's adoption process), I listened to that song by Laura Story... Everyone has heard it. Probably. If you're upright and within 100 miles of a KLOVE station you probably have every lyric memorized. "What if trials of this life are mercies in disguise?"
And I remembered a friend asking me if all our failed adoptions, our lost baby, and the difficult pregnancy with Bets had made me ask, "Why?" And I realized that this was a battle that God had not asked me to walk through. I firmly believe that God created each of those circumstances and orchestrated each "failure." And perhaps the only reason I was to meet those children was so that someone, somewhere, would be praying for them. So, I do... My "raindrop babies." The blessings that hurt. The gifts that are uncertain and often removed.
And our first foster kiddie, our precious "raindrop baby," came. In the middle of my nausea. When my life was reeling with surprise and sickness. When my chief avenue of processing, thinking, and meditating (i.e. writing), was cut off to me.
God knew that would happen.
So, I quietly closed my journal, logged out of my blog, and walked into my every day. I didn't get to write. I didn't paint. I didn't journal. I didn't decorate. I didn't clean. I didn't bake.
I made hundreds of peanut butter sandwiches. Yes. Hundreds. "Little Raindrop" only wanted peanut butter. On Wonder Bread. My healthy soul shuddered, but when you can count a kid's ribs and vertebrae, you just kind of give in and smear a couple more tablespoons of fat on a piece of synthetic bread.
I pulled out the kiddie pool and sat, unmoving, beside it for hours. I gave cuddles. I made dinner (sometimes), and I managed to get laundry washed. (Not put away. But washed. Small victories, people. Small victories.) I even went to the library. Once.
That was all I could do.
That. Was. All.
Here's the thing about motherhood: sometimes your "art" must die. Sometimes creating is not the most important thing. Sometimes every other responsibility, hobby, and impulse must be shoved aside. Because you're doing something much more important.
You're raising souls.
So, if you're in that season, dear mama, don't buy into the worldly lie that you worth must be measured by your daily tasks or your handmade beauty. Those things are precious and gifts from God, but ultimately, they are not imperishable.
Human souls are.
Psalm 100:3 states, "Know that the LORD, he is God" (as in, you are not God. You are not the ultimate shot caller. If you're in a period of "nothingness" GOD IS LORD, and he created it.) "It is he who made us, and we are his." (You did not create your gifts and abilities. God did. You do not own your talents, time, or energy. God does. If he has decided to shift your focus and abilities, He is allowed to.) "we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture." (He will nurture and care for us. We are his. Even if he's called you to a time of blankness, he is watching each moment and strengthening all your weakness.)
So, blessings, tired one. God is creating something beautiful in you.