Mercy

The chicken is in the oven, Benjamin is asleep in his own crib (hallelujah!), I am almost finished with what I am sure is a near perfect apple pie, and Rich Mullins is on the media player. Mmmm.

Then the next door dog barks, I mean yips. Have I told you that I hate the next door dog? Have I told you that it is tied to a tree very near to my baby's bedroom window? I start to fantasize about the dog finding a new home, far from me. Or about some way to rig the baby monitor to a megaphone so that I can blast the sound of a crying baby into their home the way they project the sound of an unsatisfied pomeranian into mine. Rich Mullins sings, "...ever widening their mercies in the fury of His love....OH, the love of God....OH, the love of God..."

Ouch, God. Those were my toes! Please widen my mercies. Teach me to love my neighbor. And his dog.

Postpartum is Not Hot

I was changing clothes to go to women's group because the shirt I was wearing was covered in drool and mucus (Benjamin has inherited mommy's allergies and his nose has been running nonstop). I was just thinking about the fact that I can no longer rewear clothes before washing them, when I discovered a Cheerio. Stuck to my breast. Nice.

Joys and Sorrows

I know I've blogged about this several times before, but I am once again struck by how strange life is, how the most joyful time in one life is the most sorrowful time in another. Every morning and evening I think of Katy and Scott, the loss of little Carter. I just grieve for them and pray for their comfort. This morning I was drifting in and out of sleep and thinking about a verse somewhere in the Bible that says something about how God will restore the years that the locusts have stolen. I don't know what it says exactly, but I just pray it for them--that someday their joy will be restored and that they can remember Carter with smiles instead of drenching tears. I know it will be a memory that will always hurt. I think about it and I just hold my Benjamin tight and try to treasure the moments we're given. But tonight I am also thinking of another friend. Trish is having her baby girl tomorrow. My joy for her is almost tangible. If you could see it, I think it would look like a room full of bubbles all piled on top of each other and shining multicolored in the light. I can hardly contain myself. But then I think again of Katy and I have no words. I wish I could write an eloquent post tonight, put my thoughts into words you'd read and ponder and keep. But it is beyond me. The joy of the one and the grief of the other are so very real and it is just so hard to reconcile. Do you ever feel guilty for your own happiness? I do. Sometimes I feel like life has been too easy for me and I haven't even really appreciated it. What right do I ever have to complain of anything when there is a Katy who has lost more than I can imagine? I apologize for the rambling nature of this post. My sense of empathy has always been so strong, which can be a gift or a curse. Sometimes I cannot help but try to imagine how a friend is feeling and I begin to fear looking or sounding too happy. What if I blog about Trish's baby and Katy or another bereaved parent reads it and is hurt? Should I even post this? I guess what it boils down to is that loving people is hard and having friends means that you sometimes have the incredible privilege of sharing their joys but that you also feel so keenly the pain of their sorrows. I don't know what I'm babbling about. But tonight I'm praying for both of my friends, the one in the best of times and the one in the worst.