the author of love

Today I read through some old emails that I wrote to a friend when I first typed out the words “I’m pregnant” (followed by lots of other colorful words as well). I knew that she was the perfect person to tell, she was far away in another country and would pray for me the minute she laid eyes on my desperate email. and then she would smile and freak out with me, and pray some more. Reading our email thread confirms that this is exactly what she did, and she also reminded me of a truth that I still hold onto in my deepest place in my heart of hearts : God’s love for his children is like an expectant mother.

At first I was too anxious and distraught to really comprehend those words that I read, but I knew them to be true. Today, I know them so much more than I ever thought possible, and he’s not even here yet. As I sit here my belly is making rapid movements that I can see from the outside, and I know my son is doing a little happy dance or a “why won’t you let me out yet so I can meet my wicked cool parents already?” dance. personally, I like the think it’s the latter, but that’s just me. my touch already soothes him, my heart beat is his lullaby and my voice is what he longs to hear. he is cared for and is not lacking as he continues to grow inside me. And to think that someday he will be free and make his own decisions, and someday not need me (as much) as ge does now. I can’t imagine the day he gets his heart broken or has his first real medical emergency, or decides to pack up his little cheap car and drive off to follow his dreams. I’ll have to chose to let him, and love him unconditionally through all his mistakes. I can tell him I can relate to his pain from rejection, his experimental phases of partying and his joy of finding love for the first time but he might not listen. And then I think of how I will suffer through labor for him to have life, and that he’ll be worth it, worth every minute of it.

I don’t take the time to think of how this relates to God’s love for His people enough, specifically for myself. He created me, carried me through my development and growth, and let me be free in Him. He told me He could relate to my sufferings and happiness and sometimes I didn’t and still don’t believe Him. He listens yet sometimes I don’t want to talk. I’m stubborn and self centered and immature and He’s still crazy about me. Madly in love with ME. He labored over my freedom, and chose death to take my place. He loves me more than I can comprehend, more than I could ever possibly love my own child.

I say all this to say that I need to be reminded and think about love coming from the author and creator of love, the one who loves me and all my imperfections. And how right now, as I carry this child within my womb I can be reminded of how my own expectancy is a metaphor and representation of Gods undying love for His people, even me.

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a new start: love letter to my body

linking in to the sychronoblog:  A Love Letter to my Body

So here it goes. I’m starting a blog that I’m not sure I’ll keep up in order to write a love letter to my body. A challenge that has been….well, challenging. I’ve thought about it and put it off for a number of days, but I think I’m ready. I’m ready to be honest with my body and share my thoughts, regrets and deepest feelings that I often keep hidden. To some, a love letter to your body may not seem like a big deal or a tough task, but my body and I have been on an intense journey together, and its been a  while since we’ve had a gentle talk.

Dear Body,

it’s been awhile since we’ve talked….

So many times I have called you names. Cursed you. Hated you.

I told you that you were worthless and had so much to change, that perfection was your only option. I pushed you so hard that you released ever flowing tears and collapsed with this overwhelming and unattainable task. You were never meant to be perfect, whatever that word even means. I’ve kept you from eating, sleeping and resting in order to mold you into a form that you were never intended to take….but then you formed another life inside of you. I wept when I thought of how you surprised me with one of your greatest achievements that I couldn’t yet see. I cursed you again. I told you that you were only allowed to stretch so much, get so big and look so full of life, but you didn’t listen. You grew, and continue to grow, at the the pace that my baby needs. Sometimes I still hate you for it, and tell you that you should look more like the other bodies who didn’t get as heavy or uncomfortable as you are now. I cried when my midwife told me that you knew best. I couldn’t believe I had to trust you to carry me through the growth and laboring over another human life. for so long I thought I had to control you. I’m sorry I haven’t been gentle enough. understanding enough. loving enough. and thankful enough.

Countless nights I have forced you to stay awake so I could spend time with the man who loves you far more than I do, and to study and write papers furiously in the library before the sun came up.Your eyes have seen so much, they’ve read so much, they’ve stayed alert when all they wanted was rest. And yet you still allow me to open them and greet each day. When i see your hips I try to minimize them, but you have made them stand out like they do so I can walk, carry a baby in my womb and a toddler on my side. And  your ears, oh how I’ve hated those ears of yours. But you allow me to listen and learn, to embrace the sounds around me.You do these things without me knowing them, and for that I am thankful.

Remember that day when  you carried in ten bags of groceries at the same time, with only your two arms that I often call flabby and weak? Or when you ran miles and miles in the heat on that little island we visited where you only wanted to relax, but I pushed you to your breaking point, and you didnt give up on me? How about all of the times that your embrace has comforted babies, strangers and friends? Or how your hands have sacrificed and served in countries faraway and to neighbors close by?    You have done these things for me, and I am thankful.

I know we aren’t there yet, but in a couple weeks I’ll need to be reminded again that I can trust you. That you are strong and able. And together, dear body of mine, we will deliver a baby into the world. I may need to be reminded that you will take time, maybe lots of time, to heal. Please be patient if I don;t understand right away, I’m still learning how to love you. But until then, lets go rest. Yes, I’m going to be gentle enough to let you rest. To rest your back from carrying a little life, a life that I can trust you with.

 

 

Dear Body, I think I can fall in love with you.