abiding in grace: reflections on the last two years

Two years ago today, I was still pregnant with Rilla.

Two years ago tomorrow, I gave birth to her. Our baby girl will be two years old tomorrow.

TWO! WHOLE! YEARS! How does the time go so fast?

She was the sweetest of babies. She was the most horrible of sleepers - likely because I picked her up every time she made the smallest sound, determined that she should know how much I loved her and that I would always answer her cries, determined that she would know she was cared for, determined that she would know God's tender love through me - and I didn't sleep more than four hours straight for a whole year. Not once.

And yet that is a distant memory now. She is a wonderful sleeper. She sleeps twelve solid hours at night and two or three hours during the day without a hint of complaint. I like to think that all that work was worth it.

I don't know if there has ever been a more determined new mom. I read so many books, and yet ultimately I tried to take my guidance from God's Word. When I wasn't sure what to do, I thought of how God takes care of us. He hears our cries and answers us. He rescues us. He carries us tenderly. I am positive that I couldn't have possibly been more tender toward Rilla.

Her first year was wonderful and so hard. The postpartum depression stretch was roughest from three to six months postpartum, but it continued for longer. Then I was pregnant again, and that was hard too, both physically because I was still nursing Rilla and up with her much of the night, and mentally because Keith was gone a lot as he was working out of town.

It was crazy. I didn't think I could do it. But one day at a time, transforming one wrong mindset at a time, trusting God always, He got me through it. He has been and still is teaching me and leading me to be the parent I want to be.

Because He carries the lambs close to His heart, and He gently leads those who have young.

I have never learned self-discipline so quickly and thoroughly and well as I have since becoming a parent. I have learned not to cry or even make a sound when I whack my toe on something while carrying a sleeping baby. I have learned how to say things gently, slowly, and clearly when I am utterly exasperated. I have learned (and am learning) how to be more careful about my days and the things I put in them. I have learned that every response is a choice, whether it is a heedlessly unkind response or a thoughtfully kind one. I have learned that my gentle responses and patient care make all the difference in the atmosphere of our entire household.

We have such a lovely rhythm and pattern to our days now. But that first year of setting those patterns and choosing to grow up and become the parent that I needed to be was perhaps the hardest thing I have ever done. I didn't have any excuse for how things went; ultimately, every day, how our daughter was cared for and what she was taught was up to me. And it was that quiet solitude in which nobody knows whether you are a good mom or not... that was the thing that I found it hardest to swallow. No accolades. No applause. No appreciation for every single crazy necessary thing that it takes to be a good mom.

This isn't at all the post that I set out to write, and I'm surprised at the words that I am sharing. I meant to share about Rilla's cute phrases and her favorite books. But instead I am caught up in the transformation that has happened not just in her during these two years, but also in me. The choices and the commitments and the complete rigorous discipleship of these two years has grown me. Much. I don't always say it or show it but today I remember the me of two years ago and I am glad that God has brought me through this time so well. Not that it is anywhere near over, but I think the foundation of mothering has been laid, the path has been set, the style of parents that we will be has already begun. It seems to me that laying that foundation was a terribly hard work at times, choosing to lay stones straight that didn't want to be laid straight, having to root things out that didn't want to be rooted out. But the good foundation has been worth it.

There are still things I need to shore up. I need to get up earlier, before the children. I can do it, but I don't. I need to be more disciplined with my time. Things are easier now than they were in those earliest days of motherhood, but I slip more, likely because it is not such a fight every moment, and so I have relaxed in places. But my God has not called me to be a part-time disciple, and my children need me to live in His grace and walk in His truth every moment, not just some or most moments.

So I am still learning. And I am sobered by my shortcomings and thankful for these first two gracious years with our sweet Priscilla Charis, whose name means "grace from ancient blood" and who every day reminds me of God's gracious blessings to us. Lately I have been reminded in particular about the "through ancient blood" part, that it is only through the blood of the Ancient of Days, Christ coming as a baby and growing to become a man and dying on the cross, His blood for the ransom of many, that I have this hope and this freedom. It's not mere willpower or determination or strength of mind that makes me a good mom, it is God's grace alone, freely imparted to me through the death of His only Son, freely flowing in my life through the pouring out of the Holy Spirit, the Giver of all good things whose divine power is more than sufficient to transform me from lowly and selfish into courageous and gentle. It is He who transforms me. It is He who I desire my children to see living in me.