She adores me. This little precious life who has only graced this earth for 7 short months adores me. The moment she sees me step into the room, she nearly jumps out of whatever baby-bought contraption she's in. Her happy is huge. It's as though her little chunky 20 pound body can't contain all the happy she feels, so it comes out in the form of jumping legs, flailing arms, tightened fists, and a scrunched up face, a face screaming happy! happy! happy! Her happy pops the very moment she sees me. Me.
The moments I'm struggling to make it through the day . . . she adores me. She actually adores me. In all her innocence, that precious baby has no idea, no idea that the one she adores is barely - hanging - on. . .
She has no idea that I'm scared of what's next. She has no idea that we've just moved from financial security to total vulnerability. She has no idea that we've made the hard decision to say goodbye to a paycheck in order to say hello to God's plan . . . again. She has no idea that my anxiety is winning these days or that my faith seems to be in hour-long cycles of strong/weak, building up/diminishing . . . then with no warning at all - disappearing. Next. Hour. Please. Not the disappearing hour, please not the disappearing hour . . .
She has no idea that all that noise she just heard was this worn-out Momma failing to respond like I should, once again, to her four brothers. She has no idea that I'm mostly their referee, far from the adored Momma I used to be. Her baby eyes that lead her to a simple toy to grab have nothing but love for me. She adores - me. She adores me.
She has no idea that I'm overwhelmed with each day right now, barely able to make a decision for myself, let alone plan out a week of meals or a summer of fun for our family of seven. She has no idea that it's an actual accomplishment that I managed toast and juice for the little two this morning, and that this is the first time I've even thought about food and the oldest two. She has no idea that the transitions usually overwhelm me. The transitions of pregnancy to baby, one state to another, one job to some other, one church to another, one perfect home to some other house. She has no idea we're transitioning at all. All she knows is she adores me.
I am her happy.
What I would give to know that happy! She's staring at me right now, and she's making these pathetically sweet noises that are clearly saying that she can barely stand to be this close to me without being in my actual arms, as close as possible. In fact, she's pressing her entire body toward me while in her exersaucer, lifting her little feet off the ground. In mid-air, she's trying with all her might to be
near . . . me. (I just picked her up.)
She has no idea that scrunched up nose of hers whispers, God has a plan. She has no idea that her itsy bitsy fingers tightening around mine remind me that she was created by God, and in that definiteness also comes the reassurance that I was chosen to be her Momma and their Momma. She has no idea her outfit was a gift, as all her clothes have been (I exaggerate not), and they seem to be whispering, The One who provided for her will provide for you. She has no idea that her little body, every fat crinkle and teensy fingernail, reminds me that His ways are so very far beyond anything I could possibly orchestrate. She has no idea that her "dada da dada" babbles and feet-holding loveliness that I get to know so completely are constant reminders that there is a plan for this family.
She has no idea that she is ministering to me.
She has it right. She does. She has this amazing thing that I lack. The adoration. The total dependency and love for her Momma. The kind of faith that is unwavering. She knows I am her source. She knows I will predict her needs and meet them promptly and feed her every time. She knows that I love her so much that I can't resist picking her up when she begs. Unwavering faith in me. I am her happy.
And I can't help but think that God designed these tiniest of humans to be a picture of how to have an unwavering faith, a total dependency, a huge, huge love.
He needs to be my happy.
