Everytime I had a baby, my Dad would ask me "How old are you?" and whatever age I was at the moment, he would count on his fingers and each finger was a year and he would stop and look at me intently and say. That is how many years it will be before you can be any help to "Benny". He was not trying to be comforting, but a realist. He had been down this road; and he didn't say as I often do, "My condolences!" (Not a biblical sentiment, by any means, but a real one) He was being a financial planner and an emotional planner and a life coach. That, he would always conclude, was not a wise decision. Even though it was in his footsteps somewhat. Not wise.
The mentality of the world is that life begins after the kid goes to kindergarten. You get to be a woman. You get to live your life. You get to be. Wrong answer, according to grace, with or without means.
Children are life-giving and life-strengthening, even though harrowing.
I got on this rollercoaster ride of child-bearing and child-rearing, to give God the glory, not for my own comfort. Each decision to ride out the waves of discouragement, by His grace may not be wise, in the world's eyes, but each treasure in Heaven's toolbox and moment of disgrace at not having the means to do what we're doing is only for God's glory and not for man's credit at all.
The first day of Kindergarten for my baby is the day that my Dad planned for all my married life. I thought maybe, I'll take him out to the park across the street from Mary-Immaculate or we'll get a bag of M&M's, in the lobby to mark the day.
He's not here now to do that with. No more babies!
We'll get together then...
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