I don’t even know where to begin tonight.

The words are lost to me – an amazing oversight for a talker like me, I know. I will start by explaining my state of mind lately and try to articulate what my heart is being overwhelmed by.

Thoughts have come at me, usually as phrases from my own memory, from a book I’ll be reading, from time in prayer, or from my husband or a friend. Gentle (usually) reminders steering me back on course. My reflection of late has revealed to me characteristics I don’t particularly like. Complaining. Lack of gratitude. Lack of forgiveness. Impatience. Fear of surrender, of pain, of humility, of so many things. Negative reactions and sharp words with an edginess that hints at some deeper turmoil.

There have been flat out miraculous things happening around me this year, and yet I feel hesitant to embrace them. There has been tremendous displays of sacrifice, love, concern, patience, selflessness, creative energy, positive attitudes — but I allow myself to play the role of one who has been too burned to receive it.

The gifts of those around me, even strangers and newly found friends, have been so incredibly generous. I keep getting this image of God breaking through my self-pitiful reality with outstretched arms, utilizing absolute passerby’s in His attempt to show me grace and snap me out of it.

Examples: A beautiful bouquet of flowers given to me, freely, by the florist at New Seasons. “Every one deserves flowers now and then,” she said. Deserves? Not me lady. Not me. My son holding on to my thigh when I leave for the grocery store, telling me how much he loves me and will miss me – after a week of parenting hell in which I failed miserably at nearly every opportunity to show sacrificial, kind love towards him. A husband who tries to hang on to his last drop of patience with me while I stammer on about the ill-designed layout of Ethan’s “new” used loft bed that took us over 6 hours to piece together, who has clearly had it UP TO HERE with my strange bout of o.c.d. that only comes out on him; still he talks with me, loves me, hears me cry and complain, tries to understand and reaffirm me… but isn’t too shy to tell me when I need to leave him alone and stop being a damn nag . Housemates who see my faults, fatigues, immaturity, biting remarks towards those I love the most, rambling off-balanceness of my demeanor – yet I get sympathetic smiles, hot meals, kefir shakes, a backyard shed, and love, love, love. Friends who show up to Verity’s “Celebration” today with amazing gifts – blueberry plants, herbs and edible starters, homemade cloth diapers and time-consuming stitch-work with sweet little tags. A pregnancy that I have such a difficult time being excited about and grateful for- and yet has been completely PERFECT in every way, and has been such a result of collaboration I wouldn’t know where to begin – from friends and elders who helped my marriage start the road to healing to shockingly generous donations towards my efforts to even afford a midwife to birth her.

Oh, that I could possibly be worthy of so much grace. So much attention. So much sweetness. My heart cannot contain the humbling as a result of this. Finally God’s use of my community has chipped away at my week (or more) of self-consumed funk. Feeling I have nothing to offer in return – no poetic string of words feel genuine enough to convey my gratitude and love, nor my humility at my behavior.

If Verity’s life is anything like the grace I have been given during her bearing — and I believe it is significantly linked — then my only adequate posture is one of complete face-on-the-floor worship. What a wild ride I am in for – I am completely unprepared and don’t deserve an ounce of it… which I’m guessing might be just how God works best.

So today marks my “full term” 37th week, and all I have left to say is, Welcome, Verity.
welcome, truth.