Like a Weaned Child

This was a season of great nurturing.

I found myself hopelessly awake after my husband left our cottage around 4am for work. He would be gone until about 5pm. I shut my eyes tightly at the thought of surviving another lonely day of new motherhood. I shuffled under the covers before resting on my back. Eden-Rain lay peacefully in a warm pool of sheets. Her small hand was curled up in a loose fist next to her cupid arrow lips. She was like a rainbow of light in my world.

Slowly the blessed weight of being a new mother had sunk in my heart like an aromatic tub—washing me with wonder and exhaustion. I felt no difference hardly between day and night. Every day was like a blurred experience of something grand with someone so small. And in my subconscious, I was unsettled by my lack of awareness with time. Taking care of Eden had become my greatest reality. She consumed my thoughts, my mind, my heart… and I was jovial to give myself away to her, even in the hardest of moments when I felt drained of all energy.  

My husband and I were living in my dream cottage—a bed and breakfast Elizabethan home, pressed between two majestic mountains beside a flowing soothing stream. We were in the high mountains of Divide Colorado, thousands of feet above sea level. Some of my favorite features in our cottage was the gold fireplace, the French doors with lacy white fabric and the large sauna bathtub with jets. I was living in the reality of God’s favor and goodness. Yet, I felt secluded. I was lonely and starving for the company of Christian brothers and sisters and close family members. Most days I was only able to speak to my husband for an hour or so before he fell asleep to rest before another 14-hour day. I had no one besides Bambi (the wood dwelling deer) to share the most precious and tender times of my life with. In my chest, I felt the tightness of apprehension building up with the thought of surviving another day’s worth of busy motherhood: feedings, diaper changes, and soothing a sometimes-fussy baby. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with Eden, rather it was the gnawing question of wondering if I had enough to give her that unnerved me. I dreaded the fatigue. I dreaded my own weakness and even the quiet solitude I had once ardently craved. In the undercurrent of my emotions I felt my heavenly Father invite me to let my cares go.

So, I started to talk to Jesus.  I imagined myself sipping a hot chocolatey drink with Him by the kitchen table. The blinds would be drawn up so we could both sit under the winter sky streaked with thousands of silver stars. The glimmer of white gold. The moon’s light illuminated the snow patched mountains. And through the earth I could see a part of my heavenly Father’s nature…He is glorious, He is good.  

As I sipped at my drink and sat mute beside Jesus, I realized I was like Eden-Rain to God. In my heart, I heard Him say, “you are my daughter. I will perfect that which concerns you. My joy is your strength.”

I exhaled slowly and was reminded that I will always be a child. Even in adulthood. To God, I am a daughter.

I giggled as I realized, this was a season of being nurtured.

To God, you are as precious and invaluable as a baby. He never wants you to worry. In the same way a loving parent, takes great measures to provide and nurture their child…so God does with you. He cares about you [with deepest affection, and watches over you very carefully] -1 Peter 5:7 AMP. He gladly gives Himself away moment by moment in wave after wave of the deepest love. You are His suckling child and your need pulls on all His heart, all His mind, all His strength and all His soul. And unlike a human parent, God is never tired. Your need doesn’t drain Him. I pray you find yourself as carefree with God as Eden is with me…knowing that you are fully taken care of in the cottage of faith <3 xoxo