Au Naturale

Lennox and I took my brother Kyle to the doctor one day last week. I was a little worried at first. Worried of being "the lady in the waiting room with a baby who won't shut up". Then I rationalized the action with the notion that I've put up with my fair share of screaming babies in my life, and it was my turn to be on the offense. Don't get me wrong, Lennox is an amazing baby, and does extremely well in public. But say he does start screaming in the waiting room. What are my resources to soothe him?

"Here Lennox, awkwardly stare at the old man in the argyle socks picking his nose with his freakishly long pinky fingernail."
"Let's count the number of AARP and Medicare ads in this germ-infested golf magazine."
"Let me bounce you up and down anxiously as I pace the hallway garnished with photos of doctors treating patients who are curiously excited about whatever disease they've come down with."

Yeah, no, perfect place to bring a (at the time) 7 week-old.

Luckily, Lennox did great. We had to wait a much longer time than anticipated, though, and at about the one-hour wait point, Lennox got a little fussy. I held him close and rocked back and forth and cooed him back to sleep. I lifted my head to find that a older lady was staring at me with an eyebrow raised.

"Is that your son?" she said.

No, I like to spend my free time in doctor's office holding babies I nabbed from the pediatric office on the first floor. 

"Yes, he is," I smiled.

"Oh, he is just heavenly. What is he, your 2nd or 3rd?"

You skipped an important number there, lady. Do I look like I've had two or three kids? I know I kept a little weight on, but geez....

"No, he's my first."

"Oh, really? You just look so... natural."

Natural? Natural as in worn? Natural as in not exuberant? Natural as in Amazon woman?

"Um... thanks."  I think she could read the confusion on my face.

"I didn't meant offend you, dear. I just meant that you seem to know exactly what you're doing."

But I don't know what I'm doing.

That was always my one fear. I was so scared that after the nurse handed my son to me for the first time that I would be at a lost for instructions. Everyone always talks about that "mother instinct". I was sure it was a myth, or at the very least some cruel inside joke I would never be a part of. Sure I had taken care of plenty of babies, but the instructions were always left on the counter next to pizza money. Who was leaving the instructions for me? How do I ask for help if I don't know in what ways I needed to be helped? We aren't talking about making a mistake and moving on with life. Mistakes I make could seriously screw up a life! My son's life! The poor kid already has me to deal with for a mother, does he really need me making extracurricular errors?

I looked down at Lennox, asleep on my shoulder.  

Well, he is alive. And I guess he seems to like me enough.

Okay, so maybe I'm not a natural, but I suppose I'm not terrible. But how did I get to this point? How did I turn into a person I didn't know I needed to be?

I've been reading Ephesians lately. As I pondered this mysterious motherhood mutation, I came upon this verse:  

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. - Ephesians 3:20-21

I just can't imagine what it would be like to be God. I'm so bound by my human limitations, I forget that God has none to restrain Him. I can bow and pray to Him about my situations all day long, thinking I have every piece to the puzzle and that I just need help arranging them.

But He is able to do immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine. Forget the puzzle pieces. I'm missing entire puzzles.

I could ask for God's help with Lennox all day long. But the truth is, I really don't know what I'm doing. My son will be a great, Godly man, and if I think for one second that has anything to do with me knowing what to do, I've lost my mind. I'm doing nothing. God is doing everything.

Not me. Through me.

I can't imagine Mary's anxiety. My son won't be perfect, and that takes off a little of the edge. But her son was perfect. Talk about pressure. God used her in ways she could never imagine. I'm sure she couldn't ask for help with the things she needed to do. She didn't know she needed to do them. I don't know that I need to do them. I can only ask that I behave and react to every situation in a way that is pleasing to God, and pray that the result is raising a son who lives a life pleasing to God.

I can't even begin to list the mistakes I've made, or being to imagine the ones I have yet to make. I'm not the perfect mother. And I don't need to be. But God is the perfect Father. Between the two of us, I think Lennox will be okay.

Now if God could just slow the laundry down....