Lessons from the crib
Lessons from the crib
It was one of those “mommy moments” that increases a mother’s heart rate on the spot and later causes her to consider the unseen angels that must have stepped in when she could not. I was rounding the corner of the kitchen with a laundry basket in hand when I glanced into the adjacent room and noticed my toddler squatting precariously over her eight-week old brother who was lying on a blanket on the floor.
“Hannah?” I hollered as I heaved the laundry basket onto the kitchen counter, “what are you doing?”
“I’m sharing my snack with Joshua,” she replied proudly.
With a sharp, “No!” I dropped the clean clothes on the floor and sprinted to my five-week-old infant’s side just in time to pull a large chunk of granola bar out of his mouth. I did a quick finger sweep in my tiny son’s mouth and marveled at the fact that I had actually remembered something from the baby CPR course I’d taken eight years ago.
“Don’t ever feed baby Joshua again,” I chided my three-year-old as I hugged my crying newborn to my chest. “You could really hurt him.”
Hannah’s proud smile immediately turned upside down as giant elephant tears dripped from her wide blue eyes. “But Mommy,” she said with a sad confusion, “All you give Joshua is plain ol’ milk. He’s bored of that. He wants something different.” Realizing my daughter’s innocent intention, I drew her close and whispered, “I know you were just trying to be nice to your brother, but milk is all he needs. It’s the perfect snack for a baby. So how about next time you share that granola bar with me, okay?”
A teary smile resolved the issue and Hannah turned her attention to her Polly Pocket dolls that were hungry for a granola bar crumb picnic. After one more quick finger sweep through my infant’s mouth to check for any lingering evidence of the near miss from which I’d just saved him, I relaxed and settled on the couch to offer my fourth-born the milk his sister had been trying to replace. Later that day as I recounted the frightening incident to a friend, I managed to laugh at my young daughter’s assumption that her brother was getting bored with his simple menu.
“What would make her think that?” I asked my husband later as I retold the story for the third time that day while we got ready for bed.
“Hmm..” my husband teased as he caressed my hair that alters styles by the month, “Maybe it’s because she lives with a mom who thrives on change!” I gave him my best “you’re so funny” roll of the eyes and climbed into bed, intent on catching a few hours of sleep before the two A.M. feeding.
As I sat awake just hours later with my nursing infant, I used the time of peaceful darkness to pray for my children. I giggled as I asked God to protect my youngest from the innocent antics of my three-year-old. Unexpectedly, in the silence of the post-midnight hour, an unsettling thought passed through my mind. “You aren’t much different than your toddler.” While I have never had the privilege of hearing the Lord’s voice aloud, I have begun to learn that if a thought is placed on my heart that I would not think on my own, it may be a quiet whisper from my Heavenly Father.
“What?” I asked incredulously to my unseen midnight partner.
“I am all you need,” was the quiet reply that passed through my mind as my newborn suckled contentedly in my arms.
The next morning, as I again settled in to feed the baby, I noticed the devotion book my husband had left lying open on the couch. Thumbing through the worn pages, I stopped at the one marked with the day’s date. The verse printed in bold at the top of the page caught my eye. “Like newborn babies you must crave pure spiritual milk so that you will grow into a full experience of salvation. Cry out for this nourishment…” 1 Peter 2:2 I didn’t even need to read the commentary to know that God was trying once again to get my attention. Conversations from the past twenty-four hours ran through my mind.
”But Mommy, Josh is bored with milk!”
”But Mommy, Josh is bored with milk!”
“Maybe it’s because she lives with a mom who thrives on change”
“You aren’t much different than your toddler…”
In my mind’s eye, I saw Hannah stuffing the granola bar into her baby brother’s mouth and then I watched as simple snapshots from my own daily life followed like the old-fashioned slide shows I used to suffer through in junior high science class.
I saw myself pacing the room with a colicky baby and seeking energy for the day ahead in the hot pot of coffee that waited for me on the kitchen counter. I watched as I fielded the not-so-abnormal phone call from my husband telling me he had to work late once again and witnessed my knee-jerk reaction to call a friend who would indulge my pity party over another long night of parenting alone. The “personal slides” continued, and for the first time, I thought about my response to life’s little disappointments and challenges: A phone call to a friend to fill the long night hours, a good book that could provide a momentary escape, a cup of coffee to keep me moving through the demands of the day. While none of these responses would be deemed inappropriate, I realized that not once in the parade of memories had I watched myself turn to the Lord in the times of daily need. Oh, yes, if the reel had continued to roll, I would have certainly seen pictures of myself curled up on the couch with Bible in hand or head bowed in prayer. I would have spotted myself at the weekly Bible study I attended or worshiping each Sunday in church. God was an important part of my daily diet. He just wasn’t the ONLY diet I offered my hungry soul. Like my young daughter’s dangerous attempt to supplement her baby brother’s diet with a granola bar. I was quick to stray from the pure milk of God’s Word and fill my immediate needs with granola bar-substitutes.
“Do you really believe I’m all you need?” the question seemed to pop out of thin air,
