This morning, Emma and I watched the Sesame Street episode where Jack-be-nimble tries to jump over 8 candlesticks but stumbles on his first 2 attempts. It takes the encouragement of dear friends to get him to try again, resulting in not just success, but surpassing greatness. THUS, I am going to try again at blogging, determined to far exceed my own expectations.
Last night, God and I talked. It was at a service at church which I was a little skeptical about at first, but which turned out to be a really good thing. We prayed in different styles, took Lord's Supper, and sang praise songs. It was a really emotional night for me. Clark was unable to make it, but I am kind of glad because I had no distractions. I just got to be real before Jesus, and bring Him my pleas and petitions mingled with my thanksgivings. Of course on the forefront of my mind was our house selling. At one point people were asked to go up and pray with the prayer ministry volunteers if they had a need for physical healing in their lives. I was so broken just watching all the people go to the front, some of them with pains I was aware of, others' hurts unknown to me. Right before that portion was wrapped up, I realized--HEY! I am sick! I didn't move, but I just sat in the pew and cried. Happy tears. Sad tears. Prayerful tears. I have still been taking meds for anxiety since post-partum, and though I feel great, I don't like having to think of it in light of getting pregnant again or as a forever problem. I am thankful for the meds and the doctors' wisdom that have helped me so much, but how I would love for Jesus to just take this struggle away from me. I don't know what His will is... for me to remain on happy pills for the rest of my life, or for it to just be a short chapter, but I do know I want His will to be done, not my own. His will and way always surprise me with more pleasure than I ever could have conceived, and I am so greatful that at the end of the day it is Him who authors my story and not me.