I really hate the old Southern saying, "Even a blind hog can find a few acorns". Maybe because it sounds so dreadfully stupid in a southern drawl, maybe because I have heard it so many times it has lost its meaning. The worst part is that I think I'm discovering the truth in it.  I cannot bear to say that I am finding an acorn, but I will admit that I am finally learning a new truth.   The Lord has been very patient with me. I am a first generation believer, and brought much bagage for the Lord to work out of me. The fact that I have children is such an evidence of His grace. The fact that I have many is a testimony to His completely transforming power to change hearts.  In the early days, the pregnancies came so fast that I never had time to consider anything but survival. I loved my children, but endured pregnancy as a necessary evil. I hated being pregnant, and would tell you so.  After a particularly rough pregnancy (#5), I was convicted that my attitude was surely not helping matters. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he" Proverbs 23:7. With the Lord's help, I put a stake in the ground, and determined to never say those words ("I hate being pregnant") again. And I haven't.  My sixth pregnancy was much, much better, and I attribute some of that to my attitude change. Although He forgives, the Lord wants us to hold fast to the standard that we have already attained; so no backsliding this time. Throughout this current pregnancy, I have experienced much grace even in the midst of physical issues that are not perfect. My goal this time was to add to standard I had attained (not hating pregnancy), and raise the bar a bit. This time I am determined to be patient until the end. *dramatic gasp* (Is this even possible?) Obviously, this is not something I can do in my own strength.  This is way more than  exercising tongue-control (although that is not simple either), and keeping our schedule packed so I have less time to be bored during the wait. I am experiencing true heart change this time. There is a mentally challenged lady at church who, every week for the last few months,  has told me that I must be miserable."Misubull, misabull, misabull..." It starts to  get to me about the fourth-time-in-a-row she says it, but by the twelfth-time-in-a-row, it becomes comical. I tell her what I have been telling myself: if I truly believe that God has ordained this child's birth for His glory and for my good, it would be an affront to Him for me to consider myself "miserable". Large, whale-like, uncomfortable, hot, tired, anxious...a resounding yes. Miserable...by His grace...no.     Please excuse me while I go pray for labor to start...

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I would not have believed it if I had not experienced it first-hand today. No offense to Doug Philips, or any of the other speakers and writers I had heard expounding on the merits of the practice. I was beginning to think the whole idea was merely a product of their own optimism with no basis in fact.

Over the past few months, I have been frantically searching   calmly investigating my options in finding a young lady to come to help the week after I deliver our newest baby. My rose-colored dreams involved a young lady, finished with formal schooling, who lives at home, a mature believer skilled in homemaking and childcare. I prayed for someone who would have enough margin built in to her life that she could be free to answer the Lord's call to come and serve at our house for a few days at a moments notice. Granted, it was a pipe dream   tall order, but I was hopeful.

I think I am in love. This dream lady came over today and spent most of the day getting to know the children, experiencing our routine, and fellowshipping with the children and me. Miss Bekah is better by far than I even imagined-a gift to our family from the Lord. I had forgotten how thorough the Lord is when He bestows gifts. Not only was this young lady homeschooled and raised on a farm, (nothing inherently righteous there, just that she "gets" us), but her Momma was a La Leche League Leader, and she appears to know more about childbirth and nursing than the average first-time mother. Apparently they do exist.

The more I know about this young lady... the more I want to sit at her Momma's feet and learn from her.

The more I know about this young lady... the more I want to sit at my Lord's feet and thank Him for sending her.

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights..." James 1: 17.

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All my mental wranglings aside, I cannot seem to come up with an apt analogy for my current obsession distraction. The official, generally accepted term for my condition fits on some levels, but is not an exact match. In this most recent flare up recurrence, I have also stumbled upon the hard evidence that not only is this catching, but contrasted with stomach flu, this is an agreeable infection to have spread through the family.

Nesting is a very real phenomenon in our home these days. My painting and cleaning, washing and sorting, organizing and arranging can be favorably compared to a mother bird feathering her nest. Making the place clean and comfortable for my newest fledgling might be recognized even by Mrs. Robin as  natural and proper preparations for the impending arrival. When engaged in this part of my "nesting" experience, I feel matronly and responsible. This is the way of mothering.

In my minuscule limited experience with nesting birds, I have witnessed  mothering of the latter sort.  What I have never known, however, is the flip side of what I am experiencing: a mother bird tearing apart every inch of her nest, chucking and flinging with abandon. The larger the Goodwill pile , and the more full trash bags, the more fuel is dumped on my proverbial fire. While I should possibly be resting and storing up energy for labor,  this discarding and casting aside serves to kindle a maniacal gleam in my eye and energize me to waddle faster.

I am unresolved as to which is the finest part of this season.  As much as I love the process of decluttering, I absolutely adore the results. I have been known to just go sit and gaze into a closet in the afterglow  of nesting. It is a glorious feeling!

Now that my children are exhibiting symptoms of nesting, I am overjoyed.  Witnessing the willing, unsolicited Goodwill bags leaving their bedrooms is the stuff of motherhood nirvana. Having the children be my moral support when wavering on some item is priceless. "Mom, we don't really need to keep that, do we? Be strong, Mom."

So it has no resemblance to mother birds. There is more to life than analogies. This season may not last forever, so I will ride this wave as long as it lasts.

Surely we cannot go wrong with living with less stuff.
Surely this will make life with the new baby easier.
Surely I need to get the Goodwill bags out of the house before any of us change our minds...

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