Last spring when I found out I'd been offered a full-time teaching position for this school year I drove home after work to tell Joel. He was thrilled and I cried my eyes out.
I was thrilled, too, but at 7 weeks pregnant I was completely overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed at the idea of getting what I'd wanted all year. At the thought of delivering a baby midway through a school year. At the possibility of being in my own classroom with a bunch of little tykes learning from me every day. At the perfect provision of a good God who was allowing me to be a teacher again AND had given me the gift of a little life growing quietly inside.
Today on my way home I cried my eyes out again.
Because I'm overwhelmed again.
By my fears of inadequacy. By my worries about maintaining a nursing relationship with my daughter after just 6 weeks at home. By the uncertainty of finances and what we'll do next year. By this powerful, consuming love for a child I've never seen. By the way her tiny heels kicking my right side can completely blow me away. By my husband who graciously rubs my back when it's sore and tells me I'm beautiful time after time. By my colleagues who cover dismissal duty for me when I leave early for pre-natal appointments. By the same good God who has equipped me to teach, and to grow a healthy baby, and to know him intimately, all at the same time, despite my failures.