A word

I woke up early the other day and planted myself in my usual flea market find, living room chair.

Cody, who had been up an hour longer than I, smiled at me and I slowly curled myself into my usual position.

“when you’re awake enough, Id like to run something past you.” He said to me while he sipped his coffee… (a beverage my pregnancy has had an aversion to)

At this point, I knew he had been chewing on something for a while and was itching to tell me about it and so I just said, “shoot”.

He started in: “I’ve been listening to this motivational speaker who tells people to pick a word for the year. Something to keep your mind on rather than setting goals.”

At this point is was a week away from Christmas and my husband was already on the 2019 train.

He continued, “I’d like for us to do that. I pick a word for myself, you pick a word for you, and we pick a word together as a family.”

I nodded and agreed that I would think on it and really had to set a daily reminder to actually do so.

If I may share a vulnerable perspective I have?

I hate new years resolutions, ideas, goals.

There, I said it

Why?

Because I never, EVER, follow through fully with them. I end each year forgetting what I started with and by March I am back to an old habit. Like a moth to a flame is Laura Jean Bell to old habits.

But I stayed on this one, mainly because my husband really never asks anything of me.

I would think about it occasionally at work or on my drives across town to costco. Whenever silence was present and I wasn’t all of the sudden panicking about labor and delivery (any other gals just have your short moments in the day of sheet L&D panic?)

But the Labor and Delivery panic brought about an interesting take on picking my word.

stay with me here.

In our season of trying to have a baby and battling painful endometriosis, people questioned us WEEKLY (i kid you not, its like they knew when to say the wrong thing) on why we didn’t have kids.

“when are y’all gonna finally decide to have children?”

“having kids is so amazing, why don’t y’all have kids?”

“Being a mother is the greatest gift, why are you and Cody waiting around on this?”

Did the people saying this know our situation? no.

Were they purposefully trying to drive a knife through my gut? no.

BUT there was an interesting turn of events once found out that we WERE going to have a baby. The tables turned.

In this weird fierce way.

Almost like everyone who has a child wanted (before) to tell us there was nothing to be afraid of when having a baby felt so far out of reach, yet when we got pregnant, the tales of parenthood being the greatest gift turned into "You’re pregnant? Congrats your life is about to be over. GOOD LUCK.”

My expectations of parenthood being this wonderful gift turned into a pool of nightmares that I somehow was diving directly into.

Every season, whether waiting and praying for a baby or waiting on her to grow into life, I carried an expectation that didn’t look for Jesus.

In the waiting: I expected bad news.

In the pregnant: I expect chaos, exhaustion, and a horrible nightmare child.

But this is where the tables turned.

What if I expected greatness.

When I wait?

When I sleep?

When I rise?

When I have a child?

What if I greet my day, my year, my life expecting Jesus to meet me in the place that I am in.

Because my circumstance does not define His ability and it certainly does not define if He is good or not.

My circumstance, the words people speak over me and even what I fear cannot match what He is actually going to do.

So why do I expect negativity when I claim to trust the one who actually saved my life.

Will i have disappointments? Yes.

Is Jesus my disappointment? No.

I realized quickly that I partnered the two together so frequently that I felt like I had to trust God even when I felt like He was the reason for all my pain or frustration or fears.

Was He though? Or is He my anchor in the midst?

It’s interesting what happens when you come expecting Jesus to meet you.

The whole circumstance shifts from what might happen to knowing He’s there and that is the best part of being His daughter.

Expectant.

I chose it.

Why? Because I MUST come to a place where my expectations can look different than the situation, but Jesus is the same in every single room I walk into.

I come, I come expecting Jesus.