The wooden spoon not sparing

Mothering through my hopes and desires while serving a great God is difficult yet quite simple. My flesh speaks to my womb daily wishing it were full but knowing the conviction of His hand will slap my idolatry away. The mud of other gods I have slipped in covering myself in judgment . I shall not return but my desire is to see a life outside of my other four yearns. My imaginative play continues to create games of hopscotch with sisters and baseball with brothers but my maker calls me not to pretend but pray. My body feels broken and helpless at times but HE reminds me I wasn't a mistake. I feel the wrath of jealously whispering me to abide in his truth, his time, his plan. My disobience finds me pushing the empty swing and blowing out one " Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you , Happy birthday dear empty womb, Happy birthday to you." I sing this while Jesus carries me and befriends my confusion, sorrow and discontent. His gentleness and promise wraps himself around my wounded flesh while recycling my faith .I am once again renewed and strengthened to mother in the midst of His will .