*Although this post includes a lesson I learned while nursing my son, it is by no means graphic. :-) It is also an opinion, experience-based post, not a "how-to" or "you should too." Please read, guilt-free, whoever you are.*

I always planned on nursing Elijah, from the time I found out he was coming. All the research points to health benefits of breastmilk, I didn't want to buy formula, and I certainly didn't want to suffer the disapproval of nursing gung-ho mamas.(note: this last reason is a very poor reason to breastfeed. If you are currently on the fence about it, save yourself a headache or two and don't let others opinions be a factor) To be honest, I am gung-ho about nursing myself, but I also appreciate that not everyone has the opportunity or the desire to nurse for months on end, or to nurse at all and I completely respect that. But I recently had a revelation while nursing my sweet (almost) 9-month-old this past week, and wanted to share. It's getting harder and harder to ignore the urge to write these days...my wonderful husband has been prodding and encouraging and I think it has been rubbing off...But anyway...

I guess this started with me realizing that my time spent reading the word and in focused prayer has been a little scattered. I lobby for routines for my baby because it helps him to feel established and know what's coming next and feel safe -- this has been a a good thing for our family and especially for E! -- but I had failed to establish routines for myself. I started doing some inventory and realized that I have this precious time called naptime (hallelujah praise Jesus that babies nap!!!!) and E's morning nap is a perfect time for me to have my quiet time. Because guess what? He takes a nap.every.single.morning. And if he doesn't have his nap he is a perfect little BEAR (and rightfully so). And guess what else? Without my time with Jesus I am a whole lot worse than a bear. So I started getting in to MY naptime routine. Put baby to bed, wait until I know for sure he is asleep, then take the coffee and the Word and the journal out on the porch and....

FEAST.

It has been glorious.

I feel like I am drinking in the Word. Words of life? Yes, they are. I am not usually having intense revelations of truth or huge theological breakthroughs but I bask in God's presence. And I am restored there. Journaling is so huge for me. It is a chance to expel my "emotional vomit" (yes, I am a woman, that is a thing and I have it) and maybe spare some unnecessary words from my poor husband when he gets home. :-) Aaaaaand writing is such an addiction for me, so I suppose that may be why I have started blogging again, too.

But last week I had been convicted about my tongue while reading James 2 (I can never get past that passage. Yikes, I am such a firecracker sometimes), felt refreshed and ready to go. I was thanking God for the addiction of his Word - once you taste a little bit you can't get enough...

"Oh taste and see that the Lord is good..." Psalm 34:8a

Shortly after this, my sweet Elijah woke up from his nap. Rested and still a bit groggy, he smiled when I came into his room. He sat in the middle of his crib fingering his blanky absentmindedly as he beamed up at me with his sweet angel smile. As I came closer, he batted his long dark lashes at me and waved at me with his irresistible backwards wave and cooed happily. He reached up for me as I reached for him, his blanky a thing of the past. I snuggled him close and we chatted happily about his nap time and how he had slept as he briefly laid his head on my chest, then pulled away to stare sweetly in my face, then looked around the room. The busy man was waking, ready for another cycle of food and then fierce play (he doesn't mess around, my little beastling.

(*disclaimer: this is a routine, thrice-a-day happening at our house and it is THE.BEST. My job may be thankless and wearisome at times, but these special moments are what redeems all the cleaning up of pee and poop and spit-up and smashed bananas and also what make it seriously the best in the entire world*)

We walked into the living room. I checked the clock. 4 hours since his last feeding. He knew it, too. My son can tell time by his tummy. (can't we all?) We sat down on the couch, and he knew what time it was. He kicked his little feet in anticipation. The longer it took (though honestly it was about 5 seconds from sit to latch) the more antsy he got. His eyes got wider. He cooed excitedly. He leaned forward.

I offered. He accepted. (see, I told you this was NOT graphic)

As Elijah took in gulp after gulp of milk, he visibly relaxed. I saw the satisfaction on his face. I saw the contentment in his eyes as he was nourished in a place of safety and rest.

God spoke to me while I watched my baby nurse, something I have done AT LEAST 4 times a day, every single day, for the past 9 months. In that moment I instantly identified with my sweet baby who had found the craving of his tummy to be not only satisfactory but something that offered him rest and peace. There's nothing more peaceful than a baby nursing with his mama....even a wild and crazy, busy bee, crawling, pulling-up, refrigerator-shelf-climbing, power-cord-eating, loud, all-out baby (not mine, of course...) will stop for 10 minutes (15 if I'm lucky) to receive nourishment and rest during his very busy and all-important business of play. And I am the same.

I'll share a little excerpt from my journal later that day...

"I feel like Elijah when he is very hungry and I bring him to my breast to nurse. He lunges forward in eager anticipation, his mouth open wide to be filled with the milk I have to give freely - not conditionally, not grudgingly, not with anger in my heart. And when that sweet boy latches, God, his whole body tells me that he has found what he was seeking and was not disappointed. His eyes roll back into his head in peaceful satisfaction. His hands wave around in pleasure. He grunts contentedly. He sucks with a vigor that shows his hunger, but not with the intensity of one not knowing from where his next meal will come. He knows I will be there next time his tummy is hungry.
Thank you for being there for me when I need you - and even more perfectly and more willingly than I am for Elijah."

I would never deny Elijah milk in his hunger, and He knows that. He knows that I give without resentment ("What? You're hungry again? Why are you back so soon?") or inconvenience ("Well, it's not a good time for me. What about tomorrow?") or conditionally ("Well, you haven't really done enough for me today, so why should I give you what you need?"). That is psychotic. That is bad parenting.

As sad as that is, I often view God as that bad parent. I sometimes neglect time with Him because I am ashamed of the things I have done wrong and feel that I need to make myself better before I pray. In reality, God tells me in his word that I am welcome as I am and not just that but I can't clean myself up enough to make him love me. He just does. Just as I love Elijah without condition or pretense, so does God with me:

"As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him. For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust" Psalm 103:13, 14

That just makes me want to come to Him with an eagerness to be filled. He gives in love, out of the generosity of his kind heart, the truth of his Word that brings comfort and rest and peace and hope. And He gives himself. That makes me want to follow his command in Psalm 81:10 to the people of Israel. A command that comes with a promise, a beautiful, comforting promise:

"I am the Lord your God, who brought you up out of Egypt. Open wide your mouth and I will fill it."

'Open wide' is not a very hard thing to do. A baby can does it instinctively, only seconds after exiting the mother's body. Or is it hard? To come to God 'with my mouth open wide' to be filled by Him, I need to be more like my humble, trusting, hungry baby.