Prayer Challenge

Just a quick post before Eden wakes from her nap...
While browsing Pinterest, I came across this prayer challenge, and I was just overcome with conviction. I know I need to pray for my husband, and I try to often, but in reading this, I knew I had to change my quick and simple "thank you God for Andy" type prayers.
Who am I to hold Andy to such a high standard of husbandry expectation, if I'm not praying daily, and in great depth, for him?
Our lives have drastically shifted in the last year, with the birth of our daughter. And while I so often pretend that our relationship is as it once was, truthfully I know that I there are so many times that Andy is not receiving the full amount of love, attention, and respect he deserves. And so I take on this challenge, committing to pray this daily for my husband. Will all of you other wives join me? Let's hold our husbands to a higher standard, keeping them accountable. If we want our husbands to be the spiritual men we know God has created them to be, we must first do our part as their wives, and be in daily and active prayer for them.

Like a Bridge Over Troubled Waters...

So something strange, and a bit unnerving, has been occurring at the Frizzell household as of late. No, no it's not Andy's missing facial hair (though it has taken some time, and a few long ruminating stares, for me to become acclimated to his new look). Recently our sweet little 6 1/2 month old daughter has been crying. I know!!! Preposterous!!! But it hasn't just been her normal, everyday, "I'm hungry," "I'm sleepy," I'm poopy," cries. Rather, it's more of a "I'm in a glass case of emotion!" estrogen-filled, dramatically rendered, 6 month-old version of typical teenage-girl despair. One minute she's fine, smiling and cooing in that innocent, sure-to-soon-be-dripping-with-southern-drawl, little voice of hers, and before we know it, this once sweet child is hysterically, inconsolably crying, arms flailing and legs kicking. Then the next minute, she's laughing! (Laughing at our momentarily panicked reaction is what she's really doing.) And like a spinning record, stuck on the same verse, the process is repeated. Over and over. Whenever this happens, Andy and I can't help but look at each other and laugh (as soon as we realize she's not in dire need of medical attention), for we know, this is merely the beginning.(Andy is a youth minister, after all.) She is her mother's daughter.

And so I write this, not really for the benefit of any of you crazy people who actually read this fair-weathered blog, but more as a future reminder to myself: this girl has pure, raw (and sometimes in controllable) emotions. Something that is evident at only 6 months of age, and without a doubt, sure to increase over time. AND THAT IS OKAY. No matter what her age, no matter what the circumstances, her feelings are valid. They are real. And even if the problem is seemingly minute to her most-likely-to-be-clueless parents, to her, it may feel as if the world is crashing down. I want to be a mother that listens. Who, at the very least, tries to understand, even if it at times seems impossible. Who fights for whatever she deems worthy enough to fight for herself.
Not once do I ever remember my own mother telling me to "stop crying." Even if my emotions were flying off the handle and completely unreasonable, my mom treated them with a credibility that they most likely did not deserve, something I wish to carry on for my own daughter. I pray that she is never afraid to show her emotion (and with her father, I doubt that will be a problem...love you, Andy). For the tender heart that lays within her, will one day (oh, fervently I pray), beat in rapid emotion for her Heavenly Father.

I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words....

As a mother, one of my most treasured times during the day is morning nap time. Just an hour and a half after waking from her (not so uninterrupted) night's rest, Eden is ready to go back to sleep for another hour or two. With the exception of Sundays, Eden and I stay in our pajamas, and delay getting ready for the day until after she wakes from her morning nap. And while there are probably a million other things I could accomplish during this time, on most mornings, we curl up on my bed, and take that nap together. Go ahead, you can call me lazy, I don't mind.
I never really sleep during this time. Rather, I read, spend time on Facebook, twitter, etc., browse blogs and articles by other mothers, or simply just stare at my beautiful, sleeping, baby. This morning, I am blogging.
What I love most about this glorious time of rest, however, is not the long period in which Eden is actually asleep. It is, instead, those short moments just before she drifts. As her eyelids become heavier and her breathing deeper, she often takes one long, last look at her mother. Without making a noise, she studies my face, her bright, blue eyes searching mine. Her tiny hand, slowly moving, explores the features in which she sees. And it feels as if time is standing still.
This morning, during this precious moment of peace and timelessness, my eyes, locked with hers, began to tear. Never before had I so desperately desired to know another's thoughts as I did right then. Does she understand how much I truly love her? Does she know I would do anything in this world in order to protect her? Is it possible that she dreams about me, as I do her?
And all I could do was pray, "God, I have done nothing to deserve this little girl's love, but for whatever reason, you have entrusted me with her. So please give me the wisdom and ability to raise her in such a way that she will learn to love you and live for you in ways that are far beyond my comprehension. Thank you, Lord, for this completely undeserved gift."
And as she stirs, awakens, and (this time, not so quietly) looks me, once again, in the face, the words of the Elton John song that I sing to her every night pop into my head, "...yours are the sweetest eyes, I've ever seen."