I have come to believe that at the root of much frustration, anxiety, and irritations is dissatisfaction. We are not content. We are not satisfied. We are not fulfilled. How much of your day is wasted contemplating what didn’t go your way as opposed to the many blessings that have been ignored. I have challenged myself lately to be satisfied with what God has for each day. I am an achiever. I am a goal setter. I am a proactive player. But reaching goals cannot be my measurement of satisfaction. God doesn’t hand out a report card each month with a list of items checked off that we have accomplished. We are not measured by our “good” works but our endurance, character and hope that is mentioned in Romans 5. Am I investing as much into my character as I am investing daily in feeding my feelings dissatisfaction? Are you investing as much in your character as you are in feeding your feelings of dissatisfaction? As a little girl I always new when I was full or “satisfied” at the table. I new the exact moment my stomach was full and still do. It has been a good guard to keep me from overeating. However, being satisfied in life has been more of a challenge to me. My proactive nature can become my excuse for forcing change as a result of dissatisfaction. I am learning patience. Patience to wait on God’s timing. I am learning as a mom to trust God in new ways. Trusting Him that His watch for me is the standard time. My watch is not perfect. HIS watch is!
After becoming a mother almost a year ago I struggled to find the balance of trying to get my pre-pregnancy body back and also being patient with myself as I adjusted to changes on so many levels with having a new baby girl! I remember looking at myself in the mirror about 12 hours after delivery, glorying in my darling daughter in my arms, but also wondering why my stomach was still so extended. I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind and told myself, “be patient Priscilla, relish in the accomplishment you have just made and give your body time to heal!” My drawn-out labor and delivery had ended in a caesarean. My recovery was going to be twice as long as most moms. I gained 30 pounds during my pregnancy that put me at the highest weight I had have been at. This combination left me wondering who the girl was in the mirror and curious when I would recognize myself again. However, I am determined by nature and I made plans to hit the ground running six weeks postpartum. My six week postpartum visit left me discouraged as I was left the doctors office with a referral to a physically therapist. It would be 6 months before I would feel myself again. I am currently 12 months out and I have seen progress from a healthy diet and the diligence of exercise, but although I love to reach goals it is more about the journey of healing that God brought me through and the hope that in this new beautiful season of life as a mother, I won’t be trying to be my old self, but the new self that God has me to be! Yes, I still love to dress up but the times are fewer now. Yes, I still enjoy wearing my heels but sneakers are way more practical. Each season holds so much beauty. Instead of wishing ourselves back to another season or comparing our journey to another person – I challenge you to join me in embracing the beauty of each season.
My grandfather called me his “little correspondent” starting when I was around 10 years old. I probably saw my grandparents every other month, but that didn’t stop me from dropping a letter to them in the mail on a regular basis. You might think it odd, but I was the child that always paid attention to the price of stamps going up not the price of my favorite toy being on the shelf. My grandfather was a veteran, active in his local VFW and lover all things trains having worked for Amtrak for many years. He also was a record keeper and diligently kept track of our family history. Being a Spaniard, he was not thrilled when I took French as a teenager and encouraged me to go back to learning Spanish. My grandfather always responded to my letters. As a child this was of great value and encouragement to me. You see, I wrote many people letters and rarely received a response but my grandfather never disappointed. I would always get a penciled response on a page of yellow memo pad. These letters I hold dear to me now as he is no longer with us on earth. Letters are my way of putting my heart on paper. As a child I covered my letters in stickers that I would get from my sticker book. In college I made cards with friends on Friday nights to unwind from a stressful week. And now I enjoy picking up cards from a variety of stores and eagerly awaiting the perfect time to use them. I love to personalize the card to specifically suit the person who is receiving it, and put thought into not just the cover but the words I will add to it’s blank pages. Yes, some might say that cards are an old fashioned way to express love, but to me it shows value, time and thoughtfulness. My grandfather encouraged my writing habit as a child seeing the value of communication not just verbally, but the power in the written words. If you have a child that enjoys sending letters, I encourage you to fan the flame. And if it has been ages since you put the flag up on your mailbox than don’t wait another day! Next time you sit down to write an email ask yourself if it is something you could communicate in a letter! Let’s keep USPS in business together! I will continue to live up to my nickname the “little correspondent.”