I’ve been forced to feel like Mary thrice in his season. First, through the anticipation of carrying a new child who’s unknown to you and the world with the potential for so much light and goodness, and feeling unworthy or unequipped to follow through on forming them. Second, the anxiety and fright of a lost (unhealthy, runaway, scared, disappointed) child, there’s no more paralyzing feeling than not knowing what’s going on with your kid. Third, when he came back to life and I remembered the promise of a child who God undoubtedly is with.

I was feeling like the work I was doing was beneath me, beneath my experience, beneath my education; which, both, have always defined “me.” And on some (read: most) days that took away from my gratefulness that I had THREE (extremely manageable) jobs. The idea of more consumed me, and if I’m being real, still does.