Over twelve months of waiting and praying, crying and anger at not being on the same page as my husband when it came to adding another baby to our wonderful family of five.

Twelve more months of being on the same page.

Twelve months of waiting and praying, crying and anger that finally turned into depression and indifference.

The internet and church, lands of pregnancy and newborn baby minefields, waiting to ambush me and break off another piece of my already weakened heart.

Happiness for friends.

A walled up heart.

Blessed to have my three healthy babies, who are no longer babies.

Trying to come to grips with God’s timing.

Not my timing.

My picture of a complete family may never be realized.

My soul aching to have this month be the end to my waiting and next month be the beginning of someone fresh and new.

But it’s His timing.

It’s been a year of trying.

A year of hoping and praying before that.

A lifetime of yearning.

Number four.

One day.

Soon.

Please?

Sometimes I get caught up in taking on too many projects.

I want everything to be perfection.

Juggling so many things, one or two, maybe even three are bound to fall to the earth and shatter.

I’m forgetful.

I’m overwhelmed.

I’m tired.

I’m scared.

I’m numb.

I think that last one is the worst of all.

The lack of feeling, that spark of motivation you need to get things done, accomplished. That spark that makes living a joy.

My pilot light…..

Hot and strong one moment, bright with blue light, pure happiness. I’m proud of what I’m doing and getting done. I’m proud of who I am.

But it flickers…..

It fades to nothing.

The flashing cursor at the top of a pristine white page, so much potential and preconceived notions of not being great enough force my fingers to bring that little white arrow to the bright red box and banish my failure from my sight.

So much yarn, the time drain of crocheting, sore wrists and cramped fingers.

The house that never stays clean.

The children trapped inside, day after day of rain until we all just want to tear our hair out. Grumbling in the ranks, fights breaking out on a constant basis and temper tantrums from a 30 year old woman (sigh), soon to be 31 (double sigh).

The countdown of summer.

21 days to go.

It signals freedom.

Or maybe it signals laziness.

I’m not sure.

I just wish my fire would burn brighter and stay lit.

The flickering is hard.

The numbness that crowds out the life I want to live, the happy I want to have.

It’s lonely.

Yes, I want that fire.

Every day.

Is that too much to ask?

A loud boom of thunder shook the house at it’s foundation, jerking me from an adventure now outside of reality, blurred at the edges. Hard to recall.

No power.

The children filed into the room, smallest to largest with battery operated princess and Tinkerbell candles to guide their way.

Alex now snuggled up into my curves, warm with fever and sucking furiously on his binky. Katie infiltrating a space between Brian and I, laying her head on my side while Brianna took to the end of the bed.

They chattered about the thunder waking them from their dreams and asked if there would be school in the morning, disappointed when our answer was yes.

It was eerily quiet, the thunder and lightening had vanished leaving the rain softly rapping on the window.

The girls were sent back to bed to cuddle with each other after the promise of us waking them if the weather turned more serious. Alex was given a dose of medicine to reduce his fever and more snuggle time with me.

We all burrowed deep under the covers to find sleep once more.

Yet it evaded my grasp, slow night terrors crept in trying to gain entrance to my thoughts, the unique rush of ethereal sound to my ears, my heart and breath seized as I fervently prayed to be released from it’s grip.

One.

Two.

Three assaults.

The adventurous dream of before slowly came back into focus.

Freedom.

I was proud of Brianna, as always a head taller than her teammates,  passing the ball, giving others a chance to score, when she could take it down herself with no contest. 40+ point games and she would score half of those points on her own. In the zone and loving the game.

I was proud of Katie’s quick pace, her willingness to dribble, strangely left-handed, and try to shoot when she had the chance. I cheered loud and clear when she scored her first basket!

The basketball awards were held last night. The teams were all introduced on the stage to upbeat music, clapping and cheering. A basketball entertainer, funny, mesmerizing to watch as well as sharing the message of Christ, it is a Christian school and league. Then came some special awards for most Christ-like referee, coach, and player in each age group/gender, nominated by players and parents.

Brianna received the honor for 3rd grade girls, she went up on stage and smiled broadly accepting her award.

My heart soared and I clapped with a beaming smile on my face and a quiet whisper entered my heart, This will hurt Katie.

We separated, Alex and Brian off to get Brianna and I to Katie.

Each child received a basketball award and Katie smiled, meekly for the one picture she allowed me to take of her team.

As I led her out to the lobby to meet up with the rest of the family, her small hand in mine, I heard her tiny voice, “Why did Brianna get to go on stage and not me?”

“What did you say?” I stalled, my heart breaking at my sensitive little girl’s sadness, her sister being a shining star, again, and Katie feeling not good enough, not-included.

“Nevermind.” She whispered.

Not the oldest who outperforms at just about everything she tries.

Not the youngest, the baby too cute to do wrong and an all-star at sports at such a young age.

Just the middle.

With a tiny voice.

Feeling insignificant.

And I’m scared…

She is 6 and already shows signs of a crushed little spirit.

I don’t want her to feel that way.

Ever.

I do what I can to build her up.

But what if it’s not enough…