one hour, three times a week...

My birth wasn't a surprise. It was planned, date picked by my parents, because I was breech baby. A breech baby who was prone to modesty from the start. My parents didn't know if I would be a boy or girl and so they had to wait until 5:25PM on a Thursday afternoon to see for themselves who would be joining the family. The epidural didn't work on my mom so anesthesia was used. My dad was the only one, aside from the hospital staff, who got to witness my birth. He heard the news before anyone else. And as my Nana always recalled, he came out into the waiting room with tears running down his cheeks and announced, "It's a girl!" 

It seems that people always assume when a daughter is born she'll be a daddy's girl. I'm not sure how that term was coined, but it bothered me when people would say that about Annabeth. I'm her mother, you know. I want her to be my girl, too! And I don't think you have to pick a parent anyway. I never did. I have a great relationship with both of my parents, but they don't look the same. That's the beauty of having a mom and a dad. They each play a different role, and no matter how old you get, you realize you'll always need them. 

My dad celebrated his birthday a few days ago. I don't write about my family as often as I used to. In fact, I don't write as often as I used to. I hope that will change one day. The past year of my life has been constant change. Not just little one, either but huge ones. The thing I've learned about being a stay at home mom is that your job changes every single day. There is rarely any predictability, and just when you believe you're starting to reach some stage of normalcy, it changes. Overnight. Seriously. All of you moms know exactly what I mean. One day you have a great sleeper and the next day you don't. One day you have a good eater and the next day you don't. One day they're immobile and the next day they're not. You get the idea here. And so I knew I would rely heavily on my mother as I navigated these uncharted waters of motherhood. I knew she'd be the one to call with questions and would give me good advice. But what I didn't expect is how much I would need my dad in this season, too. More, way more, than maybe either of us ever knew. 

My dad always tells me, for no particular reason, "You are doing a great job raising that child!" It's always unprompted and out of the blue, but I appreciate it every time because he's the only one who says it so often. The first few months of her life I certainly didn't feel that way. They were hard months. Being a new mom is similar to being a fish out of water. I've never personally talked to a fish who has been in that situation, but I have to think the feelings are the same. Mostly fear and worry, right? Because we want to succeed. And we want to sleep. And we want our lives to gain some sense of normalcy sooner than later so we can begin to feel like real people again. My dad saw this. He told me. He said, "You need to take time for yourself. It's one of the best things you can do." I wasn't sure if I believed him, but I wasn't going to argue. A little time for myself sounded nice, and so we made an arrangement at just the right time. When I was feeling overwhelmed and not quite sure what to do, he had a solution that he has stuck to.

One hour, three times a week for 52 weeks and counting. That's 156 hours in a year. That's what I needed. I didn't think it would matter that much. That it would add up so greatly. I didn't think one hour would really make that big of a difference for me or anyone. Little did I know, those 156 hours were the very thing I needed to keep going strong and not stir crazy. And no matter what the week looked like, he made a point to be there. At first, I think they really were for me. Now, I'm thinking they might be for him. But I never expected my dad, a man who has paid his dues and should be selfishly enjoying the fruits of his labor, to give up three hours a week for me so that I could have time to be myself. To be worry free. Responsibility free. But then again, I don't know why I am surprised that my dad would be there to help me in any way I need because, for as long as I've known him, that's always been the case. 

When I couldn't fix it, he would find a solution. When I was lost, he knew the right way. When I couldn't bare it, he did it for me. When things were too heavy, he did the lifting. When I was scared, he wore a brave face. When I couldn't make it happen, he was there to help. And when I was in doubt, he was confident. And so I know how fortunate I am to have a father like that. A committed man who will do whatever it takes, whatever is asked, whatever is needed to get the job done. A dad who has answered the call of fatherhood over and over, going on decades now. And when I look at my dad, I see traces of God in the man that he is. 

Because when things are broken, we have a God who knows exactly how to fix them. And when we are weak, He is strong. When we've got questions, He holds the answers. When we are lost, He shows us the way. And when the valley is deep, He guides us through. When it's too much to bare, He carries the weight. When we feel helpless, He is our help. When the waves are crashing, He commands them to be still. When darkness threatens, His presences makes it flee. And when we don't know what to say, He understands what we need. Not because He has to. Not because He is obligated. But because He is faithful. He is committed. He is loving. And He is a good father!

"If we are unfaithful, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny who he is." - 2 Timothy 2:13