Hurs and Aarons

A few months ago when I was being chatty Katrina on the phone with my mother-in-law, she told me that sometimes she feels like Moses in the bible story when he has to hold his arms up for Joshua and his men to fare well. When he let his arms rest, they did poorly. So Hur and Aaron held his arms up for him, and the battle was won. My mother-in-law is Moses, her children are Joshua and his men, and her arms are her constant prayers.

This story was one of the readings the weekend before Conor joined our family.

That previous week I remember sitting in a random Mass overwhelmed with teary eyes when I realized what parenthood is. Parenthood is a humbling experience. It is the most humbling I have yet to undertake because you know what? A lot of the time I have no idea what the in the world I'm doing. No idea. I'm just a mom with a whole lot of love, a fantastic husband, and the gift of getting to pick apart God's parenting wisdom through prayer.  As a parent, I need that gift. But really how often do I use it? As often as I check Instagram? No. I should stop letting that gift of prayer gather dust in the closet.

Sure, Ryan knows the last word of many Mass responses and alternates between one-knee and two-knee genuflecting depending on his level of balance for the day. He can do a sign of the cross shimmy, helps me sing hymns at bedtime and his most frequent matching activity is correctly putting the prayer cards he scattered about in the church lobby back in their spots. But you know what word he uses the most impeccably out of all the words that he knows?

Looking mischievous, but really an innocent parrot
Well, shoot, darn, insert euphemism here, you can tell that layer of dust is pretty thick. And it's a wonder he hasn't picked up my other not-so-prayerful sailor curses. Well, sometimes it might seem that he has, but that is really just toddler pronunciation. I hope. Thankfully, the reading my mother-in-law talked to me about is just the story that I need to get my praying action where it should be.

When I heard the reading on that Sunday when I was 39 weeks and 1 day with child, I knew that, through prayer, I need to constantly and intentionally hold my children's arms like Hur and Aaron and to actively and consciously support the arms of many wonderful people. So many people pray for me, and I'm so grateful.

Fast forward four weeks, and I have met that babe that was punching me in the kidney during that Mass.

And he is sweet. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

All he wants right now is to be in my arms, to be bounced, to hear my voice, to nurse and nurse and nurse, and I can do that. I can do that. But on those nights when I feel like I can't and when he. won't. go. to. sleep, I know I'll have my Hurs and Aarons holding my arms as I hold my babe.

So thanks. 

I hope that metaphor makes sense.

Anyone have good ways to sneak in extra prayer? My best ways are during nursing and walks.