Blessed Sunday

There was a time, not so long ago, when I could barely get out of bed to take care of my family. My body was failing me. My brain was failing me. My heart was failing me. I would somehow drag myself up and get on with the day. It was accomplished by sheer force. I would get up and out the door, if I had to, and count the minutes until I was back home and could lay down exhausted from what should have been a normal day. If it was Saturday, I'd get up and feed the boys, and then lay on the couch until I had to get up to feed them again. It was on a day like this that I realized that I needed help. I realized that I was no longer in control of my mind. If I had been, I would not have been living the way I was--completely unable to be the kind of wife and mother that I have always tried to be. It was also that day that I started to get better simply by acknowledging the situation and seeking help. For some reason I thought of those days this morning as my sweet daughter called for me over the baby monitor and I smiled, knowing I was ready to start the day.

So today, I am blessed that I am physically and emotionally able to get out of bed looking forward to a day of taking care of my family the way I'm supposed to.