Saturday, May 31, 2014

Gotcha Day

It's May 31st. This day is so special to me because it's the day I became a mother. This day is celebrated as what our family affectionately calls "Gotcha Day." It's the day a tiny baby boy, just 3 weeks old and still in preemie clothes, was placed in my arms by the girl who gave him life. 

She was just 15, yet somehow she seemed braver than me. I was trying to be aware of everything. Up until the moment I walked into that lawyer's office in Ohio, I had only seen a glimpse of him in a small, blurry photo. I will never forget the memory as long as I live. I was so nervous, so worried I wouldn't know what to do, so scared about the reality that was sinking in. I hoped she wouldn't see my fear and say I was unfit. I looked at her first. She sat calmly as she held him. She seemed void of emotion, yet I knew the impact of it all would forever etch this moment in her mind for different reasons. I looked down at him. I was trying not to burst into tears but I was so overwhelmed with emotions. So many emotions. So aware of this moment that would serve as an altar to forever remind me of God's faithfulness and answer to prayer.

This was my delivery room. This was where my son would be placed in my arms after years of laboring. This was the culmination of a nearly three year journey that represented my stretch marks, labor and delivery. They weren't physical. They were emotional. Marks that represented growth, lines to serve as reminders of month after month of heartache. Scars to remind me of the tears I cried to The Lord, the prayers of a fervent heart. "However motherhood comes, Lord, please make me a mother." There were even deeper prayers, prayers I wasn't sure I was willing to have Him answer. "God, take away this desire if it's not Your will." He didn't take it away. He answered a different way. His way. I'm so thankful He did.

I always swore I'd get the epidural, but make no mistake I felt every single labor pain in this process of becoming a mother. Every contraction, every twisted contortion of my heart as God was shaping and molding me, stripping away the chaff, breaking down barriers I didn't even know I had, growing me and stretching me in ways I wasn't prepared for and not really asking for either. I'd always heard young mothers say with glowing smiles, "As soon as you hold your baby in your arms, it's all worth it." I wondered if this would be true for me too. It was. Every single tear. Every single prayer. Every journal entry. Every morning, noon and night I lay in the floor of my prayer room, praying to God to make it a baby's nursery, my baby's nursery. He did. 

Gotcha Day is the day we celebrate the way God chose to put a tiny little premature baby into this family. He was the answer to more than just my prayer. He was the answer to everyone who would ask, "Have you heard anything yet." Not yet, I'd say, expecting without a due date. 

Some people thought waiting for this adoption was like waiting for an organ donor - eventually you get to the top of the list. It was more complicated than organ donation, but make no mistake, I got a heart transplant in the process. I felt as though I was waiting for a missing part of my heart. Everything must be a perfect match. There was a huge risk of rejection. There was no waiting until your name was at the top of the list, but there was a process of elimination.  After interviews with birthmothers, acceptance checklists and waiting, there was more waiting, then a birthmother changing her mind, another one choosing someone else, then more waiting.

I would wait until May 31st, this day, our Gotcha Day. My heart transplant day. The day I would watch God orchestrate together a miracle. My miracle. The day He unfolded part of a plan He knew about all along. He knew when I was being knit together in my own mother's womb. He knew as this tiny baby boy was being created in His own image, even when I couldn't feel him kick, even when I wasn't aware of anything other than my empty arms. I watched God let me labor, but it was not in vain. I felt God holding me, even when I was longing to hold my own child. 

This is my very own Memorial Day. A day that represents God's faithfulness, even when conventional wisdom seemed dim. A day that serves as a reminder of His answer to prayers, even when the answers come differently than expected. Today is Gotcha Day, the day God showed me He had me all along and He had a perfect plan. Happy Gotcha Day, Eli! 

Thursday, May 29, 2014

The Storm Blew In

A storm blew through last night. The thunder was cracking so loudly you thought the sky was opening up. The lightning was so bright it lit up the whole night. 

Now the waves are pounding toward the shoreline with a roaring vengeance. The roughness of the waters doesn't resemble any kind of peace or tranquility. Instead the thrashing water is pounding over top of each other, wave after wave, fighting toward the shore. The wind is howling and whipping, tearing through the serenity and tossing it aside. 

The cloud cover overhead is filling the sky. The sun would have to valiantly break forth to try to shine high and clear today. It's cool. Cold, even. 

It's a reminder of how quickly things can change. It's a reminder that even the most peaceful sea can turn into utter chaos. It's a reality check that storms arise and circumstances can change the tides. 

In His word there are also reminders that the wind and waves obey Him. With just a word, He can quiet the raging storms. Though we walk through the water, we will not be consumed. He promises not to let the waves overtake us. 

If I would have faith enough to keep my eyes on Him then I wouldn't be distracted by the changing tides that rise around me. The storms wouldn't overtake me and the waters wouldn't threaten to consume me. If I would fix my gaze upon Him, I wouldn't be aware of anything but His peace and the calm that is mine to claim with Him as my refuge.  

The internal struggle I face to keep my eyes fixed on Him is as fierce as the waves crashing along the shore. The battle rages inside me stronger than the torment outside. 

Today serves as a reminder. Storms will come. You can go to sleep to the peaceful chorus of a calm sea but be violently awakened by a crashing storm that changes everything. I can't calm the wind and waves. I can only calm my soul as it rests in the hands of Almighty. I can't make the storm blow over but I can find refuge under His wing. I can't change the tide but I can find peace in Him. 

Let the storm rage on. He is the rock I cling to. 

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Moments to Remember

There can't be anything more perfect than quiet time along the shore, interrupted only by the crashing waves. The backdrop is the rising sun taking its place in a crystal clear sky. There's a certain intimacy with Almighty Creator that comes when you are smack-dab in the midst of His mind-blowing creation. 

The ocean stretches far beyond what I can even see. Billions upon trillions of grains of sand scattered along the shore, too many for any human to count, yet they outnumber His thoughts toward me. Yes, there's a peace that comes in these moments of realization of just how big God is, how small we are, and yet how infinite His love is for each of us. My coffee cup is full. My heart is overflowing. 

These are the moments we should build an altar upon. A testament to stand as a reminder of what God wants us to remember. He calls us to live in His peace and presence, not in the midst of chaos and turmoil. Too often our circumstances feel like the crashing waves ready to overtake us. Too many times the problems seem to outnumber the grains of sand. We get caught up in the current of what swirls around us and we lose sight of the vastness of who He is and who we are to Him.

All creation cries to You. The waves join in chorus with resounding echo, giving You shouts of praise, clapping in adoration. I cannot help but want to join in song to You. The hidden depth of its greatness remind me of how deep Your love is for me, even me! The neverending breadth that stretches beyond what I can even fathom stands to show me how far You were willing to reach for me. Limitless love. From my vantage point, the sun is rising in the east, but the sin You have cast from me might as well never be seen again. 

Your word says the sands are innumerable, too many to count. That thought alone is enough to make my brain twist in an effort to comprehend. It is the same thought I wrestle with when trying to grasp Eternity. As if that weren't enough for my simple mind to understand, Your word tells me these innumerable grains of sand outnumber Your thoughts toward me. Lord! Of all the billions upon billions of people who are and ever have been in the world, to think that the Father of them all would spend His infinite time thinking of me...I just cannot handle it!

Father, I admit sometimes I lose sight of Your glory in it all and I feel the wind and waves crashing around me. I bear the weight of my burden as heavy sand weighing me down. The great expanse of the horizon can seem overwhelming and make me feel as though the end of whatever I dread will never be in sight. In these moments when I forget, when I lose sight, remind me who You are. You created it all. You set it all into motion. Your hand controls each and every movement, from the crashing waves to the shifting sands. With one word You can speak and tell it all to be still. Father, remind me to be still in Your presence even when You choose to let the storm rage around me. 

These are the moments I want to remember. Mark this upon my heart. 

`Do you not fear Me?' declares the LORD. `Do you not tremble in My presence? For I have placed the sand as a boundary for the sea, An eternal decree, so it cannot cross over it. Though the waves toss, yet they cannot prevail; Though they roar, yet they cannot cross over it. Jeremiah 5:2

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Broken Pieces

It had been an overcast morning but by afternoon the sun was in full force. I was looking for my sunglasses and recalled a certain little boy had asked to borrow them on the morning ride.

"Hey bud, can mommy have her glasses back?" I asked.

Dead silence. 

I peered through the rearview mirror to see if he was lost in imagination only to realize he was very much listening. Head down, hand to his forehead, I knew something was wrong.

"Eli, did you hear mommy?" This time I was going to wait for a response.

With hesitation, he started to reply, "Yes, but..."

I was willing to wait. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on but I knew he had something to say.

I could hear some shuffeling from the backseat and then I heard his explanation.

"Mommy, I accidentally broke your glasses and I didn't want you to be mad so I hid them."

From the side panel of the door he was now producing a pair of glasses with a detached piece. 

When I had given him the well-worn glasses that morning, I knew they had a chance to pop out of place. It had happened to me a number of times before. And truthfully, I wasn't concerned if they were "broken" if he played with them because they weren't my best pair and I had several more in the car already. Even so, a lesson was unfolding and I was grateful.

"Eli, mommy wants to tell you something..."

He quickly jumped in and asked if I was mad.

"NO," I assured him, "In fact, I'm proud of you. Do you know why?"

I could see the worry turning to confusion as he shook his head. 

"I'm proud of you for telling me the truth. You hid the glasses because you didn't want mommy to be mad at you, but it was more important that you told the truth and were honest. Thank you for telling me."

With that, I had snapped the glasses back in place and produced them whole again for him to see.

"MOM! You fixed them?!" he was elated.

"Yep, sure did. I'm not upset, Eli. I want you to always be able to come to me, no matter what. I want you to tell me the truth because that is what is most important."

How often do I try to hide my mistakes from God? An all-knowing, loving Father who sometimes hands me things knowing I'm (probably, most likely) going to make a mess of it? How often do I try to discard that which I've destroyed and hope he'll forget about it? Why am I afraid to come to Him and tell Him I messed up? Why do I fear His wrath? Has He dealt with me so harshly before that He's never welcomed me back? Certainly not! Have I not already learned, from previous mistakes and failures, that He just wants me to come to Him?

And why, oh why on earth, have I not learned that every time I hand Him over the broken pieces He can make a masterpiece of whatever mess I've made? All He asks is that I come to Him, bring Him everything, all of me, broken pieces, messes and all. He asks me to be willing to be transparent, honest, open. He calls to me when I'm weary and broken. He offers rest, restoration and redemption. 

But He can't fix it, none of it, if I refuse to bring it to Him. How many broken pieces have I tried to hide, sweep to the side, toss away for fear of disappointing Him - again? I'm certain there are times in my attempts to cover things up that He's been waiting, wanting to ask me, hoping I'd come, yet all the while I sit back and think I got away with something, I got by without Him knowing the mess I created. The brokenness remains unseen, but the ability for Him to mend those broken pieces also remains undone. 

Take it to Him. Whatever it is. However broken, no matter the mess. Give it to God and let Him work. 

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Mother's Day Take 2

Let's talk about Mother's Day, shall we?

WARNING: This is not my sentimental, emotional ode to mothers. This is my hope to start over, my quest to somehow feel normal despite feeling like I've already blown it before 8:00 a.m. on the day that I"m supposed to be recognized and celebrated as some woman of honor, you know, the one who manages to pull it all off with grace and poise, she keeps her cool in the midst of utter chaos. Oh no, that is NOT this post!

Mother's Day began for me at 1:30 am. Before you think I was partying like a rock star, allow me to paint a different picture. 

There was no sonic-like radar hearing for this slumbering and flat-out exhausted mother. My husband had to shake me from my coma-like sleep to let me know E was crying for me. 

After administering medicine, breathing treatments and consoling a very sick little boy, he ended up curled up beside me finally back to sleep. It wouldn't be a restful night for anyone but him, but at least he was feeling better. 

Another wake up call at 3 am, this time it was the scared dog barking from the garage at some commotion outside. Thankfully I wasn't really asleep after the restless night we'd already had. Having a child zombie in bed is like a bulldozer ramming into your side. 

By 7:30 am I had cleaned up a bucket of dog pee, as if he hadn't already been outside twice, cleaned up vomit all over the new couch, administered more medicine, played referee between an annoyed little boy and a rambunctious dog and was now being presented with Mother's Day gifts boasting my awesomeness. There was no resemblance of anything awesome about me, my dawn of Mother's Day or how I was feeling. The only thing I was feeling was like a hot mess. Yes, here came the tears. 

Amidst a week of mass chaos, I found myself running back and forth to work, hosting birthday parties at school, executing events, planning parties for family and friends and trying to manage the hectic week and it's unusually high demands. I was feeling like a total and utter failure. Mother's Day was now turning into a mommy meltdown. It's "my" day after all, I can cry if I want to! 

Oh to be a mother. Oh to be a woman juggling it all. Oh to be human, right?! Because after all, we are all on this same journey trying to figure out how to manage everything and be all things to all people. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I just need to figure out how to be the best version of myself that I can be and stop worrying about everything and everyone else. I had no idea what that looked like ... until twice the Lord gave me the same passage this morning to help me understand. 

Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. 2 Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits-- 3 who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases,4 who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, 5 who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. Psalm 103:1-5

Two times that passage was read this morning. At one point I had to get up and leave to wipe the tears away and extinguish the feelings of inferiority that were haunting me. How can I not praise the Lord after all His many, MANY blessings?!? How can I forget the redemption He's given me? How can I not recall the life He's given the depravity of my soul? How can I not acknowledge the seemingly bottomless pit He graciously dug me out of?! If He's willing to give me a chance, certainly I need to rise up and claim it!

As if that weren't enough, He gives me more promises to claim:

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; Vs. 11

His limitless, infinite love that He lavishes on me. Praise the Lord, oh my soul!

As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. Vs. 12

Even me? Even the transgressions I've committed against You and others? Praise the Lord, oh my soul, even me!

If I were to be granted a do over, I'm still not sure I'd get it right. After all a second chance means you've somehow missed the mark the first time. Hopefully you've somehow learned a thing or two but it still doesn't mean you get it right. It just means you get another chance to try again. Mother's Day take two would still be full of mishaps and flawed people doing their best to try and try again. Because today is simply a reminder that no day is perfect. No mom is perfect. No one is perfect. There will always be someone or something that pops up, interrupts, or disrupts even the best laid plans. No one has it all together which is why today, Mother's Day, is exactly the way I think it should be celebrated. Full of life, full of love, full of redemption, and most importantly for my soul, full of the reminders that somewhere in the midst of this chaotic mess, He crowns me with love and compassion. 

Praise the Lord, oh my weary, wounded, tired, battered, and redeemed soul!

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Birthmother's Day

Yesterday I celebrated my son's sixth birthday. Tomorrow I will be honored on Mother's Day. But it cannot go without being noticed that today is the day that bridges these two events together.

Today is birthmother's Day. It's not widely known unless you are a birthmother yourself or unless you have been given the gift of motherhood by a birth mother. For me, this day represents the connection between my son's birth and the gift of becoming a mother myself.

Mother's Day represents a celebration of life. I can say that I have come across this journey with many labor pains even though I never physically gave birth. For me, becoming a mother has truly been a process of understanding faith and God's sovereign plan. It has been a journey that bears scars for me, places that are still tender in my heart recognizing the pain of infertility. Make no mistake, I did not give birth to him but I have certainly labored long and hard, even wrestling with God and my own faith as I prayed and hoped and believed and waited for a baby.

I recognize this day, birthmothers day, as the reason I am a mother. When I asked God to give me a child it wasn't so that I could carry a baby in my womb, but it was so that I could become a mother. Even that idea was something I had to be willing to come to terms with, realizing I would not bear my own child and recognizing that God had a greater yes in answer to my prayer. 

There are some who will celebrate tomorrow in anticipation of becoming a mother. There are some who will not be  able to face the crowds and churches as mothers are represented yet they must remain seated with empty arms and a hole in their hearts. I know that pain all too well. I'm thankful that I remember it because it keeps me mindful of those who are still without their own children. There are others who will bear a different kind of pain, the empty arms they are left with after carrying a child they aren't raising or parenting or watching grow. 

Today is birthmother's day. I celebrate today because without it I would not be able to celebrate Mother's Day tomorrow. For those of you who bore a child you're not raising, thank you for choosing life. For those of you who are still waiting for your arms to be filled with the answer to your prayer, hold on. Seek God and His greater yes for you. Today and tomorrow are still reason for you to celebrate, even without a child of your own. God has a plan and it may be already working out for your good without you even knowing it. 

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Mother's Day

I get sentimental around this time. It's a divine gift that my little miracle celebrates life during the same weekend I get to celebrate becoming a mother. Six years ago on Mother's Day I wasn't even aware of him. Yet I was oh-so-aware of the absence of him. I prepared myself for yet another Sunday when I'd sit in church and all the mothers around me would stand to be recognized while I would silently sit, hiding my pain and choking back tears. 

Six years hasn't been enough time for me to forget the ache I carried. I pray I never do. It makes me mindful that every time I see a miracle enter someone's world that someone else is still praying and waiting and hoping for theirs. 

I was never good with kids. I wasn't the sister who played school and ultimately grew up to be a teacher. I was never happy when my mom required my help with nursery duty, something she chose Sunday after Sunday. I was desperately worried that I wouldn't bond with a baby I didn't feel kick. I was concerned I wouldn't love a child that bore no resemblance of me. None of that mattered. 

I will never forget the plaque I bought the day the doctor broke the news. "However motherhood comes, it is a miracle." I hung it in the room that would later become E's nursery. I prayed there every morning until he came to occupy it as his room. Then I prayed there every night as I rocked him to sleep. 

A baby changes everything. The desire for a baby can too. I don't do anything half-heartedly, so you better believe I threw every amount of energy, strength, desire, hope and a whole lot of prayer into the journey of becoming a mother. My journey wasn't easy. So many times I'd find myself angry or frustrated because yet another person was "accidentally" pregnant or "surprise, we weren't even trying." How could it be so "easy" for them? How could it be so difficult for me? 

I've said it before but it bears repeating: I didn't carry him for 9 months but I waited for years to become a mother. Countless charting and testing. No day on the calendar was sacred. It all took on new meaning in the journey that consumed my every thought and action. 

I've sat across the table from far too many women crying tears of barrenness, praying for God to grant their request. I've seen miracles through adoption, fertility treatments, and pure acts of God defying all diagnoses. Truly, however motherhood comes it is a miracle. 

My miracle is no different, and if you're still waiting, hoping and praying, yours will surely be nothing less. 

Today there are some missing their mothers. I think about my Nanny and how much she would adore her growing great grandchildren. I think about all she's missing here only to be reminded that really it's just us missing her here. She would have loved to be a part of our lives still, and yet she's experiencing the purest joy of eternal life. 

Today there are some mourning the loss of children they never met. Babies gone before ever breathing their first breath. The bittersweet hope of what never came to be. 

Today there are those still grieved with empty arms and wombs. I pray for their comfort and peace. I pray for a loving Father to wrap His arms around them even as they seem to hopelessly wait. 

However motherhood comes, it is a miracle. However you're celebrating today, maybe with joy, tears, or a mixture of both, I pray you'll not let this day dictate who you are as His daughter and His child. Whatever title you do or don't bear, you are His and His perfect plan for your life is still being worked out. Even as you wait, even as you grieve, even as you rejoice, He is working out your miracle. 

Happy another's Day

One Of Those Weeks

This week has just been one of those weeks. 

You know the kind. Too much going on, not enough time to do it all, trying to conquer the world, telling everyone yes when you know you can't add one more thing. It's been that kind of week.

The demands of work are hectic. The schedules have been at a pace that feels like fast foward. Tensions have been at an all-time high. Emotions are on overload. It's been that kind of week. 

It's the eve before my amazing little boy's birthday. It's just a few days before Mother's Day. I'm doing my best to juggle birthdays and celebrations, peppered in with a demanding work schedule. My days have been scheduled down to the minute and truthfully I'm wondering when I'll actually get to sleep at this point. Yes, it's been that kind of a week. 

I've loaded myself down with to do lists coupled with mounds of guilt for all the things I "could have, should have, but didn't do." 

I wonder why I do this to myself. I stopped today to tell myself - outloud - "You are NOT Superwoman! You cannot be all things to all people!" Don't worry - no one else was around to hear my own self pep talk. Doesn't seem like I listened well either!

Why do I feel so stressed, so overwhelmed, so exhausted, so overworked, so tense and anxious?! Why do I battle my insecurities by overloading myself with so many things that I'm only setting myself up for failure?! 

He says to come as I am but somehow I'm still not comfortable with that yet. Somehow I can't seem to convince myself that it's enough - that I'm enough. 

I've managed to steal a few moments to myself in the midst of the chaos. I find myself typing this out from the calm of a peaceful front porch. These moments are a flat-out struggle for me. The moment I sit still is the moment every reminder of what I could be doing seems to flood my mind. It's like the Enemy's best laid attack on an overworked mind - to convince me that I should be doing something. ANYTHING. (Isn't there a story in the Bible about this?! Make no mistake, I would have been absolutely LIVID at Mary and I would have made sure everyone, including Jesus, knew!) 

There will always be something else to do. Something more to get accomplished. Another checklist. More requests. Additional demands. With absolute assurance I can count on the fact that I will never get it all done. It doesn't mean I'm a failure. It means I'm human. And until I learn that sometimes the best thing is not the "most important thing" on the to-do list, then I'll always be scrambling and coming up short. 

Hide in the shadow of His wing.

Find rest, my soul, in God alone.

Peace that He gives, not like the world gives.

Take refuge in Him.  

Be still and know that He is God.

Forget what I'm not doing and remember I am HIS. 

Forget whatever kind of week it's BEEN and just BE HIS. 

Monday, May 5, 2014


I love coffee. I love a dark roast mixed with just the right amount of flavored creamer. I love the seasons flavors - White Chocolate Raspberry in winter, Peppermint Mocha around Christmas and Pumpkin Spice at the first signs of fall. Spring has brought a Mudslide Creamer that seems to be the perfect amount of chocolate and sweetness in my dark roast brew. I don't drink coffee black. I also don't drink coffee with milk or plain cream and sugar.

It all started when I used up the last drop of creamer. I knew I was in trouble but it was a full day of work and activity and it never even crossed my mind to stop at the store for more creamer. At least not until Friday rolled around.

The coffee is usually auto-set to brew around 6:15 a.m. so by the time I come downstairs I can pour a cup and sip on it while I get ready. I went through my normal morning routine sans coffee and made my usual fruit and veggie smoothie and thought I'd be just fine. This was a lie.

By Saturday, 2 days with NO COFFEE, I actually thought I might be weaning myself from the caffeine ritual. Certainly I didn't need it. By 9:30 a.m. I'd been up for several hours and busy working on house projects and it was clear I was becoming cranky. I didn't argue my husband's suggestion to stop at Starbuck's. Even he knew I needed it. I didn't need but a few sips of my Grande Skinny Vanilla Latte before feeling the immediate effects of caffeine flowing through my veins. I won't lie - my mood improved and before 10 a.m. I was ready for the rest of the day full of work and projects.

You'd think I would have learned. You'd think I would have stopped at the store. Yet another full day prevented me from getting more creamer which resulted in a Sunday morning gone awry. It didn't help that I was an emotional (maybe decaffeinated?) mess. Could my body really need caffeine this badly? I couldn't stop yawning. I was fighting sleep. Even my protein-packed healthy smoothie wasn't enough to give me the energy I needed. On top of that, I could physically feel the grouchiness creeping in and slowly consuming me. AT CHURCH!

I had tanked. Pure and utter withdrawals.

Get. Me. COFFEE!!!

My husband wasn't going to argue. Off he went to the Welcome Center to fetch me a cup of emotional-stability.

Worship suddenly took on a whole new meaning. Thank You, Jesus, my cup runneth over.

That's when it hit me. I was not only aware of the embarrassing addiction I wasn't previously conscious of, but now I was face-to-face with the conviction that my priorities are all wrong.

What if I craved more of the Lord the way my body was so dependent on the caffeine?

What if my entire mood, mindset and feelings were altered by more (or less) of the Word of God feeding my soul? Isn't this true?!

What if I simply couldn't face a day without Him?

What if I started every single morning as if the entire day depended on my need for Him? Doesn't it???

As the deer pants for streams of water,
    so my soul pants for you, my God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
    When can I go and meet with God?

Psalm 42:1

If only I would realize the withdrawals my soul goes through when I have neglected my need for Him. Do I crave that daily sustenance from Him so much that I can't wait to meet with Him? When I neglect seeking Him for all that I need on a daily and continual basis, I allow the growing affects of depravity to creep in. The result on my own produces every symptom of withdrawal: anxiety, fear, worry, irritability, impatience, unkind words, explosive outbursts, moodiness, you name it...I just don't want to live with it! 

Life gets too busy. There's not enough time. It doesn't remain a priority. Sometimes I flat out forget. There's no auto-brew timer except the fact that before my feet hit the floor to begin the day I should realize that my soul is in need of only what my Heavenly Father can provide. The alternative is a withdrawal I don't want to face!

For He has satisfied the thirsty soul, And the hungry soul He has filled with what is good.
Psalm 107:9