Blind Hogs, Misery, and Grace In the Wait

I really hate the old Southern saying, "Even a blind hog can find a few acorns". Maybe because it sounds so dreadfully stupid in a southern drawl, maybe because I have heard it so many times it has lost its meaning. The worst part is that I think I'm discovering the truth in it.  I cannot bear to say that I am finding an acorn, but I will admit that I am finally learning a new truth.

The Lord has been very patient with me. I am a first generation believer, and brought much bagage for the Lord to work out of me. The fact that I have children is such an evidence of His grace. The fact that I have many is a testimony to His completely transforming power to change hearts.

In the early days, the pregnancies came so fast that I never had time to consider anything but survival. I loved my children, but endured pregnancy as a necessary evil. I hated being pregnant, and would tell you so.

After a particularly rough pregnancy (#5), I was convicted that my attitude was surely not helping matters. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he" Proverbs 23:7. With the Lord's help, I put a stake in the ground, and determined to never say those words ("I hate being pregnant") again. And I haven't.  My sixth pregnancy was much, much better, and I attribute some of that to my attitude change.

Although He forgives, the Lord wants us to hold fast to the standard that we have already attained; so no backsliding this time. Throughout this current pregnancy, I have experienced much grace even in the midst of physical issues that are not perfect. My goal this time was to add to standard I had attained (not hating pregnancy), and raise the bar a bit. This time I am determined to be patient until the end. *dramatic gasp* (Is this even possible?)

Obviously, this is not something I can do in my own strength.  This is way more than  exercising tongue-control (although that is not simple either), and keeping our schedule packed so I have less time to be bored during the wait. I am experiencing true heart change this time.

There is a mentally challenged lady at church who, every week for the last few months,  has told me that I must be miserable."Misubull, misabull, misabull..." It starts to  get to me about the fourth-time-in-a-row she says it, but by the twelfth-time-in-a-row, it becomes comical. I tell her what I have been telling myself: if I truly believe that God has ordained this child's birth for His glory and for my good, it would be an affront to Him for me to consider myself "miserable".

Large, whale-like, uncomfortable, hot, tired, anxious...a resounding yes.
Miserable...by His grace...no.

Please excuse me while I go pray for labor to start...