I just want my baby to be ordinary. To gain weight (and keep it on), say more than one or two words, and be able to eat regular food. Some days I am so worn out with the thought of how much time I spend regulating his eating, his drinking and planning his meals. Do I have a protein at every meal? Can I buy that product or does it have milk, peanut or egg? What do I make him for dinner when we’re having eggs and pancakes? Will I ever be able to serve him the same meal the rest of the family is eating or will I be making two dinners every night for the rest of my life?

In my heart I know I have much to be grateful for. My son is for the most part healthy. Until recently he was fairly happy too. At least so far, I’m able to stay home and enjoy my children. But some days the struggles and the burdens drown out even my best intentions at counting it all joy. I am only ordinary. I can’t do this alone. But I serve an extraordinary God.  Whether it is my belief that some how we will get through these feeding difficulties with my son (and all the financial implications that come with it), or faith for healing of a friend’s child hundreds of miles away; I know that I am not in control. Sometimes, for moments or hours, I forget. But I am always reminded by the truth of circumstances that I am not, but I know that He is. I am ordinary but He is extraordinary.