luckily, I'm never short on reality checks.

The first trimester of pregnancy and I don't get along. There's the morning sickness... cough, cough... I mean all-day sickness. There's the exhaustion. Sprinkle some run-of-the-mill, average, every-day-life stressors and you can get one grumpy Lenae. Please note the word *can*; I am valiantly attempting to not be a monster to those in my life. Sometimes it works. Other times I might as well wear a T-shirt around that says, "Sinner in Need of Saving."

Now it's easy to have a pity party when you spend most of the day with two little people that can't talk (at least not clearly most of the time.) Eli is restricted to sounds of all kinds- happy sounds, angry sounds, share-your-bean-dip-with-me-NOW sounds. Gabriel's vocabulary mostly revolves around his needs. After all, when you're two, it's very important that your mother know that you want yogurt, not apple sauce. These parameters leave the door wide open for me to wallow in a puddle of gray, rainy thoughts.

God doesn't let me sputter around for too long. I get jolted out of the Eeyore-ness by my son's giggle, a tinkling, warm interruption that makes me think of jellybeans and pancakes. Or my other son -the littler one- clamoring up onto my lap and leaning his small, warm head against my chest. Today, though, the joltage arrived in the mail- a quarterly magazine from World Vision.

As I flipped through it, I was arrested by two different photos: The first was of a Buddhist monk turned pastor in Cambodia. He is teaching during a church service held in a small, wooden building, surrounded by young people. They are all barefoot and cross-legged, bordered by stacks of Bibles and notebooks and pens. A rickety chalkboard in the background is covered in notes. The article tells me that they are a tiny slice on the pie chart of their country's religious population- a mere 1%. The photo, however, does not show beaten down faces and fearful eyes; Tiny slice they may be, but the picture makes it evident that their voice is not minimal and their heart is not muted. City on a hill, indeed.

The second photo shows two preschool-age children, and they are praying over their lunch. In the foreground is a little girl. She's wearing a cap and her full lips and button nose are tight, it seems, with concentration. The caption says for many of the students at her preschool in Zimbabwe, the meal she is giving thanks for is the only meal many of them will have that day. It's not much- the small, plastic container she's eating out of seems to be filled with beans, and some rice perhaps. But I'm looking at her face, this 3-year-old sweetheart so earnestly offering a prayer to her Lord: "Thank you, Father- it is enough."

Silly, frivolous me.... kicking around in the doldrums. Time to stop staring at my bottle of ginger ale and start thinking about how I can let my light shine before men.