Do they hand out chips for this sort of thing?

I doubt there's a single soul left reading this blog. I'm a bad, bad blogger.

Terrible.

But I've got some thoughts today because Obi Wanda turns 6 today. That's 6 whole years of shaking my head in wonder at the number of contradictions one body can contain.

To say I enjoy her thoroughly would be an understatement. This girl who hasn't walked in a straight line EVER, who can hold her own in a roomful of boys, who is drawn to the soft and the pretty with the strength of the Death Star's tractor beam (something she knows a lot about) and can give a voice and personality to a pencil is one of God's greatest gifts to me.

His gift of grace.

I vividly remember Obi Wanda's delivery. I didn't get to hold her right away because she was born via C-section, but the nurse laid her on my chest so I could see her face to face and tell her I love her. She was brought to me in the recovery room where I held her and kissed her and irked the nurse because I didn't want to give her back.

I knew her and I loved her and that memory is precious to me. I was completely unaware in that moment that I was about to head on a downward spiral that would kick my fanny like it had never been kicked before.

The first panic attack happened 48 hours after Obi Wanda was born. Just hormones I told myself. The next one came 2 days later. We went out to dinner to celebrate my birthday and on the way home I knew with absolute certainty that all of the van doors were going to fly off and the kids' seats were going to fly out into traffic. I gripped the door handle in fear as my last remaining shred of sense told me that was impossible.

That was the beginning. There were more "episodes" (including one glorious moment that I still laugh about that includes chucking a gallon of milk at a trash can) followed by a diagnosis followed by medication followed by a period of evening out followed by a stupor followed by no medication followed by more depression followed by healing.

About 3 1/2 years in all.

Good times.

Have I mentioned that PB is a rock star husband? And that I have a VERY supportive family?

Doing the math that means I'm celebrating 2 1/2 years of peace and I think that's worth a cupcake at least. I use the term peace instead of sanity because A) PB knows way too much and B) sanity is overrated, but peace is lasting.

The story of those 3 1/2 years is a long one and frankly, not very interesting to me now. What is interesting is how God used that season to reveal to me that He wasn't at all interested in letting me wallow in my junk pile of personal garbage. That He wasn't kidding when He said that His grace is sufficient for me and His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

I never use her Obi Wanda's name on this blog, but I will tell you my girl's middle name is Grace. We chose it at the time because we thought it would be a lasting reminder to her of our Lord. I also thought it would give my half-yankee daughter a little more southern flavor. What I didn't know at the time was how God would use the days and years following her birth to turn my world upside down so He could spell out the definition of His grace for me.

Happy Birthday Obi Wanda Grace! I love you!