Forgiveness

It's a cool cloudy Oregon morning. I'm sitting here with a hot cup of coffee after checking on Georgia. There is just something about seeing her sleeping on her tummy that is the image of a happy baby to me. The back-to-sleep movement to help prevent SIDS has been enormously effective and we adhered to it, but she is just not having it now that she can roll over.

She's starting to make choices and communicate her preferences. I've always struggled with God as Father--God as God, God as Protector, God as Sovereign--but as I parent Georgia and she begins asserting her will more, I'm beginning to understand how He must look down at me at times as my Father. Sometime smiling, sometimes shaking His head, sometimes giving me a look of "Are you done yet? Because I have something to tell you but you've got to be ready for it."

When Georgia reaches for something she shouldn't have and I diswade or intervene only to get her tears, I think of when He knows best, but I think I do and want to pursue it. Sometimes He lets me learn the lesson of Without-Him and sometimes He steps in to protect me.

When Georgia is upset and I've run down the hungry-dirty-sleepy list and she still is crying, I think about how He knows when I am hurting and cares. When Georgia is upset and seems determined to just be upset and nothing nothing nothing works, I think of when I don't allow His comfort because I am stubborn or angry or scared...but just like I stick close to Georgia, He never leaves and waits for me to come back to Him again.

When I sing and dance and make funny faces just to get a grin or a laugh from my daughter, I think about how He does things that make me smile and laugh. I know He is happy to oblige that little girl in me who thinks her Father is hillarious and great, too.

Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming exertion I want to make for a little life I know it partially mine to protect, shape, and guide. When I was pregnant I heard an old Phil Collins recording of a song called Come With Me. I sang it to Georgia a lot when she was first born....knowing I would do anything for her, but that I will not be able to stop all the tough, difficult, and bad things that will she will go through in her life. This is the chorus:

After all is said
After all is done
I'd do anything for you
Come with come
Close your eyes
Hold my hands
It'll be all right

I just trust that He will always watch over her, and be her Father too. Everything will be all right. After all, one of my favorite sayings is "In the end, everything will be all right. If it's not ok, it's not the end."

I'm thankful from my toes on up for Georgia, fantastic teacher of life...at all of 5 months. Right now I'm appreciating that babies don't hold grudges. It amazes me how she can go down crying for a nap, but when she sees me when she wakes up she grins.

It makes me wonder why I hang on to the things I do.

She also makes me experience the power of forgiveness. She is too young to tell me she forgives my mistakes and oh! learnings with her, but her actions show she loves me despite them.

We had a strange start with forgiveness. It started the day she was born. Right as my labor was entering transition (translation: the hardest part) I wanted to rest. Lying down was excruciating, but nearly every position was, and I just want to rest. As I was lying in bed, Georgia kicked me hard. And I mean so hard I shuddered. It was so unexpected and it hurt me physically and emotionally. I was immediately angry at her. I just kept thinking to her, I'm trying to bring you into this world and you hurt me! You hurt me!

Transition is difficult and the point when a mom says things like I can't do it, never mind, I'll just stay pregnant forever, etc. It was difficult enough but more difficult with my anger. A few very difficult hours later I was still laboring at the hospital in a warm tub, in a darkened room with flickering candle light. And angry. I started to say those things women say. Someone--probably Tia, our doula--reminded me I had to get through this part, that it wasn't optional, and that if I would actively try to get through it, I would, and quicker than if I fought it. She also helped me understand they were there to support me, but that I was the only one who could do it. Just me and my baby.

I was still mad at the baby inside me but I knew I had to ask her forgiveness and get our bodies in sync to bring her into the world. I had my hypnobirth visualization of a garden and I took myself there mentally. In the garden, way back on the path, was a big tree with an empty trunk where I could see my baby inside me. I ran to see her and told her I was sorry for getting mad, sorry for staying angry, and that I loved her and needed her to help me birth her.

Immediately things became more productive. The pain was progressive. The power of forgiveness is physical.

Somehow, my idea of forgiveness changed when she was born. Suddenly she was Georgia, another human being, not a part of me, but an extension of me. I struggled with all my mistakes...racking them up so that I could confess to anyone who asked how many things I'd screwed up. I was trying to be a perfect mom and failing miserably. I needed to do something with my litany of mommy faults following me everywhere.

And it came in simple words from TV. While watching NBC's The Baby Borrowers a few weeks ago one of the moms told a teen "mom," "You just have to say, I'm sorry, I'll do better next time." I thought, such simple words relieve a lot of guilt, pressure, and strain. They remind me to ask for forgiveness, even when Georgia doesn't reply, and give myself permission to move forward, because she needs a good mom, not a perfect one.