Memory Lane...

I'm pretty insistent on experiencing things fully. I find it empowering and enriching to let myself be present and truly experience life in the small moments and the big circumstances. But last year at this time I found myself barely getting by...functioning on a cope and keep moving mentality.

In the last few weeks I've found myself down roads and driving past buildings of significance to this time last year. It was an unmistakeable call from God to experience now what I was too scared and too overwhelmed to the first time around. A call for emotional cleansing, clearing, healing.

Mentally my mind began down a figurative memory lane when the calendar turned to January. Literally we were driving down memory lane as I hurried Noah to Urgent Care on the same road and we drove past my OB's office.Last January began with a great surprise of a baby, but by month's end, was my greatest test of emotional endurance yet.

I had to wait on God.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Each day.

Every day.

Every hour.

Every minute.

For weeks.

And weeks.

And weeks.

At time tormented by my thoughts. At times burdened with fear. At times numb.

I cannot say I ever felt at peace knowing that my child would certainly survive. It just wasn't a guarantee that because I had faith God could heal the placenta and sustain my child.

He could. But would he?

God had brought us through several pregnacy losses without medical explanation and I had learned to take comfort in the fact that we cannot possibly know this side of heaven why our children were not here on earth. And since we cannot possibly know, but we know the character of God, it is quite possible that in His great love for us, He spared us greater heartache than we can imagine.

As one week of prescribed bedrest turned into twelve, I felt myself withdrawing more and more. I didn't blog. I didn't reach out to others. I didn't use my gift of words to encourage others. I became paralyzed in my waiting. I felt so alone.

I don't think it showed much to others. I put on a brave face. Or maybe others thought I had normal bedrest feelings.

For all the love we were shown and the help we were given, I still felt all alone. Please don't misunderstand. I appreciated every single gesture, card, and moment of help. But I couldn't pass off the burden of waiting and it was swallowing me whole. The sun was shining outside, but there was a cloud surrounding me.

Then I began to pray the same prayer every night. In bed by 8 pm, ready to close my eyes and simply end another long day, I began to pray...Lord, I don't understand why you might need my child more than I do, but what I do know is that Abraham offered you his son because you asked him to. Surely if he could, then I can. I lay my child on the altar of sacrifice.

Over and over and over I prayed this.

Only this.

It was all I could pray.

We went about our daily routine. Someone would be here to help with Georgia by 8:45. She'd watch Seasame Street's Elmo segment. Whoever was here to help would visit with me while playing with G. Lunch would be fixed for us and then we'd put Georgia down for her nap by 1.

I'd be on my own with her (sleeping hopefully) until my mom got home about 4.  I'd read thick novels until I fell asleep myself. When I woke up I'd count the minutes until Noah got home. After dinner, he'd put G to bed and then we'd both go to bed ourselves. Sleep helped shut out some of that unknown of waiting.

Waiting continued to be a heavy burden, but I had a growing peace in my heart. I had a new patience in my spirit that was sincere in waiting for God. It wasn't easy, but I knew it wasn't something I had developed humanly.

It wasn't hope. Though each day was seemingly a day in our favor and every sonogram and blood test showed the baby was thriving, the hematoma was still present and not significantly better. The threat to the baby's life was still very real.

And what I felt wasn't hope.

It was patience.

At times, I would find myself sitting and feeling like I was in that very moment actively waiting. Waiting like you'd wait at your front window when you knew someone was coming soon to pick you up. Waiting patiently because you knew that person was incredible reliable and would certainly be by to get you. Not early, not late; right on time. Trustworthy to follow through. No reason to worry. Just wait.

I was waiting for God to make His choice for my child's life. And I trusted Him to make the right one.

Truly.

I look at Judah now and I think how glad I am to get to know him. He smiles at me and I am so glad I get to see them. He giggles and I cannot stop making him giggle because the sound is balm to my soul.

And God has helped me understand Himself better through Abraham's story. I had a overly simplistic understanding of Abraham as a parent and God as Providence.

Now I know God didn't want Abraham's son. He wanted Abraham's heart. He needed to know if that long promised and finally real son was his heart, or if He was.

Abraham loved his son, but he put him on the altar, because He loved God.

I believe He wanted to know if my child was my heart, or if He was.

He had to give me time to know for myself.

And the opportunity to tell Him...I love you even if my child does not live.

I did. I do.