The One Where I Dig a Little Deeper Into My Feelings

I am feeling a lot of emotion today. Maybe it's pregnancy. Maybe it's what life has been for us in the last couple of months. Maybe it's how uncertain the future feels.

I thought I would just write. Get it untangled from my mind.

You see, I love my little girl so much, in the most profound and tender way. My love for her is big. Really big. But you already know that. Her spirit has carved such sweetness and joy into our lives and I find myself trying to protect her in ways that I know I can't.

I have trouble shaking the image of that early morning in May when life stopped for Cayman.

I can barely breath passed the lump in my throat. What a mother feels when her child is in danger is a strong and awful thing.

It is bothersome to me that the thing that caused Cayman's life to almost pass from here will always remain a threat to her. There is no cure for her hydrocephalus. She will always need a shunt to treat it. That shunt has no guarantees that it will not fail her. It already has six times in the past.

I don't want to live my days in worry but I have to admit I am struggling. I want there to be a fix to this. For a child that drowns but is successfully revived, you would get them swimming lessons or stay on high alert whenever a pool of water is around. Taking action to prevent that from ever happening again.

A shunt failure? I can't protect against that. There is absolutely nothing I can do. I do not want to belittle prayer by saying that because I do think it is powerful. It's just not tangible nor in my control. I have much measure in growth and maturity to do yet, learning to let go and trust God.

I find myself clinging to my little family, scared that in any moment everything might change. At home I take everything in under a safety precaution.

I've slammed the door shut to the basement stairs, upset that I found it left open again. The fan has been put above Cayman's reach. The rocking ottoman she likes to climb onto is pushed back into a corner when I leave the room. I check her buckles repeatedly after securing her in her car seat. At an intersection I look both directions multiple times on a vacant, open country road. I kiss Mike just one more time before he leaves the house. And if I forget to say to him "be safe" I call his cell phone because somehow it feels more secure to me if it's spoken. And now carrying a newly forming life inside of me makes it all feel even more fragile. I google nearly everything before I eat it, touch it, or breath it.

I remember very specifically what I prayed for all those months when I was pregnant with Cayman. In my human and limited thinking I asked God to give Cayman a normal brain. To take her hydrocephalus away.

We never saw any improvements.

At each ultrasound I thought to myself, "Maybe this time it will be different."

It was different but not in the way I was looking for. Cayman's hydrocephalus kept getting worse.

Much, much worse.

I had asked God to take it away but I felt Him say, "I have something different in mind. It's okay you cannot understand it right now. Just wait. And trust. Keep looking to me. This is going to bring me glory! It's going to further your testimony and point others to me. It's going to be better. It's going to be bigger. Just wait and see."

That day, I surrendered with a big obedient, "Yes!" to my Lord. And some days since then, it's taken small yeses here and there to remind myself there is a bigger picture to all of this than what I can see.

I do have faith of that.

And on those days when I need that reminder, just like today, I talk with God, spilling out all my fears yet again. He gently urges me to remember that He alone determines our days and that while it is good to be a mindful parent and wife, the pressure I place on myself to believe that I can be in complete control is a lie.

So here I sit quietly. Humbled. Praising the One that shows me over and over that He is the only One in complete control over Cayman's life.

He is the reason that she is a statistical medical miracle.

He is the reason that Mike made it through a recent car accident safely.

He is the reason I can trust that this little baby is growing deep inside of me exactly the way He wants him or her to.

In my weakly flesh I want so badly to push forward to the day when we will have an ultrasound that would give me a peace of mind that everything is developing okay.

In my heart...deep down in that place of knowing...I know I must trust. I must have faith. God has a specific plan and He's so big that nothing can stop His plans when He has a willing servant standing before Him.

Oh boy, am I willing!

There is so much God is trying to show me.

But when I am looking at my world through eyes of worry I wonder how many things I am missing.

"Lord, I am thankful that your strength is perfect when my strength is gone."