Mommy

An excerpt from my journal dated December 2014. 

Mommy.

A title I have, for as long as I can remember, desired.

She came after fourteen hours of hard labor- tears, bartering, cries of anguish and banished doubts but in the end- triumph. I praised the Lord for her as they lifted her into her papa's arms and waited anxiously as her body was carried around the blue curtain that separated me from the surgical procedure that left me cut open; our eyes met and it was a moment really like no other. A surge of something so powerful that it rendered my heart full to bursting.

Dorothy Jean was perfect and perfectly mine.

It has been five weeks, three days and 18 minutes since Dorothy, aka Dottie, was welcomed into her papa's and I's lives and from the moment she was brought into this world, she has been wrecking me, in even the best ways. Really, if I were to look back, I would say that the wrecking truly began the moment her dad and I knew she existed. It felt so weighty then- we were going to be parents and it WAS weighty and the whole nine months leading up to her birthday were nothing short of a crash course in the sinful nature of our hearts. Enter Dottie- Enter Fear. Fear of not being good enough parents, not being able to provide for her, losing her, losing each other, etc...etc...etc.... But now, now that she is resting in my arms and I feel the rising and falling of her chest on my own, the fear is so much more visceral, so much more real; it grips me daily and unforgivingly.

I know that I said that Dorothy Jean was perfect and perfectly mine, and how I act and the thoughts the rush through my mind every day confirm that I believe that: I rush to her bassinet whenever the slightest sound is made to make sure she is breathing. I feel guilt- the kind of guilt that sits deep in my gut like an anchor- any time, she's not in my arms, and I find myself incessantly looking over at her swing or her activity mat, to make sure she still knows I'm there..."I'm just folding some laundry!" I tell her. " I'm sorry, but I promised to make this dish for the party tonight! It will just be a second."

I am explaining myself to a newborn- justifying myself to a baby who cannot comprehend what I'm saying. Because I fear. I fear in a way that shakes me...and in a way that has brought me to my knees.

The truth is, she is not perfect nor is she perfectly mine.

When I was twelve weeks pregnant with Dorothy, we had a scare. A scare that could have meant losing her. I remember laying in bed, knees propped up to discourage the bleeding, weeping and interceding for my daughters life. As I lay there, the weight and knowledge of my fragility and the fragility of our baby bearing down on my mind like a roaring train, the Lord gave me a picture.

I saw a pair of hands- weathered but strong, and in those hands, lay our baby.

The peace that fell upon me sank me into a still place- a place where I was reminded of the Lord's deep devotion and love for the little one growing inside of me. No matter what occurred, that baby was His and He held her in his hands.

:: For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb.::

  Psalm 139:13

Dorothy has always belonged to the Lord.

I'm writing this because minuets ago I was again gripped with fear. I had just lain Dorothy down in her bassinet and closed the door- she had been fighting her nap all day and had finally given in but as I closed the door to the bedroom I felt compelled to go back in and check on her one more time. I resisted the temptation and attempted to clean up the kitchen, tidy up the living room, fold some diapers- all the while being weighed down with the fear that is so common to me now-irrational and insistent- that something would happen to her and I wouldn't be there...

I needed the Lord.

I sat down and prayed. I got on my knees and confessed and cried and communed with God. I asked Him for help, I told him how I have never felt this way before- like someone had just entrusted me with the most precious gift in the world and if I wasn't careful I would destroy it- that I couldn't do it without Him and I repented. My love for her was tainted with sin- a love that would have me believe that she was mine, all mine... it would promise me joy but would leave me tortured and full of fear. 

She was His and always will be. I had to give her back to the Lord, release her from my fumbling and shaking hands; there is no safer place than in the arms of our Savior.

The peace was immediate but the fear crept back into my heart so quickly, even now I feel it returning.

I take a deep breath and whisper...

There is no safer place than in the arms of my Savior.