I have to admit - I haven't been writing much because I don't know what to say.
Because I am struggling.
Yes, with anxiety. Yes, with typical-if-unfortunate mama guilt, I'm-not-doing-this-good-enough guilt.
But above those mostly expected things arches something I did not expect: that I am struggling with God. With trusting him.
After Eve died, of course there were questions. Of course. But I brought them to God and I felt like he used my questions to draw me closer. And I learned to trust him again.
But now, I am finding that same trust in that same everlasting God very hard.
Because what if he's going to ask more of me than my first baby? How can I trust him after she died inside my own body, where I thought it was safe, and now my son has my heart beating in his hands and how can I be okay with it if God wants more?
And the funny thing is that I can't stop believing in God. Where else can I go? There is no other Name than his for me.
And yet . . . even though I believe, I fear pouring my whole life out to him. I fear obeying him. I fear opening up my hands to let him give or take.
There is an eternity of ways your child could die. Every parent knows this. But babylost parents . . . well, we know it better than most because we have lived [at least] one of those ways.
As my friend Nat wrote when i posted about my God struggles in a Facebook group we're both in, it's hard to trust God when you have learned the hard way that doing so does not mean that everything will turn out okay.
He's not a tame lion.
And I should already know this, because the Bible promises - promises! - hardship and suffering, and how badly do I have it, really, when there are people living without clean water, when women and children are being bought and sold as if they were playthings?
But it hurt to lose my baby girl, and it hurts still, and my hands are closed around the ones I cherish even though I know the only true way to keep them safe is to open my palms wide and let them go. I know I can't keep them closed much longer, because I am seeing that they are not protecting my loved ones but instead are closed tight around my own neck and it's getting damned hard to breathe in here.
But I am afraid.
So what to do? I can't turn away from God, but I am afraid to let him all the way back in, too.
Here, I will be bold and not sugarcoat or shy away from the fact that I. don't. know.
But . . . I do know that I will take this fear, this not-knowing to God, too, and hope that he can make something lovely out of all this ugliness. Because even though I am so afraid, my soul yearns and yearns for his sacred touch,
This is what I know. I know it's not much, but it's something.