I want so badly to do this perfectly.
It’s like somewhere inside I believe if I do all the “right things” I can keep the bad things at bay.
I hold tightly to this belief like a child gripping a flashlight to chase away the monsters under the bed.
Almost 8 months pregnant, I plan and I check items off my to do list like a mad woman. I read the books and make three different birth plans because it offers me an imaginary safety net, the illusion of control.
Give me all the knowledge, give me all the answers, they will make me impervious.
I think that’s what trauma and loss steal from us most: the ability to let go. The ability to relax into joy, into surrender of the unknown.
The ability to exhale.
If I clench my body tightly enough maybe I will survive the impact.
If I plan for the worst maybe I will be ready when it comes. If I check the boxes then surely devastation will bypass me, surely God will reward me because I’ve been good haven’t I?
Surely I will not end up broken again.
My perfection is a paper shield guarding my heart from loss.
Because when the worst things have already happened to you, how do you trust they are not lurking around the bend again?
Loss steals from us the ability to trust love is enough.
But the truth is I have no control.
I am vulnerable.
Loving makes me vulnerable.
Friends lose babies around me. Mothers lose daughters. Others lose homes in a fire. I watch a chalk faced infant pulled from the rubble of a bombed out building in Syria in The Men from Aleppo.
Do I think my child is more valuable so he will be spared?
Of course not.
Maybe I think being the perfect parent will save me. (And all the seasoned parents laugh)
We’ll try really hard to prove how worthy we are to be spared.
We’ll make the money, we’ll buy the house, we’ll build the nursery, we’ll be “obedient,” we’ll people please, we’ll be responsible, we’ll say yes when we mean no, we’ll martyr ourselves, we’ll stay at the job we hate, we’ll ignore our intuition, we’ll close our eyes tight to a global community suffering thinking it will insulate us from pain.
But it doesn’t.
I hear it in the disappointed and disillusioned voices of my global worker clients “But I was trying to follow God, I was trying to do the right things, I was trying to be good thinking I would be rewarded…so how did I end up here?”
I understand their pain.
But where does that leave us?
God has not spared me from brokenness.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings. The anxiety tries to clamor. I don’t know if this baby will survive when the others didn’t, or if I’ll suffer with postpartum depression, or how I’ll juggle pursuing my purpose and being present for my family, if I’ll ever blog consistently again (sorry in advance) or how my marriage will handle a new addition, or if my brain will ever function at its highest capacity again (prego brain is real ya’ll)
I do know I’ll fail. I’ll fail my husband, my clients, my child, my friends, my family, myself, as I journey through this transition of motherhood.
Today, I was comforted by these words from a fellow traveler and friend Kay Bruner:
“The truth is: we have no control, and that’s okay, because LOVE DOES NOT CONTROL. Love just makes an offer. Love wins not by conquering, but by companionship.”
This is my work. This is what I’m leaning into these days. Because I know this to be true:
Perfection cannot save us, but love can.
Love is God saying He’ll be with me in it whatever comes. Love is Presence.
Love is knowing in my darkest moments I have never been abandoned.
Love is hearing God speak through a verse, or a line of poetry, or a song. Love is the friend who always texts.
Love is being kind to myself as I take time to meditate in the garden.
Love is being gentle with my imperfections.
Love is taking walks in the orange splay of leaves on a trail, drinking in beauty. Love is telling my body to breathe. Love is listening to my Father’s voice.
Love is warm hugs from my husband and snuggles from my dog Rosie.
Love is giving myself over to joy without having to protect myself.
Love is trusting myself and what I need. Love is knowing I’m an overcomer.
Love is trusting this sweet babe inside me.
Love is whispering, “It’s going to be ok, you’re going to be ok, because you’re not alone.”
