Hide & Seek

Here we go again. It sounds so nonchalant, but when I grabbed the phone to tell my husband I was bleeding, it felt like a reoccurring, familiar nightmare. Not even 6 months ago, we lost a baby around 8 weeks. It was traumatizing, an exhausting experience for me; the process of healing was long and raw. Random tears and sometimes shakes. A longing for a baby.  I’d been given the gift to see her via ultrasound, a beating heart and a little figure looking at me. “Mama?” And then weeks later, late-night in the ER, contractions, delivery, the contents of my womb. My little one swept away into a take-out container, gone forever. I’ll never hold her on this Earth. 

But now - months later, after much healing and prayer and the news of another child – again? For the first few weeks of this pregnancy I felt like a mad woman every time I was in the bathroom, like a kid watching a scary movie through cracks between his fingers. That’s how I’d pee. But in week 11, almost out of my first-trimester, after a couple of check-ups and having just announced the pregnancy to the family and Facebook World days before, the fear was dissolved, not on the mind at all. But then, after going for a nice jog with some friends on one of the first mild days of Spring, I came home to blood. So much blood. I cried on the toilet, whispering at the top of my lungs, “Jesus, Lord…”

The ride to the doctor’s was in complete silence. My husband reached over for my hand and quiet tears fell when I looked at him. His heart was hardening, mine was breaking, again. In the room (the undress from the waist down room), blood spilled down my legs, staining my socks, and pooling on the cold tile. The more blood, the more tears. Spilling all over. “I’m so sorry,” the nurses were already murmuring to me. Then the ultrasound machine was wheeled in, an overly-familiar procedure for me. “Just to check, ok?” I closed my eyes as she squeezed the goo over my belly, a little pressure. “This baby’s moving!” she almost shouted in true surprise. “We got a heartbeat.” I gasped for air as if being submerged under water for the last hour and finally released. A gasp, to keep up with the swiftness of emotions. Lowest to highest in a matter of seconds. It’s enough to knock you out. Another loud whisper was all that followed. “Praise God, thank you…”

It seemed that all the bleeding was from the placenta and the only prescription: bed rest. “Let the height of your activity be reading and folding laundry,” she said. I nodded, still smiling, the baby was fine! Alive and well. It took a awhile before realizing what bed rest with two other babies at home would mean. It’d mean constant help. On Day 4, I heard my son screaming upstairs. My Help had laid him down for a nap and was coming back soon. I just sat on the futon weighing out my options, essentially choosing between children, or that’s what it felt like. What if he fell out of his crib? I could just peek my head in, but then I’d have to climb the stairs. So do I really just sit here? Choose the unborn child over the toddler right now?

The back and forth battled in my head. The worst part (or the best, I’m not sure) is that I felt fine. I wasn’t in pain, didn’t feel ill, the bleeding had stopped. But I had to be still. Just still. God, help me be still.

And when I was still, and accepting of help, and humbled, and trusting, it was peaceful. Can I say…enjoyable? For the first time in a while, I had stretches of alone time to fill. I spent hours in bed, gazing outside in complete awe of the blooming Magnolia tree framing my bedroom window. Beyond that were horses playing and bathing next door, and the constant excitement among the birds was all the praise music I needed. I had a lovely novel, endless ice water, and the envelopment of the warm breeze circulating throughout our old farmhouse. Everything was taken care of, all I had to do was be still. In those quiet moments, I felt so close to God. So cared for. I was stuck here, but He was right next to me. I was content and full of faith. Full of Him.

And now, I’m beyond thankful to be doing well with baby strong. But back to the day-to-day routine. The wake-up, the breakfast  with cartoons, the clean-up, the school lessons, the naptimes, the lunches, the clean-up, the meltdowns, the cooking, the eating, the bathing, the bedtimes. Aaah, then comes some quiet time, quiet time usually filled with something sweet, several sit-coms, and snoring for sure. And at the end of it all, I can’t help but ask where was God today?  I definitely wasn’t in awe of His presence when changing diaper #6. He seemed so much closer in the quiet breeze, that Magnolia!

But I know – He’s not the one hiding. He’s still right here, I’m just too distracted by life off of bed rest. Hiding in the constant going. I’m not being still because I don’t have to be. But in the still, I could hear Him and feel Him. So close. In the busy, I’m seeking, seeking, seeking, but too busy to be still, listen, feel. So I’m the hider and the seeker?  But that won’t ever work.

I need to be like faithful Moses who kept right on going because he kept his eyes on the one who is invisible. ( Hebrews 11:27) Not the girl who kept right on going, so much so, that she missed the One that day.  No, I want to keep my eyes on Him always, in the routine, in the noise, in the diapers. I’ll run with endurance the race God has set before me. And the only way to do this is by keeping my eyes on Jesus, my champion, who initiated my faith and is perfecting it daily. (Hebrews 12: 1-2)

Everyday, constantly still. Not hiding. Exposed. Available. And always, always with my eyes on Him.

“Be still, and know that I am God!”

~ Psalm 46:10