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
