My Kryptonite

A year ago, this weekend, my life was up in the air and hanging on the balance of someone else's decision. It was a terrifying place to be, but for the first time I was okay with whatever the outcome would be even if I did not have control over it. For the first time in my life I knew 100% I was doing what God wanted me to do and that was enough for me and that peace could not be ruined by someone else's decision.

Fast-forward a year, with all prayers answered (in ways that God and I may or may not have agreed upon...I try not to question The Big Man's ways...I really do) you would think that the peace I had when my life was in utter chaos would be compounded ten fold when my life was seemingly falling into place.

False. Not the case.

Being pregnant has made me feel more out of control than I ever have. There is a life inside of me that I only have minimal impact on its creation. Little Man's success and thriving and genetic perfection or imperfection has no bearing on my actions. Yes, of course I have done and will continue to do things (though only a few weeks!!) that help to make sure successes happen in the womb, but in reality its the most out of control process that anyone has on this earth. Perfectly healthy babies are born to crack addicts and alcoholics. Perfectly healthy babies are born to mothers that suffer traumatic injuries or who have cancer. Babies that do not make it are born to mothers who did everything right. Can we impact the odds? Yes. Can we ultimately dictate the results? No.

Why is this out of control different from last year? Because I have found my kryptonite. I used to be brave and I used to think the whole world was ahead of me. I used to think I could accomplish anything that I set my mind to. But this little human has thrown me for a loop. This baby boy has brought me to my knees begging for his safety and to tears hoping for his future. On my mind constantly is not the next hope, but the next worry. I make it past one obstacle to begin thinking about the next. If I can get through the first trimester when most miscarriages happen I'll be fine. If I can make it through the second trimester when he could be born pre-term and die, I'll be fine. If I can just have a healthy delivery, then I won't worry because I will have a healthy baby. And then, who knows what the worries are..........

My antithesis to my courage is a little boy whom I already love more than anything in this world. Literally. Never have I ever worried about another human beings safety and thriving. I have never even seen his face or touched his precious body, but my heart is clenched in worry. I worry that I will die from an accident/disease/zombie apocalypse and not be allowed to share in the joy of little man growing up.

I am undone.

While God does work through our undoings, I don't think He wishes for me to be gripped in worry and fear. I am slowly learning that what He does want is for me to hand over my son and my health
to Him. He wants me to trust the outcome. The powerful God I trusted and believed in last year at this time is still that very God that gave me this pregnancy out of a tumultuous year. The same God that restored and rebuilt my life in spite of the world and people hell bent on making it fall into ruin.

I am working and praying through this. I am trying. I do not have it figured out, but I am allowing God to show me my cracks and my shortcomings.