Faithful

I wasn’t expecting the bleeding to start again. I wasn’t expecting that surge of fear to rise so high. I wasn’t expecting to land in the hospital for four days. But life is full of the unexpected. Gratefully, our Jesus is present in each moment—mundane or unexpected. Without Him as my constant, I’d be in pieces. But I’m hanging in, and I’m not without hope.

I was shaky and fighting fierce fear as we settled into our room at the hospital that first night. I clung to Jesus like a lifeline, trying to breathe, trying to keep my head above water. And, as long as my eyes were on Jesus and I stayed with Him in the moment, I had a peace that made little sense with the context of my situation and a deep-rooted desire just to sing His praises and call His name. Formal prayer eluded me mostly. I didn’t have eloquent words to plead my case or lift up poetic offerings. As I’m learning, though, prayer is so much more than stringing together words in the right combination in hopes of cracking “the God code.” When I cry out from my spirit for God to hold me, carry me, He does. And He certainly did this weekend.

The sonogram we had at the hospital Saturday morning revealed mostly healthy structures. They could see a blood clot above my cervix, most likely from a marginal sinus bleed. As I understand it best, this type of bleed is when an area at the edge of the placenta bleeds but doesn’t detach. Prognosis is optimistic, but as is the case with nearly all things in life, really, there are no guarantees.

I spent my stay at the hospital reporting blood loss, being monitored every 4-6 hours, and resting as still as I could. We saw my OB, a high risk pregnancy specialist, and one of the doctors from the neonatal intensive care unit. I did my best to absorb the information we gathered from each person with a rational brain and a guarded heart.

One of my dear friends from school shared “Oceans” by Hillsong United with me a few weeks ago. I played the song on loop while I was in the hospital because it so spoke to me. I can see myself as the one walking across the water. As long as my eyes are on Jesus, I can keep moving through this one step at a time. I can say, though, that when my focus has shifted and my eyes have slipped, it only has taken an instant for waves of worry, heartache, fear, and frustration to come crashing in.

For so many years in my journey of faith, I felt like I was missing something. Although God had done amazing things to teach me about what grace really meant, I still felt like there was something—I once described it as “love through plexiglass”—that kept me from really trusting, really leaning on Jesus. Since this baby boy entered my life, I have slowly begun to realize how very little I truly understood about God’s faithfulness. I could give a Merriam-Webster definition and even point out Biblical examples of God’s faithfulness, but I hadn’t embraced it—recognized it in my own life beyond an academic sense. Ever a planner, ever a worrier, I was thrust into a situation in which I was forced to make a choice with this pregnancy: fall on Jesus, or fall to pieces. I have found such a spiritual difference, an emotional difference, and even a physical one when I lose myself in the hope of Jesus that I have, for the first time in my life, felt that “plexiglass” barrier come down. I finally get it when people say, “Jesus is enough.”

Please don’t misunderstand me. As I mentioned before, it doesn’t take much more than a brief shift in focus for me to feel as though I am drowning. I am not claiming to be doubtless, nor am I claiming to be standing on my own. In a text to a friend this weekend, I told her that I am anything but strong. I am mush. Mush held upright by very strong hands. My heart still breaks, fear creeps in, but my confidence that “God has got this” steels by the moment.

This new confidence has led to a startling paradigm shift for me. I have, admittedly, had fleeting thoughts throughout this bumpy pregnancy wishing I hadn’t started down this road in the first place or at the very least lamenting the fact that things haven’t been easy. But sometime early Sunday, I started thinking about what God has taught me through this pregnancy about collapsing in His arms and seeing even just a hint of the depths of His faithfulness. All at once, I realized that if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t trade a moment of this pregnancy. What’s more, I would do it a thousand times over if it meant I could learn what God is teaching me now. And I know I haven’t even scratched the surface of all He holds for me—for all of us.

Before Anna was born, I participated in a Bible study in which we read Hinds’ Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard. This book is a giant metaphor—a religious allegory about a woman’s journey to salvation and the depths of God’s love. When I read it, my then self struggled through it, regarding much of it as, if I recall correctly, “tree hugging hippie crap.” How’s that for elegant criticism? I honestly can’t even remember if I truthfully made it all the way to the end of the book. It seemed to fit in all too well with the overly flowery religious writings to which I had grown numb. Regardless of the truth behind the concepts, religious jargon tends to become devoid of meaning beyond a rote sense. It takes real, personal God moments in each life to chip past the shell encasing words like “Grace” and “Faithfulness” and “Love” and “Redeemed” so that the power of what those things really are can burst through.

But I digress. In Hind’s Feet, God gives the protagonist two companions for her journey—Sorrow and Suffering. My self five or six years ago rolled my eyes—or at least wanted to. It seemed trite, however true it had been for the book’s author. The concept made sense from a poetic and academic level, but that was about it.

Reflecting back on it now, though, it makes more sense. If the Sorrow and Suffering from this pregnancy have led me to Jesus where I have found contentment and happiness in moments in which those things sensibly shouldn’t be, then I am grateful for them. And how my praise now multiplies when skies are clear!

Again, I’m not claiming I want to buy an old-school BFF necklace for this pregnancy. I am thankful it is just one season in my life of so many. I am even more grateful to be in the arms of Jesus through it all.

With all that has been on my mind with the metaphor of walking across the water with eyes on Jesus, Anna’s prayer at the dinner table last night made me smile. At times, her attempts to be reverent can be rather humorous—reminding me of Ricky Bobby’s prayer in Talladega Nights or Greg Focker’s prayer in Meet the Parents. But her motives are sweet, as is her innocence. Last night, her attempt at an eloquent word offering went something like this (although not exactly). Where are video cameras when you need them??

“Oh Lord. My Lord. And the praise. And be in the water. The water is big. Thank you, God. My floaties keep me up.”

You know, Nanners, I’m thankful for God’s floaties, too.