I am sitting here in my quiet living room at 11:58pm ( or 23:58 as it is now known on my phone, thanks to a little boy who seems to always finds the way to change my clock to hundred hour). I am awake, I should be sleeping. I am exhausted but not tired. Is it adrenaline from the day spent wrangling two vivacious children, remnants of caffein
e laced dark chocolate which I liberally drizzled over my vanilla ice cream a couple hours ago, or was it that I forgot to take my evening dose of powdered magnesium. Whom ever the culprit, the outcome is: awake.
On evenings such as this while I usually pass the time flipping and flopping in my bed, dark and mischievous worries filter into my head. Horrible visions of failed and fatal parenting. Problems and situations that a “good” parent could have prevented that has lead to the most horrible existence for a parent- living in a world no longer with your child. It brings tears to my eyes typing it- it is my deepest darkest fear that literally can keep me up at night.
This line of worry is often followed with a “why did I do this to myself?”. If I would have followed my own dream of having that entry level job in the city. I could have been happily sipping my instant ramen for one listening to CBC Radio 2 in my basement corner apartment (a refurbished janitors closet perhaps- I am sure it would have smelled lovely). That probably would have been safer for my heart. I could have remained blissfully unaware of the despair and fear I am currently crippled by. However; I remember the fist time I lost- I mean really lost someone and the hole that it developed in my heart and soul. Then I remember the moment I could finally get my hands on my first born and how the overwhelming flood of Gods love for me rushed over my body. So thick it felt as if He had wrapped me in a quilt that was created and curated for me and for my heart ache. It was heavy and oppressive and relentless like a really big wave that comes in and knocks you flat on your bottom and maybe even tosses you around a bit so you can no longer tell which end is up or if you even still have your bathing suit on.
God loves me like that. God loves you like that too. God loves our kids like that as well.
We have been so incredibly blessed here in Canada that some are living in fear of the “other shoe dropping”. I am learning that I still put God in a box. “If he gives me something great here, He is going to take it away there”. Logical- makes sense- not my God. When are we (mostly me) going to learn to give God everything. When am I going to learn? Sometimes it feels like there are millions of miles between the knowing side of my faith and the trusting side. Like Peter- I am out there on the water with Jesus and then I start to sink; I have my Simon Joanne moment. I am grateful that Peter had these moments in public where it could be recorded so we could have an example of getting back up again.
Dear God, thank you for being greater than my fear. Thank you for caring more for me than I am able to comprehend. I am so grateful for the moments that you share a little snippets of your glory with me so in even in the dark I know you have the whole world and the little lives that are the most precious to me in your hands. I pray that you will help me to find peace and comfort in knowing that your love for them is bigger and more fierce than my own. You are so Good.
Amen!