I say to the LORD, "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing."

The idea is simple:

     With God, I have everything.  Without Him, I have nothing.

     Without God, I may have things, but I have no good thing. 

The idea is simple, but the truth is hard to live out.

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”  Elizabeth Stone

I had heard a mom share this quote with me ages ago when I was fresh out of college and quite far from being a mom.  At that time, I could only imagine what that truly meant.  But it took only seconds of having my baby outside of my body for me to begin to fully grasp what those words mean.  She is my heart, my very heart, walking around outside my body.  For days after we first brought her home, I kept finding myself suddenly aware of the fact that I had been holding my breath for an indeterminable amount of time -- waiting, wondering if she was okay.  Certain questions kept pursuing me.  Why is she crying?  Was she breathing?  Was she eating enough?  How come she's not sleeping? 

One day after I had put her down in her crib, hoping desperately that she would stay asleep, I had a meltdown.  And as I cried and poured out my heart to God (the worries and anxieties about her well-being and the disappointments about the pregnancy and the birth), I came to a critical moment where I knew that I had to make a decision.  Either I would spend the rest of my life worrying about her every waking moment or I could give her every waking moment to God.  The former seemed like a horrific way to live, but I knew it could easily be something I would slip into.  The latter seemed like the only way to go, but I knew it required a very conscious decision to surrender -- in that moment and everyday ever after. 

My surrender in that moment allowed me to breathe again.

But if I want to keep breathing, I need to keep surrendering -- because God really is the only one who can keep her safe.  No amount of worry will add a day to her life. 

But I am still learning.  Sometimes I still find myself holding my breath when she cries.  Oh Lord, please teach me to surrender.



A Mother's Prayer, Celine Dion

I pray you'll be my eyes
And watch her where she goes
And help her to be wise
Help me to let go

Every mother's prayer
Every child knows
Lead her to a place
Guide her with your grace
To a place where she'll be safe

I pray she finds your light
And holds it in her heart
As darkness falls each night
Remind her where you are

Every mother's prayer
Every child knows
Need to find a place
Guide her to a place
Give her faith so she'll be safe

Lead her to a place
Guide her with your grace
To a place where she'll be safe

Praying is so futile.  That was the thought that rammed hard against the walls of my mind the other night as I stared at the ceiling listening to my baby cry, yet again.  Why did she wake up?  She's supposed to be sleeping.  I've prayed the prayer for her to be able to sleep at least 10 times every day for the last 7 weeks of her life.  And yet, she still goes through every day with only two or three short 20 minute naps.  Nights are better usually because she'll have at least two sleep cycles where she'll sleep for a few hours.  But there's always those times when she won't go back to sleep after she wakes up for a feeding.  Now what?  God, why don't you answer my prayer?

It makes me feel so lost when the deepest depths of my heart is being poured out, and it seems like there's no answer in return.  Feels like I'm pushing hard against a brick wall, and it won't budge an inch.  I'm pushing with all my guts, my eyes are popping out and my hands are turning white, but the wall just won't move.  And so it seems that prayer is futile, and I don't want to pray anymore.  At least, that's how I felt the other night.  I was in tears from tiredness and feeling shunned by God... but even so, in the depths of that desperation, I knew I was cornered.  There's nothing I can do but pray.  There's no other way out of my dilemma but to pray. 

Because only God can grant sleep.

So why doesn't God answer my prayer?  I don't know.  If every prayer was written on a piece of paper and deposited into a bowl, I'm sure my bowl would be piled mountain-high, slipping down and overflowing with slips of paper with the same desperate plea over and over again.  God will need a new bowl soon.  And even though He won't answer me the way I want Him to now, I know He will one day soon.  He said "ask, seek, knock".  He said to pray boldly, courageously, unabashedly, and He WILL answer.  So I'll keep pushing hard against this wall until He keeps His promise to me.