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Thursday, August 4, 2011

Carry Again, Father

In November of 2009 I posted this.  Written for one daughter.  I can't remember what the problem was - what her hurt was.  Is He not good this way? 

Whatever it was the reason has been lost.  And today she smiles and laughs and hopes and lives life with this in her past This trouble is gone. 

And now another daughter hurts.  She seems to be walking in the shadows now instead of the light.  Struggling to grasp hold of promises and believe. 

And her mama understands.  For if I could touch my heart fingers would move along the lines of scars, feel the pull of how open wounds heal and close and leave, my love.  With wisdom in their wake.  And this you must believe.

For my darlin' girl remember - our troubles, even though we are tempted to question God about them, must drive us closer to Him. 

So, today I post this again.  For I feel my arms ache heavy with the desire to pick up my first and rock away the pain. 

First in my womb I prayed for this one - and isn't a mother pregnant forever?


There is something about the power that comes from the feeling of being able to pick your children up and hold them in your arms. The WonderWoman complex that comes with rocking them and making everything better. Carrying them always made it better, for both of us.

There is a misery that comes with the helpless feeling of knowing your child is hurting, feeling lost, lonesome, and a little scared. The day you know there is no more picking them up, snuggling them as you kiss bobos or tend wounded hearts. When they are too old - but not old enough.

And I remimd myself - Misery is our enemy - isn't it?  And we are never helpless - are we? 

There is a grief that comes with knowing, as Mama and Daddy, that you are not WonderWoman and Superman. That your child now knows this. You no longer can fake answers, no longer can just say, "It will all work out," - even though you know it will.  Things are not so easily fixed, tears are not so easily dried, and pain is not so easily wiped away.

And I remind myself - grief is foreign.

There is a pain in the gut that comes with watching their faces as reality hits them that life is hard. That life is unfair. That life is an unending struggle between good and bad, right and wrong. That patience no longer involves just the simple count-down to Christmas, but now involves the wait for wisdom and the never ending search for knowledge.

And I remind myself - pain is fleeting.

From the time we knew a little one was growing in my womb we prayed for them. We gave them to our Lord. We prayed for the wisdom to know what to tell them to do. We taught them of Jesus' love - immeasurable and unending. We taught them to have faith, to trust in the Lord's timing and wisdom. We tried to demonstrate that faith.

And I remind myself - when I failed I was forgiven.

We have never been good enough. We have never been powerful enough or smart enough or strong enough. Which is why we lean.  We have always known this and now our child knows this. Mama and Daddy have no magic wand.

But - there is a joy that comes in knowing that our Lord has never and will never fail to be more than sufficient. There is a relief that comes from knowing we have done our best to teach our children this. An even greater relief in knowing that they have received it - and the greatest relief is knowing - even in an uncomprehending way -  He loves them more than we do.

Why, then, is it so indescribably hard to still my beating heart, calm my churning stomach, and soothe my pounding head when my child is hurting? Why do my arms physically ache to pick her up and take it all away? Why does it feel so new and raw, even when I've been through it before?

Remind me, Father, once again, why I can't be the one to fix it.

And I remind myself - there is no One better than You.

Carry her, Father.

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Drawing of me losing my cool courtesy of budding artist, Izzy.


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. . . put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Colossians 3:12