I worry. And then, I worry more. I worry about worrying. Worry is my chief sin. I have a very hard time trusting authority figures who say they love me. As one can deduce, this makes it hard for me to trust God. Even before the hubs and I started “trying” I worried about infertility. So of course I googled and I found blogs, and then I worried that we would be one of “those” couples. That we would have to be humilated and forced to endure IVF, that our most sacred and intimate act of creating life would be reduced to cold sterility of medical intervention. Well, we are subfertile, we had to endure IVF. But it wasn’t so bad. We put on our happy face, set out to make the best, told too many inappropriate jokes to our MD’s to count, and determined to cherish the rare opportunity to see our baby be placed in my womb and to have pictures of our Julia when she was cellular. God used this for good and we are better people now then we were before IVF. Depsite this, once Julia was born I pretty much began obessively worrying that either 1) God would take me away from Julia or 2) God would take Julia away from me. Does it make me a bad person that I would rather He take Julia from me than me from Julia? I say that only because many of my friends/family have passed and I know the sorrow that comes with that loss. I just would hate for Julia to grow up with that loss.
I have read a lot of blogs of women/couples who have endured such sorrow as pregnancy loss, stillbirth, and infant loss. I pray for them constantly. But I had to make a rule not to read these blogs because they only make me sad and full of worry. Today, I broke my rule and as they say, curiosity kills the cat. Here I sit, mascara all over my face, sobbing for a baby I never knew and questioning why must there be dead babies? Why must there be sick babies? Why are babies born still? Why? Why? Why? I am ashamed of this questioning. I know that these things happen no matter how much one trusts God and no matter how much one loves God or how much God love one and that is just very hard for me to get past. I also know that any mother that has suffered such a loss would tell me to quit crying and go enjoy my perfectly healthy baby, and to stop worrying because it’s huge waste of heart resources and time, that in the event that my lil’muff-in ever did fall gravely ill I would regret not basking in her now. I know. I know. I KNOW, that God’s plan is better than my best. But I just have a hard time letting go.
I recently heard this story (I think it is a Native American parable), it has helped me resist the urge to worry obessively, it goes like this.
Inside of every person there are two wolves, they are fighting. One wolf will win, and one wolf will lose. One wolf is anger, hate, worry, sin, greed, doubt, self pity, negativity etc. The other wolf is hope, happiness, peace, love, trust, serenity, and so on. Which wolf wins? The one you feed.
*Clearly this is a post I have written in a total emotional mess. Should we take bets if maybe MrsYak will get her monthly friend back soon?
