Lessons from my baby daughter #10.
Not so long ago Hubs and I left Miss L with her godmother for the first time to celebrate our anniversary. We have left her with family before but never at night and never right on dinner time.
Oh the tears! Great, big, round, lip quivering, lash wetting tears! For the first time ever my little miss actually turned up her nose at food and looked at me as if I had injured her to her very soul. It was as if she knew we were leaving before we even left. As it was, we were late and Hubs had to drag me out the door before I cancelled the whole thing.
People sometimes ask me if I am angry at God. It is a simple question and a complex question in one. Yes, I am angry. I am angry that my formerly healthy body betrayed me. I am angry that a little piece of biodegradable plastic inserted into my artery is keeping me alive. I am angry that I wake up to a cocktail of medication each morning. I am angry that the real estate agent took advantage of our situation and undervalued our home for the sake of a quick sale. I am angry that I had to resign from my dearly beloved job. I am angry that a four year old can handle a long flight of stairs faster than I can. I am angry that I am not the kind of mother or wife that I had planned to be. I am angry when people seem to think that I should look sick when I don’t and then I am angry all over again if they forget I am sick altogether.
Of all the things that make me angry, God is not and never has been one of them. Does He cause suffering? Sometimes. I believe He allows us to hurt because the world is fallen, because lessons need to be learned and because He wants our hearts to turn to Him. It would be easy to place the blame on His shoulders but then where would I be? How can I be angry with the one who gave me life and gave me the miracle to keep living that life? Even when He feels the farthest away, I know that He carries me in the palm of His hand.
When Hubs and I arrived to pick up Miss L after our grown up, leisurely and overly expensive dinner she was fast asleep on the lounge. Her godmother assured me that once she had worked out her frustration she had finished her bottle, babbled happily to the television and put herself to sleep. Hubs couldn’t help but wake her up with kisses as we transferred her to the car and the beaming smile we received as she opened her eyes made all the world right again. If she remembered that we were the ones who caused her grief in the first place she didn’t show it. All she cared was that we were the ones to rescue her again.
If God allowed my heart to break, and break it certainly did, then surely He will be the one to mend it once more. I cannot begrudge Him that.
“When you saw only one set of footprints,
It was then that I carried you.”
Footprints in the Sand