When I Am Afraid…

Written on Saturday night, before one of the most phenomenal Mondays of my life…which, of course, will be shared in great detail in the days to come…

I cried a little today.

And not the humorous kind, or the hormonal whackadoo kind. The real kind.

The “I’m scared” kind.

It seems like my husband, without even seeing my face, could sense that my sniffles were real and not of the caricature nature, for within seconds his arms were around me. I was supposed to be napping as he laid beside me reading his book, but I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking…

Next week, unless Upside-down Girl (that’s for you, Charlotte!) has done a little flip in my stomach by herself, I am scheduled for my very first c-section, my very first surgery, my very first non-participatory delivery of a baby. I know, I know, the risks are about as high as having my tonsils removed, but you have to understand who you’re dealing with here.

I have a somewhat morbid imagination. If you see me staring off into space with a sad look on my face, or my bottom lip sticking out, you can almost be sure I’m daydreaming (or daynightmaring?) about a loved one’s funeral, or writing my obituary, or picturing how dismal life would be without this person or that person or that person. On most days, I coast, not giving too much thought to mortality or eternity or even reality. But anytime a big event is on the horizon…a c-section, an airplane ride, a trip that separates me from any of my family members, a monumental birthday, answering the door…I inevitably experience these sobering moments where I come face-to-face once again with the fact that my life is nothing but a shadow…a vapor…

And that hurts, by golly.

This part of my personality is probably my greatest curse and struggle. It tempts me to be anxious, to have a lack of trust in a God who has been nothing but faithful to me, to waste time on the cares of tomorrow…

But it has also been a blessing, as strange as that sounds, for it glaringly illuminates my weakness and sinfulness and causes me, every time, to run helpless to the only One who can actually do anything to help me out.

And what does He do? He takes care of me again…

You see, I believe whole-heartedly that He created those arms of my husband’s to comfort me in times such as these, and that He equipped my Mister with a character that motivates him to put away his book when his wife is crying and to pray for her. I believe that He is the One that caused Gideon to wake up and come crawl in bed beside me as I was typing this post, at the very moment my heart was yearning for the human touch of my most beloved son. And He is probably the One who inspired our dear friends to come to our house on this night to make supper for us and distract us with the sweetest Christian fellowship.

If God would be so good to comfort me today, in the small stuff, what do I have to fear come Monday?…

Nothin’ a’tall.