Be enough? It sounds so easy. Just let it go and relax? Again so easy.
Sheer numbers helps. It’s good to know the good fight is not fought alone. There are others in my fox hole.
But that’s not enough all day everyday. That’s not enough in the wee small hours of quiet.
It’s trust. It’s faith. It’s remembering that I didn’t make this family. That I didn’t order up these children. That I really didn’t make my own bed. It’s accepting that these sweet babies are blessings, given to me, not out of being good enough or doing just the right things. That I have no control of anything.
Because these things tie into my other whisperings lately. The fear issues I have. I’ve been in more fear of losing this pregnancy, losing my children, losing my health this time around. I have more fear that something will go wrong. That I will lose these children. That my house of cards so delicately placed will crumble. And if I follow this thinking on down, I realize that my fears are all about me. If I can do enough, be enough, I can control my circumstances. I can hold together in this war.
But friends come to mind immediately that ARE enough. That DO enough. And have still lost babies, children, both small and grown. They’ve lost them to sickness, accidents, and grown-children waywardness.
These same mothers would be shocked and saddened that their losses have left me questioning my faith. Their faith is so strong. As big as the God they love. And mine? Much, much, desperately much less than a mustard seed.
And so where does that leave me?
Faithless, fearful, and angry at a God I no longer know. I wonder at a God who allows ugliness that I can only run from in fear.
How did I get here? So sure only a few years ago of a loving Father. So sure of the Savior that I teach to my children daily.
I’m great at going through the motions. I’m great at teaching what I know. I’m great at knowing all the right answers.
And so while preparing for communion Sunday, I knew I should pray. I knew I should confess my sins. It’s all so sterile. It’s doing the next thing.
And I attempted to get real. What did I have to confess? Lots of things: my yelling, my impatience, my temper. But that’s more of the same. More following the steps.
When I unexpectedly prayed for forgiveness for my unbelief; the verse from Mark 9 came to mind. Now, here’s a story that speaks right to my fears. A father loves his child. Has seen his child suffer for all his childhood. He’s grasping at straws. He hears of this “Healer” and decides he’ll try anything. He says what anyone of us would say to someone that might could help our sweet baby, a prayer I’ve prayed many a time, when we’ve had a scare with the kiddos:
“But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
And Jesus’ response?
” ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”
A rebuke. I’m sure it didn’t even sting the dad so much. I don’t think it would’ve me. Who cares? Just fix my child. Yeah, really, I think that would be my attitude.
Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
He reminded me with the verse that I had hidden in my heart that there were others before me that have been where I am. Other parents even.
I talked with Matt about it all on the way home from church. For the first time because, like my ancestors, I hide from everybody when I’m ashamed of my behavior. I told him that I’ve continued to “do the right things”, keep my actions going forward, when the feeling is gone, obedience remains. And he reminded me that if our belief in who He is crumbles, that our actions are useless. “We’re nothing more than Ghandi, just not nearly as good.” We talked of a Western viewed Santa God. One that, when we really get to the the heart of it, we believe gives us good gifts. To make us happy. Our prayers focus on “bless me and others, if you can, God.”
I was floored. So, again, I wondered where does that leave me?
That evening as I was getting everybody ready for bed and the loud chaos of “Have you brushed your teeth yet? Have you pottied? Why are you not in bed yet? What do you mean you need more water?” insanity, my girl said, “Mama, tomorrow, can you look up something on the computer for me? Can you look up how to follow God?” And the din of the bedtimeness quieted in my ears. I looked at her and she came into focus. Everything else faded. I told her that we could look that up tonight and that we didn’t need the computer to do that, we had God’s Word. We went into the living room, told Daddy about our question and sat everyone down to listen as he read what Jesus had said about “following Him” in John 6.
MyOldest who had heard it all before, seemed surprised by the “we’ll never be good enough” part of our discussion. The part where following Him, seeking His ways, and then doing them won’t ever make us sinless. That we will always, forever, as long as we live - sin.
I sat, listened, and cried as my daughter learned how to follow her God. As she excitedly begged, “Can we pray right now Daddy?!” And after explaining baptism to them once again, all three olders asked if they could call the church that night and be baptized. (The boys had accepted on faith His saving us, before, but had never been baptized.) Smiling, we explained that we would have to wait and talk to the church.
And I took it all in.
All of the belief around me. The belief of children. In a God that loves them in spite of their disobedience sometimes. Their eyes sparkling.
I know that all of my focus on not being “enough”, not having enough time, patience, or anything for my children falls by the wayside of the bigger picture. God had shined the light of Truth into the dark corners of the real issue. The daily discontent I was struggling with was put into its proper place as the symptom of my true heartsickness.
But, I still have that fear that something will happen in my life that I can’t control and will be devastating. Will it be washed away with the water when my children are brought up out of the baptistry? Probably not. I will always want my children to be safe. I will always mourn for those who aren’t. I’m afraid I always will. But I know in the days since I prayed earnestly for my unbelief and I saw in that same day help for that unbelief in the faces of my children who want to know and “follow” the God that I serve – that there was healing. Of a questioning heart. Of a wayward daughter who wants to come back down that long road, shamefaced, into the comforting and rejoicing arms of a Father who’s been waiting.
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