Lessons in Faith

Dearest Lydia,

Sunday is a day of rest. And that's exactly what you are doing today, albeit with a little bit of medical help. Yesterday was quite easily the hardest day of your life (and mine too!). Even though you made several great steps forward, we also took a few steps back. 

You were going like such a tiny dynamo, so determined to shed all the tubes and wires encumbering you, to move on from this surgery as quickly as possible. Then disaster struck. You labored to draw each breath. I watched with fear in my heart as we came so close to losing you several times throughout the day. By the time we got an answer for what was causing the problem, even though I was again terrified, it was a relief. An answer. Something that could be done to fix you. 

Faith is a funny thing. I have held so tight to the faith that God will hold you, protect you, make you healthy, happy, and whole again. Even through your surgery, I somehow was able to hold that faith. But when faced with an entire day of seeing you in pain, watching you struggle, or with the possibility of losing you, that faith wavers. Its such a hard thing to let God take care of you when looking into that tiny face that I love so much and watching you fight for your life. How can I let you go if letting you go might mean truly losing you? 

I long to feel your weight in my arms, to have that little body snuggle in close. I miss your beautiful smile, your precious babbling, and that melodious giggle. I want my baby. My angel. My heart.

I had a talk with Grandpa this morning. When I voiced my desire to have my baby back, he said some things that refuse to leave my head. And although I hate to admit it, I think that he may be right.

You, my precious gift, will never be fully returned to me until I let you go. When I finally get it through my thick skull that I can NOT fix this; not with my fears, not with my worry, not with my love; I will free both of us from the crushing weight of my own helplessness. When I give Him my permission to do with you as He sees fit, He will heal you in ways that no doctor, no nurse, and yes, no mommy has the power to. He's using the only way He has to prove to me again, just as He has a thousand times since you were conceived, that He is in charge, not me. 

There will be setbacks at times. You just underwent what is a MAJOR surgery for an adult, and you are such a tiny baby. It simply is unreasonable to expect you to miraculously wake up the day after, smiling and babbling away. You HAVE made strides. You HAVE proven what a very tough and determined girl you are. You HAVE already come so far. These speed bumps aren't necessarily steps backwards, as I keep thinking, but instead brief moments where you hang up your SuperBaby cape and return to being just my Itsy Bug.  I want you to be a fighter. But I have to be able to accept that, right now, you just aren't strong enough to fight all the time.

What is faith without tests? Pointless. That's what. It wouldn't be faith if there weren't moments that every belief we cling to was pushed to the breaking point. It would just be empty words. Empty promises.

I am a work in progress, Liddy. And sometimes, I just need a reminder. 

So today, as you rest peacefully, giving me a chance to relax as well without the stress of running around putting out proverbial fires, I'm going to pray. A LOT. That God will give me the strength that I need to give you to Him. That He will bolster my faith, making it strong enough to resist the endless battering of waves of fear and doubt. That He will give us all peace. That we will feel His love, as well as His healing hands upon us. 

I love you more than life itself. 

XOXOXO,

Mommy