Monday, March 5, 2012

Thinking, that's all: Trying not to Try

Last week, a wave of panic sloshed into my mind when I realized I was late.

Late, late.

Because we're trying not to try.

It's not that I don't want another little set of feet pitter-pattering in tap dances across a stretched and swollen belly or that same tiny pair later scampering across my floor; it's more that I don't feel well enough yet to support another pregnancy or take care of another little in the here and now.


I'm scared.

I'm scared of getting pregnant again.

I didn't know exactly how scared I was until I flipped open the calendar, counted the days and passed the number 33.

Three negative pregnancy tests calmed my nerves, but each test and the negative results that brought such relief forced me to confront how far I still have to go in healing my mind and growing my trust in His perfect time and provision and love.

The thought of miscarrying a third time is daunting, yes; but, also, now equally daunting is all of the changes the body encounters while growing a new life.

See my brain has kicked into overdrive and become extremely in tune with each symptom and feeling felt in my body since the pregnancy losses last fall. And because my mind has been dancing in the darkness of anxiety, I have to battle myself to take captive all thoughts to Him and focus on whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, excellent or praiseworthy {Philippians 4:8} instead of allowing obsessiveness to prevail.

That takes quite a bit of energy.

So to embark on a journey of nine months where nothing in the body feels normal and everything changes all of the time sounds like a recipe for exhaustion on so many levels.

I'm not ready yet.

Amid these panicked moments of what if, though, I've heard loud and clear that sweet, sweet whisper of the Spirit that repeats Follow Me.

Tiny buds have formed on trees outside our home, and I notice them as we pass by from the driver's seat of the car as I drive G to school in one of those moments of fretting about being late and being late.

At the same time my eyes meet the buds, snow begins falling from the sky.

The tree doesn't worry about its leaves blooming too soon because it knows the Creator knows when His creation is still in a season of rest.

I still my heart as the car falls into line with the speed limit and I root myself in the Truth.

The Creator knows when His creation is still in a season of rest.

And so I stand firm in frozen soil, waiting, trusting, knowing that the blossoms will bloom when He deems it time for spring to come.