I got pregnant.
We had been trying for three years. I had been diagnosed with PCOS. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. I was alone at the doctors when I got the news. God was not on my side. I was pretty sure he hated me as much as I hated him.
The night that I found out I was pregnant was the first time God and I had a conversation in ten years. I apologized. He forgave me. It was that easy. I prayed every single day of my pregnancy. I was sure that God was going to take my happiness away. I was scared and waiting for the other ball to drop.
It didn't. I had a normal pregnancy. It was wonderful. I love being pregnant. I am happiest while pregnant. My husband would probably not completely agree with that.
When I had Hannah, it was almost as though God was speaking to me. To have faith that everything can be okay. When I had Heidi almost two years later, I was certain that God had put me on this Earth to be an amazing mother to these two beautiful little girls. It was my calling.
In the four years that I have been a mother, I have struggled daily with the ins and outs of raising them. I want them to be happy and fulfilled. I pray every night that God make them whomever they want to be. I pray for their health and I pray for their happiness. But most of all I think God for giving me the best gift in the world. My children have opened me to a new understanding of Christ's love. if he can give me these things without getting anything in return, then perhaps he is not the harsh monster I thought him to be for so many years.
I am daily tested to keep my faith in God, but daily he is showing me that he is there. When I get home and see my children's faces, I am in awe of his power. Every thing they do seems like a miracle to me. Things as small as drawing a circle for the first time or trying to get dresses like a big girl are things that I can find the faith of Christ's unfailing love in.
If he can love me enough to give me these girls, then perhaps I should try a little harder to love him enough to appreciate them.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
You Don't Find Faith
I was raised Southern Baptist. My mother was adament about my sister and I going to church. We went three times a week. I loved it. I loved singing and learning about God's everlasting love. When we visited my grandparents I would sing in church. It made Grandpa so proud. Then my parents got divorced. I was in 4th grade and didn't understand. This was before 50% of marriages were failing. I didn't know anyone that was divorced. Actually, I just didn't realize that they were.
But it was okay. Dad and Iweren't close and my parents still had a civil realationship. My mom got remarried a year later and moved my sister and I to her hometown. We lived right across town from my grandparents. It was great. I went to church with them and loved it too! Then Grandpa got cancer.
Then I lost my faith in God. I can tell you exactly when it all happened. December 6, 1996. The day that my grandpa died. The moment that I found out about it is burned into my head like a brand. I was 12. I was at a high school basketball game on a Friday evening. I was planning on spending the night at my best friends house. I had dressed up and put on makeup to look good for my "boyfriend". He wasn't there. I was walking around, which is what you do in a small town when you are in 7th grade. I happened to be walking by the band and one of my friends said that they were sorry to hear about my grandpa. I said thank you and then it hit me. Like the proverbial ton of bricks. I said, "What?" She said, "Oh, you didn't know." At this point I sat down and just started bawling. I sobbed and bawled for what seemed like an eternity. Then mmy preachers wife came and sat down next to me. She asked me if I wanted to go home. I told her yes and I sobbed the whole way to my house.
The next few days are a complete blur. I remember being at my Mammy's house and people bringing food. There were casserole dishes and toilet paper everywhere. I didn't ever want to leave. I just sat in his chair and read and reread the funnies in the paper. I laid on the porch swing that he had helped me do my homework on not one month before. I climbed in his pickup and pressed my head against the seat so I could smell him and cried so much I couldn't breathe.
The day of the funeral, I wore a black and white dress with white knee socks. I sat in the pew between my mother and stepdad and hid my face in my stepdad's arm so I wouldn't have to see the casket. It didn't work. It was blue. I remeber noticing that it was slightly off center from the pulpit. That bothered me. I can't tell you who spoke. I can't tell you what was sung. I know that I couldn't get out of that church fast enough. My mother sped my sister and I out as fast as she could. Every one was looking at us. And all I remember thinking was that God had let me down. He took the one person that had always been there when I needed him and I was mad!
Looking back, it was a very selfish thing for me to think. For weeks I couldn't even look at my mom. She was the baby in her family and she and her daddy had always been the closest. I was hte baby of mine and Mom and I had the same connection. Grandpa loved us so much and we loved him back ten times that much.
I hated God for what he had done. I hated him for a long time. Ten years to be exact. Then things changed.
But it was okay. Dad and Iweren't close and my parents still had a civil realationship. My mom got remarried a year later and moved my sister and I to her hometown. We lived right across town from my grandparents. It was great. I went to church with them and loved it too! Then Grandpa got cancer.
Then I lost my faith in God. I can tell you exactly when it all happened. December 6, 1996. The day that my grandpa died. The moment that I found out about it is burned into my head like a brand. I was 12. I was at a high school basketball game on a Friday evening. I was planning on spending the night at my best friends house. I had dressed up and put on makeup to look good for my "boyfriend". He wasn't there. I was walking around, which is what you do in a small town when you are in 7th grade. I happened to be walking by the band and one of my friends said that they were sorry to hear about my grandpa. I said thank you and then it hit me. Like the proverbial ton of bricks. I said, "What?" She said, "Oh, you didn't know." At this point I sat down and just started bawling. I sobbed and bawled for what seemed like an eternity. Then mmy preachers wife came and sat down next to me. She asked me if I wanted to go home. I told her yes and I sobbed the whole way to my house.
The next few days are a complete blur. I remember being at my Mammy's house and people bringing food. There were casserole dishes and toilet paper everywhere. I didn't ever want to leave. I just sat in his chair and read and reread the funnies in the paper. I laid on the porch swing that he had helped me do my homework on not one month before. I climbed in his pickup and pressed my head against the seat so I could smell him and cried so much I couldn't breathe.
The day of the funeral, I wore a black and white dress with white knee socks. I sat in the pew between my mother and stepdad and hid my face in my stepdad's arm so I wouldn't have to see the casket. It didn't work. It was blue. I remeber noticing that it was slightly off center from the pulpit. That bothered me. I can't tell you who spoke. I can't tell you what was sung. I know that I couldn't get out of that church fast enough. My mother sped my sister and I out as fast as she could. Every one was looking at us. And all I remember thinking was that God had let me down. He took the one person that had always been there when I needed him and I was mad!
Looking back, it was a very selfish thing for me to think. For weeks I couldn't even look at my mom. She was the baby in her family and she and her daddy had always been the closest. I was hte baby of mine and Mom and I had the same connection. Grandpa loved us so much and we loved him back ten times that much.
I hated God for what he had done. I hated him for a long time. Ten years to be exact. Then things changed.
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