Flashback Friday thanks to #timehop. I'm in the middle of working on book projects, laundry and wondering how to squeeze in at least five episodes of Gilmore Girls in before car rider line beckons...and then I get sucked into a vortex of reflection, memory lane and all the feels. All. The. Feels.
On this day seven years ago, my Facebook feed was filled with friends eagerly awaiting the gender reveal of our sweet baby.
This day. This infamous day.
Not but a few weeks ago Jaxon had some surgery done on his nose. This surgery felt routine compared to the other handful of times we'd been there for surgery. This is his first surgery in several years. He's a giant now. He gets it now- we can talk through what is happening and what he can expect. He can bargain his way into a treat from the gift shop...every time we are at Children's. He didn't wail for me when I handed him off. And this time, I walked out of the surgery door and met my Dad who hugged me. We gathered our things and headed to the cafeteria to grab some lunch while Jax was in surgery. On the way my Dad looked at me as I sighed largely as we walked.
"How ya doin, girl?" He asked.
I nodded, sort of taking assesment of myself, "I'm good."
"You're dandy? Not a care in the world." He probed a little, jokingly.
A brief tear threatened to push upward, stinging but I held it in check, "Well, He's in good hands. I'm ok."
And I smiled to myself as we walked into the cafeteria. I'm not the same person that I was when we started this journey.
Seven years ago we waited through an extra long ultrasound and waited an extra ordinarily long time to meet with out doctor. We had panic souring in our stomachs, confusion making us feel dizzy and dread pushing any ounce of faith we thought had out of our feet.
What did these words mean that were coming out the doctor's mouth? There weren't pretty, positive words like breastfeeding, birthing plan, epidural, bassinet, normal, healthy, routine, baby shower, getting your body back. He was saying all the wrong things. We drove home blank. We were supposed to leave HOURS ago. We were supposed to post that he was a he...and we'd break the internet with rejoicing. Baby X was Jax! But instead...
We wrestled with how to tell our parents, our friends and when to tell them. We struggled with why. We knew he had a big healthy heart, he had all his arms and legs and no extras. He had all the things he should except for a palate and a complete lip. He was alive. He didn't have cancer. He didn't have a terminal disease.
But that doesn't mean that my expectations of pregnancy, birth and parenting didn't feel wiped away like the jelly that had been wiped off me belly at the end of the ultrasound.
But that's the thing with my expectations. They are all kinds of wrong. Sometimes they are much too high when it comes to humans. But when it comes to what God has planned, they are so far below low that they aren't even on the chart. I had dreams, plans, ideas, goals about what I wanted. What I wanted to have, what I wanted to have happen, what I wanted to do or even what I wanted my kids to have. But God's dreams, plans, ideas and goals have much more to do with what/who he wants me to be. Sometimes it seems like he is saying all the wrong things. Sometimes it feels like he's doing all the wrong things. Especially if he loves us, right? But just because it feels wrong or we hear it wrong...doesn't mean its not the exact right thing that we need to become who he wants us to be.
Seven years ago I was not ok. I was shattered in pieces. My heart was broken. I died a little. I felt defective as a person, as a woman and as a mother. I screamed, "Its not fair!" at God, in my heart, like a child. I was clueless, hopeless and most of all an emotional, devastated pregnant women.
But over the next seven years I have ,in stages, begun to learn (I'm not done yet) that belief can solidify in the midst of unbearable pain, strength is truly imparted in the midst of desperate weakness, dreams have to be dashed in order to be replaced with brilliance and the character of God is experienced in the midst of the darkest hours.
I wrote a post on Facebook the day he had surgery about the hand-off and I've written about it several times before but its a small example of the change God has begun to enacted in me. I am so glad that I'm not that girl anymore. I wish I had been more grateful for my body back then, but other than that- good ridance. I'm so glad God wouldn't let me stay that way. And I know that I won't be the same seven years from now. I have no idea what else the future holds. What else the Lord will ask us to walk through. But I don't know that it matters anymore, because we're in good hands. And we're ok.