Preparation for the Pits

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My eldest daughter was born eleven days after her due date, on the day we had already scheduled to have her induced if she continued to be stubborn about making an appearance. Eleven days overdue. The rest of you mothers are feeling my pain here.

At one point in those eleven days, I settled myself in a full tub of bathwater to get some relief from the weight I was carrying. I sat there naked and wet (a vulnerable position to be in) with ridiculous levels of hormones swirling through my systems (again, Mamas, you know). Nibbling at some of my homemade caramel popcorn, I stared at my swollen belly and sobbed for at least an hour.

Not for the discomfort and frustration of that present moment . . . not for the pain I knew was coming during delivery . . . but for the pain I was suddenly, out of nowhere, imagining in my precious child’s future.

I pictured my beautiful girl in darling pigtails and a sweet little dress skipping away to play with other kiddos on a playground . . . and running back to me with tears in her eyes and brokenness in her spirit. Someday, I thought, some nasty little brat is going to hurt her feelings. And I can’t stop it from happening!

I pictured her as a teenager with a charming young man holding her hand . . . and then saw her lying on her bed, weeping into her pillow. Someday, some arrogant jerk is going to break her heart. And I can’t stop that from happening either!

So much pain life brings to us all. My hormone-burdened heart couldn’t bear it in that moment. I sobbed for my baby’s girl’s pain – and she wasn’t even out of the womb yet.

When I look back on my life, I realize that my greatest growth (spiritually and otherwise) did not come from all the mountain-top experiences. Those inspiring women’s retreats, the victorious opening nights, the joyful family memories. Those were wonderful – those were valuable – God was in those, and I needed them. But I didn’t get to know God on the mountain tops.

I got to know God in the deep, desperate pits of despair.

And one of my biggest fears in life is that this is where my girls will have to go to meet him, too.

Mamas and daddies, you hear me here, right? The dread I feel at the idea of watching my daughters live through such suffering can drown me if I let it. Oh, Jesus, no. PLEASE. NO. I would almost ask him to take me home first so I don’t have to be witness to it all except it’s even more unbearable to think of them going through such pain without me there holding their hands.

I think I’ve mentioned here before that as I get older, I’m deciding that I might have been wrong about the most important lessons I should be imparting to my kids. Here’s what I hope I’ve taught my girls:

1)     Life is hard. So, train yourself now to do hard things.

2)     You cannot dig yourself into a pit too deep for God to pull you out.

3)     And here's how to make Grandma Poland's caramel popcorn. For the sob sessions.

These are the lessons that matter. Lord, forgive me where I’ve failed, and fill in the gaps. And please give me the strength to stand with them in the pit and point them to you standing there with us.

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