Because God is Good ALL the Time

I know I haven't written in quite a while, but I have something to talk about today.  It's been percolating in my mind for a long time, but it hasn't made it into written form because, well, I just don't have a lot of extra time or energy for thinking these days. :)  But I think this is among the more important and, hopefully, edifying things I have to say, and it's also part of my story and part of my spiritual journey.

Last fall, when I had my big anatomy ultrasound during my pregnancy with Abigail, they found a potential problem.  It turns out that because of my three previous C-sections and the position of the placenta during this pregnancy (anterior and low), I was at high risk for a particular complication called placenta accreta.  This is where the placenta actually grows into the scar from the previous surgeries.  If it is mild and rather shallow, it might not cause any problems at all.  However, the ultrasound doctor told me it was possible that because it has the potential to cause more serious problems, as well (I later found out that in more serious cases, the placenta can grow through the scar, creating a danger of uterine rupture, and it can even grow into other organs, which would make for a very complicated surgery), what they'd do if I do had it was to admit me to the hospital at 35 weeks to watch me for any signs of things going wrong so they could just pop me right over to the OR and do surgery at the drop of a hat, if necessary.  Then she looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have someone to watch your kids if you need it?"

And that's when I knew that this was serious.  She actually asked me that question.  Which meant that it could actually happen.

I left that ultrasound appointment thinking I was okay, but by the time I got to my car, I was trembling.  I am a strong, reasonable person, but this affected me.  And the really stinky part was that they would not be able to confirm whether or not I had placenta accreta for eight weeks, which meant I had to go the next two months not knowing if my baby and I were in danger or not.

For the most part, I decided to try not to dwell on it.  What was the use?  Worrying would not help me one bit.  It would steal my joy.  But late one night, in a stunningly stupid move, I googled it.  I googled my potential health problem at 11:30pm when my husband was out of the country.  STUPID.  And y'all, let me tell you something.  You get one set of results when you google "placenta accreta."  You get an entirely different and much scarier set of results when you google "placenta accreta after three C-sections."  Stuff started popping up like "Placenta Accreta Survivors" and "maternal death rates."  WHAT???  I completely--completely--freaked out.  I was a complete wreck and wasn't able to go bed for the next two hours.  Then, the next morning, I got up and shakily went through my day.

Over the next two months, as I waited for that next ultrasound, I was tested.  I am not a natural worrier, so it was a new experience for me to be so incredibly worried.  And not just worried, but really upset.  Stunningly sad.  Confused, because I couldn't understand why God would pick us for this to happen to.  The reality of the fact that we live in a fallen world where "the rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous alike" was staring me in the face, and it was scary.

Most of the time, I was perfectly fine.  I functioned fine.  I went forward with my regular routine.  Certainly, my emotions were closer to the surface (especially at church; suddenly, there was always something said that would prick my spirit and seemed so poignant that I would choke down tears), but overall, I did not let it affect me when I was on the clock with my kids.  Life went on.  But when I laid down at night, my mind would run--sprint--to scenario-making.  Mostly, I thought about what it'd be like if my kids lost their mom.  Should I make each of my kids a video?  I ran an entire speech to each child through my head.  Should I set aside a piece of jewelry for my girls and arrange for someone to give it to them on their 16th birthdays?  Or would 18th be better?  What would Jane do and say when she received it?  Would she cry?  When they were brides, would my girls want to wear my wedding dress?  All these things made me so, so sad to think about.

And then I realized why I was so incredibly upset.  It was because of this:
If I died, then my kids and my husband would lose me, and that would be horribly sad, and it would scar them and cause repercussions throughout their lives, and that would be terrible.  But I would lose ALL of them.  For me, it would be as if they had all died.

And when I realized that, I finally understood why I was so sad.  Look; I am a Christian.  I have faith that when I pass away, I will go to heaven and be with God.  I know that I will have unspeakably more glorious experiences in the presence of the Creator of the universe than I will even being my kids' mother.  I know that a veil will be lifted and that I will finally know fully, just as I am fully known.  I know that death will be gain.  But I would still not get to be the one who raised my kids, who hugged them goodnight every day, who protected them and taught them, who loved them day in and day out for years and years.  And I realized that, for me, missing all of that was unthinkable.

And this led me to my second realization:
I am called to motherhood.  Now, I knew that before.  But not in the same way.  I didn't have the same stern certainty in my gut about it before.  I wasn't unshakeable in my calling.  But when I was in danger of having it taken away, let me tell you--there was nothing in this life that I was upset about giving up except raising my children.  And I knew that I knew that I knew that it is what I am *called* to do.  It goes beyond doing what seems right at the time or choosing to do what makes the most sense for our family.  It is beyond a choice.  It is a conviction.  It is a certainty.

And out of that rose a beauty in this period that I cherish.  I loved those kids even more.  I slowed down and learned to cherish them.  I laughed with Noah.  I took more time with Jane.  When I laid down with Clara at naptime, I marveled at the slope of her little chubby cheek and adored her curls.

When the eight weeks was up, Nathan and I went in for the ultrasound appointment, and the doctor at Texas Children's Hospital who is an expert in using ultrasound to diagnose this particular complication was there.  After doing some thorough checking, he told us that he saw no sign of placenta accreta.  From my research, I knew that I had over a 60% chance of having it, to one degree or another.  But I did not.

It is a testament to how stressed I had been that when I got that news, I did not feel relief or elation; I felt sleepy.  All I wanted was a nap.  I was surprised at this, but it makes sense--as much as I had tried to be sensible and normal, I had become worn out with worry and sadness.  And now I could finally relax.

When people who knew about the possible complications first asked me about the result of the ultrasound, my instinct was to say things like, "God is good" and "God is faithful."  But as soon as they came out of my mouth the first time, I sensed in my spirit that those were not the right words.  After thinking about it, I came to understand what I believe is the most important lesson I learned through this whole experience, and it is this:

God is good.  And God is faithful.  But his goodness and faithfulness have little to do with whether or not he 100% protects me from harm.  Goodness and faithfulness are part of his character, day in and day out; they have been part of him in the same immense degree since before time began, and they will be part of him through eternity.  Who am I, after all?  Although I am his treasured child and he wants the best for me, I am not that important.  Job was far more righteous and humble and faithful than I am, and God allowed him to be tested far more.  No, my circumstances do not reflect God's faithfulness and goodness.  If I had died, he would still be good.  He would still be faithful.

So what was the proper response?  I feel certain it is this: "I am grateful."  Because he does not have to preserve my life.  He does not have to let me raise my babies.  He does not have to bless us.  He doesn't even have to let me take my next breath.  But he has done all of this for me.

After I realized this, I changed the language of my response.  "I do not have any complications. I am so grateful!"  And I was.  Today, I have a six week old little girl, Abigail Marie.  She is perfect, and I am healthy.  And I am so grateful.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like the shifting shadows."  James 1:17

An Unwilling Model

Swinging :)