Not in Control

It’s President’s Day, and we’re taking a much-needed day off. Papa Rooster is home with the kids, and on my way to get a pre-surgery bloodtest, I’m stopping off at Panera for coffee, a bagel and a little alone time.

On the way here I was praying about this surgery—a D & C—scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. I’ve been waiting, for over a month now, to miscarry our tiny baby who died about 6 weeks ago. I’ve been too busy with Godspell, stripping wallpaper and overseeing painting to schedule the surgery before this, and I haven’t been eager to anyway, still hoping that my body will take care of things naturally. I’d love not to miss the day of homeschooling, just when we need to regroup, and I wish my husband could keep his vacation day to use when we move. I’ve longed for the physical experience of closure, of completion, and for the chance to pray over our child’s tiny body, if it’s recognizable at all. The thought of it being suctioned out of me by a machine grieves my mother’s heart.

But it seems that my body has done what it could and it hasn’t quite finished the job. It must be confused, too, because I’m still experiencing first-trimester nausea--and when it’s for no happy purpose, that’s been difficult to bear. It’s definitely depressing my spirits as well as my physical sense of well-being. And with the risk of infection rising all the time, Papa Rooster and I felt it was time to go ahead and schedule surgery. God knows that deadline and He could still cause my body to do what it needs to before then. But I certainly cannot—though I’ve tried. The situation is completely out of my control.

That knowledge was sinking in as I drove here, praying. There are so many variables in my life that I can and do control, quite competently and independently, thank you very much. But I thought of the many, many months of my life that I’ve spent pregnant, with so many aspects of my body, my health, my hormones and emotions, and my energy levels completely out of my control—and how, as a result, I’ve grown in patience, in trust, in faith, and in waiting on the Lord. This last month and a half has been so hard…but it has deepened, once again, that place in me that trusts, that waits on the Lord to deliver me. It’s been good for me, once again, to have life taken out of my control.

A friend once told me that he was sort of lamenting the news that his wife was expecting again—an unexpected fifth child—and a woman who had just a year or two before lost a stillborn child at full-term said to him, “You know, only God controls birth and death.” I think of my friend who just lost her 17-year-old son in a car accident, who told me that she was experiencing the Lord’s presence as she had not since she was first saved. I think of John and Margie Fawcett, who I spoke to in church on Sunday; John is in so much pain from the cancerous lesions all over his bones. Margie told me, “I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone, but it has completely transformed us.” (Her blog is an amazing testimony of God's grace through suffering.)

In my own small trial, I am grieving. But I am grieving with God, placing myself, my body, my baby, my hopes and fears (general anesthesia!), in His hands. I would love to control the outcome here, but it is far better to find myself—to know myself—not in control.

He is, and I am under His mercy. I am covered by His grace. I am uplifted by His love.