mysteries that are impossible to explain

Yesterday, my dad had to go into the hospital because of chest pain. They kept him overnight, doing various tests to check his stress levels and enzyme levels. His heart is fine, although the stress test may give some insight into the pain he was experiencing. A trip to the hospital still gets you thinking about how much living is actually being done within the time given, prompting questions that are easier to avoid when life is comfortable and all is healthy.

Loss often holds mysteries which are impossible to understand or explain--at least for me. Sometimes, I find myself responding to the inevitable reality of loss with fear, wanting to protect all that I hold dear. If I were to be honest, my own life is on the top of the list of those I want to protect and keep safe. Humorous how that often results in stunted growth and dysfunction as I try to build a safe world where I am king and master, instead of my life becoming a canopy of protection, a safe place that resides under the shadow of His wings. And that safety looks so paradoxical to what the world says is safe.

Instead of living, I go into survival mode, where every moment is a possible tragedy, every person a possible lost friend. And the result? I don't live fully alive, embracing the beauty of every moment I've been given, rejoicing in every friendship and falling in love with the wonder of each person's story. I put walls up, stop taking risks, write people off as possible perpetrators of betrayal, with me the victim of being misunderstood and abandoned once again. There is no fear in love, so that kind of mindset makes it impossible to really love.

That's not the story that I want to live, and God knows that--which I think may be why He is confronting this fear in me so strongly right now.

As I was mulling over all of this in my mind and heart, I was reminded about a story in my family history. When my parents were trying to have children, they experienced a miscarriage and a still birth. More than anything in the world, my mom wanted to be a mother. She carried the second pregnancy eight months, doing all the right things that a pregnant woman does to keep the baby healthy. She ate well, went to her regular check ups, sang to the baby in her tummy, prayed for her, dreamed about all that God had in store for her life. Then, a few weeks before full term, the devastating news arrived. Hannah, the name that they picked out for her, was no longer living. My mom still had to deliver and give birth to a life that was loved, but dead. Depression hit hard, but God faithfully healed her heart and gave her the courage to dream that a baby would come, that she would be a mother. Then, the news came that she was pregnant again. That baby was me.

And I think to myself: what if she would have allowed the depression to cripple her heart, too afraid to love again with the same intensity that she loved the one lost in the womb? My siblings and I wouldn't be here. I don't understand why Hannah didn't make it. But I'm so glad that my mom loved her every day of that pregnancy, and even before she was conceived. I'm glad that my mom dreamed about her and for her, even though she had no way of knowing whether the baby would make it or not. Some how, in some way, those dreams were not wasted. That love for a baby that went straight to heaven was not in vain. I don't understand. I just know that those eight months were worth it.

It makes me think about the dreams I have in life. Sometimes I find myself afraid to believe for certain things because, God forbid, they don't happen. And because I know that a dream I've embraced and stirred up and acted upon is a part of who I am, the idea of failing at something I've loved and cared for feels devastating--too risky. The possibility of loss leaves me disabled, with a lack of passion and compassion. To invest into something unproven stirs up my insecurities, revealing the places where I lack faith because my faith is solely in my own ability to make it and protect myself and get to the end with a small semblance of dignity.

The truth is, I don't want my life to be number one on the list anymore. I want to live Jesus' simple instructions: lose your life, then you'll find it. I don't even know what that means or what it looks like, but I know that He'll show me. He'll show me how to live where self protection is gone and all I do is listen to Him and do what He says.

So my prayer is this: Holy Spirit, lead me into truth. Change the way I think so that I can love and trust and embrace the wonder of the moments I've been given. I want to dream the dreams of the Father, even without knowing how it will all turn out. I want to live in open fields, not in a locked up jail cell. I love You. I don't know what I'd do without Your love for me that cares enough to chase me down so that You can set me free. Thank you. Words will never be enough to tell you thank you.