i want them to be mine
The two girls I carry below my heart. The three boys who run circles around me all day long.
I want them to be mine.
I refer to them as such, of course. My twins. My sons. Our children.
But oh, the flimsy power of possessive pronouns. They have never been mine to keep.
I did not create them. I cannot control them. I will not save them.
What humbling, frustrating, and defining truths.
They have been given to me to guide, to tend, to shepherd and care and companion. But they came from God and they will someday return to God.
They are not mine.
Most of the time I do not remember this. It is up to us, their parents, to feed, shelter, comfort, teach, correct, and love them. They were born from our hopes; they share our home; they rely on our care. They are ours, right?
Except their life and breath are only in God’s hands. The rest is blessed detail.
So how do you hold loosely and lightly the most precious gift you’ve been given?
You cannot. It is part of the paradox of parenting. The power and the powerlessness.
But oh, when the veil gets ripped back and you realize that you could lose exactly what you most want to keep, you cannot help but try to cling fast to any illusion of control you wish to be true.
This week we learned the babies have developed twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome: the scariest complication of sharing a placenta. The threat we feared most all along. The game-changer which now turns every twice-weekly ultrasound into a possible algebraic equation: today + 1 day = surgery. From which one or both babies might not survive.
I know that everything could turn out safe and swimmingly. I know there are plenty of twins who go on to safe deliveries and healthy childhoods after this syndrome and surgery. I also know there are parents whose worst fears come true.
I am stuck smack in the middle of all these possibilities that I cannot control.
The stories keep coming, whispering when I wake, circling through my head throughout the day. Only say the word and my daughter will be healed. Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. The Lord will guard your coming and going, now and forever.
All of these words, like well-worn rosary beads or dog-eared Bible pages, reminding me what they have reminded centuries of Christians. That this life is not our own.
And that my children do not belong to me. They are held by stronger, safer, surer hands than I could ever hope to offer.
Helplessness is not the same as hopelessness. This is what I have to keep learning.
Yes, we are trapped in a situation not of our choosing, a rock-and-hard-place from which I wish I could run and never look back. But no, this is not the end.
And if the only One I truly belong to is God, too, then I must trust the same stronger, safer hands are holding me, too.
Laura,
Praying for you and your babies. Your faith, strength, and love of family is beautiful to witness.
Dear Laura, I am praying so hard for you and your girls. I want to share a blog post that meant a lot to me when I was pregnant and scared for my twins. Hilary’s situation is different than yours and different than mine, but her words were an inexpressible comfort to me, and I pray they will be to you as well. You are a long way out on the water, away from the supposed safety of the boat, and Jesus is there with you.
https://thewildlove.wordpress.com/2015/09/01/i-am-a-long-way-out-on-the-water/
Praying for you and your precious daughters. And for the rest of your family.
Laura, your clarity and faith inspire me even as my prayers for you continue.
Sending warm thoughts and prayers to you and your family, Laura. I know those babies already feel you love and care for them.
Oh, Laura. How much I just want to hug you!! You know I am always saying that my children aren’t mine, but the Lord’s…but I sure wonder if when push came to shove I could live that fully.
“Helplessness is not the same as hopelessness. This is what I have to keep learning.” Beautiful. Some days I do better with this than others. And how often I have prayed that pleading prayer of Martha…if you were here you could have healed them! If I had more faith. If …
Know that you are all in my prayers.
Oh Laura. The haunting beauty of your words. You write so wonderfully, I can nearly feel your anguish as if it were my own.
I will be praying for you and those sweet girls. I have been, but I will continue. How far along are you?
Oh, Laura. This is painful and beautiful and so so true. You’re in my daily prayers.
Praying for you and those babies. Such a beautiful post and a poignant reminder to all of us who are mothers.
Helplessness is not the same as hopelessness.
Yes.
Prayers from here too. Thanks for writing so beautifully amongst the uncertainty.