Longing For Worse Days
It’s quiet in my house. Everything seems normal to anyone from the outside looking in. My 5 month old baby girl is tucked in bed, my 5 year old son is laying contorted on his bed with mouth agape and hair everywhere, my husband, Brett, is soundly sleeping. Being comfortable with normalcy is difficult for me these days. Life is moving on like it was supposed to and I’m not settled in it. I’m looking back on worse days with longing…
Worse Days
In February I gave birth to my daughter and within an hour of her birth I was sitting in a hospital bed with tears rolling down my face, stunned, and empty handed. My daughter couldn’t breathe or eat. She was born with a cleft palate and Pierre Robins Sequence — both we were not aware of or prepared for. I had just been told that the doctor was moving her to Neonatal ICU.
Suddenly I felt completely childish, selfish, materialistic, vain, petty, confused, lost, and dark — In the days leading up to delivery I worried about what shirt my son would wear when he met his sister, what outfits I would dress her in, how I wanted to send her to the nursery at night, how I wanted visiting hours to look, and how I wanted to look in the barrage of selfies and pictures — I was embarrassed to myself for my internal thoughts of all these meaningless details.
I had constant texts and messages in the days that followed. Some were long Bible studies and lengthy encouragement, but I couldn’t even physically read or mentally concentrate on anything. I spent my days recovering with a short walk every 3 hours to the NICU, scrubbing my hands and arms for 2 minutes, and awkwardly taking a seat next to a plastic box holding my sleeping baby trying to hold back tears fueled by hormones, shock, grief, disbelief, and exhaustion. When I was discharged I was able to stay in the hospital for a full week in a hotel room they had on site. My walk became longer, my legs swelled to a point beyond belief that became painful, and my down time between those walks was filled with pumping milk, sleeping, and finding a way to feed myself.
Life in the NICU was the most unique social experience I’ve ever had. Nurses chatted about life, we spoke daily with doctors about “progress” and “goals” (apparently those words are not even realistic in the NICU), I overheard nurses making fun of a parent for some of their daily routines, I wept to myself, I wept in a corner, I wept with parents behind me excitedly discussing their discharge in an hour, I sobbed with two nurses sitting in front of me while I clutched my baby, I argued, I pleaded, I complained, I begged, I demanded, I requested — I advocated. Combine this whole experience with an hour drive daily to that very place that was unenjoyable and joyful all at the same time and it created a weird existence for me.
In the midst of all the awkward existence and exhaustion, I had to decide how I would cope. The only normal thing I could do was take and share pictures of my girl. Brett had a friend who had recommended we read through the Psalms daily. Brett began posting pictures with a verse from the reading that day. I found that joining him in this practice was healing. So I began to bring clothes, dress my girl up in bows, and got to snapping pics. I would be moved by something I read in the Psalm for that day and it would be joyful, somber, mournful, or praising but it would also be fitting to how I felt, what I was facing, and I decided to start sharing just like Brett.
I began living what I call “in the daily.” My life before February included lots of planning far in advance. I’d map out my whole year if you gave me certainties of what exactly would happen all year. After February 15th I only focused on my next 24 hours. I only knew the plan for that next day and was only concerned about my children and their needs. Nothing and no one else came into my scope of work. My day consisted of a drive, a scripture reading, time spent feeding my daughter, and one on one time with my son.
I have so many different stories about what I went through and little experiences where God showed up to come alongside us and hold us up or remind us that this too shall pass. The one thing I look back on is my relationship with God and I realize how close I became to Him. He drew me in and sustained me when I had nothing. He used our brokenness for His glory, pointing many to Himself. He changed me. I no longer cared about personal dramas that played out, I no longer allowed time to be focused on petty things, I no longer worried about small details that would work themselves out outside of the hospital walls.
Better Days
We have now been home more days than we were in the hospital and I almost don’t know how to exist. I look back on the days where I was solely focused on my daughter’s health and God’s love and remember fondly how close I felt to Him. I long for these days of suffering. I long to be close to God without the distractions of daily details. I long for when it took no effort to have my eyes focused only on Him. I long for the worse days where I was weak and He was strong.
But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is perfected in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest on me. 10That is why, for the sake of Christ, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak,then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9–10
Now I want you to know, brothers, that my circumstances have actually served to advance the gospel. Philippians 1:12
I know that through your prayers and the provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ, my distress will turn out for my deliverance. Philippians 1:19
You see, Paul was clear about suffering and it’s purpose in our lives. It is to allow God’s work to occur and for us to become more clear that He is the manager of our lives. He reminds us that strength comes from our moments of weakness. God wants us to want Him and when we are at that point where we completely rely on Him, miracles happen. Oh how I long for the worse days when this came so easy.
