As all of the doctors visits increase, and the specialists multiply like laundry when you think you're all caught up... I just can't help but feel like I'm drowning. I'm helpless to stop my baby boy from hurting. I can't kiss these "owies" better, I can't love them away. It's such a horrible feeling to have my hands tied behind my back as my son's heart over works itself, and as he struggles to function daily with his speech and motor skills. We're doing all we can do by taking him to the many doctors and therapists, and yet I feel I have no foot hold. I have no way out, and some times I just want to hang my head and cry in despair. Through all of the diagnosises, we have continually been told that he was just born this way. Every thing he faces is congenital. Of course, as his mom, the lady that "grew" him, I feel personally responsible for any issues that arise. I've blamed myself for everything from a cowlick to an overworked heart, and it's absolutely exhausting.
I have fought my entire life to realize that everything DOES happen for a reason-- even the nasty, foul experience that seems to have no possible good for anyone has absolutely been justified to me as necessary, whether for me or for someone else; so in my own life, I no longer question negative experiences and ask, "why God?" When I felt the weight of my son in my arms for the first time, though, all bets were off. Suddenly, I wanted an absolutely perfect life for this small sized human being, and any down sides were NOT good, they were terrible, horrible, awful things that couldn't possibly be anything but unfair, and also my responsibility to fix.
I struggle with these feelings daily, hourly, minute by minute. I don't dwell on them or let them over run my life, but they are always there. That little feeling never eases. And just when I begin to feel absolutely hopeless and let the tears fall, I feel the nudging of a still, small voice beyond my cry of despair. "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. " (Psalm 139: 13-16, NIV)
What a concept. My baby is a precise creation. This small person is not "broken," but a hand-crafted gift to me, and to the world around him, despite and perhaps because of his issues. Even though I freely admit, I don't see God's hand in this experience, I know it's there. I know that some day, it will all make sense. There is not a single beat of my child's heart that goes unnoticed by God, so who am I to feel like a failure? Keagan does not have a single problem that was an accident or a mistake. All of the things we are walking through are not my fault, because there's nothing happening that is wrong. From the very first cell that grew into the big tall two-year old that loves trains, trucks, planes, books, bubbles, and pigs, there is a specific blueprint being followed for him, and I'm just along for the ride. I love him with a deep and unfathomable love, and what I feel for him is only a fraction of what our big God feels for him. Beyond reason, I know that none of this is an accident. I have fear, because I'm human, and I want to be in control, but I know that Someone who can see the bigger picture is in control, and that's the most reassuring thought of all.
So as my knees shake, as my heart aches, as tears do fall from my eyes sometimes, I stand firm on the promise that God doesn't make mistakes, and that as much as I want good for Keagan's life, God wants infinitely more for him than I can comprehend.
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