This baby has been called a lot of things: Greta. (Ewww… thanks, friend Jill.) Munchkin, courtesy of overzealous sonogram lady #1. An alien, during my initial worry stage. A duck. Little one. Poonlet (one of my faves).
Lately, though, I’ve been resorting to “Herm”. It’s hard to always write out him/her, or to say it for that matter. So, since we don’t know the gender, Herm’s been working for me.
The midwife finally found Herm’s heartbeat and I got to listen, once again in wonder. She wanted to check a few things, though, so I also got a bonus ultrasound. I was watching the little screen, and I couldn’t believe my eyes: Herm was moving and kicking all over the place! Herm even reached up to do something that looked an awful lot like Herm was scratching Herm’s head!
An everyday motion that will undoubtedly be lame to everyone else was magical to me. Simply magical.
The rest of the appointment went really well. Herm is just the normal size for this age, and I left greatly relieved. Does “relieved” mean I’m at the end of my struggle? I doubt it.
When my mom was in the hospital, I had a crisis of faith.
I don’t mean that I lost my faith in God. I mean that, all of a sudden, I had no idea what faith meant.
What does it look like to have faith when you know it doesn’t mean (necessarily) that you get what you want? What does it mean to pray for someone’s healing in faith and know that the healing may come, or it may not?
I think that what I get from many Christians is that faith is praying and believing unswervingly that we’ll get what we want. That may not be how it’s said and maybe it’s just me, but I feel it’s often what is meant.
The problem with that is: what do you do when you realize that’s not true? What do you do when you realize you can’t control God? What does “faith” look like then?
These are real questions that I had and, to some degree, still have. How do I exhibit faith throughout this pregnancy, when I know in truth that it may go to term, or it may not? I may have a healthy child, or I may not.
There are no guarantees stamped anywhere on my belly. (Although, think about it… that would be pretty cool.)
I’m trying to walk the tightrope of reality-based faith, without falling into the ditches of despondency or, on the other side, denial. Neither of these are what the Lord wants for me.
As I’m trying, though, I see warning signs that I’m teetering or that I’ve fallen off completely. Case in point: the state of my heart in this last appointment. When I begin to expect tragedy, I am no longer walking in faith. That much is clear.
As most of my prayers for my mom went unanswered (ungranted is a better word), I understood again that my faith needs to be in God Himself and in the sure promises that He’s given me and NOT in my ability to control Him through prayer. If my faith is contingent on getting what I want, it is no longer faith in the Answerer of the prayers but in the answer itself.
That’s pretty much as far as I’ve gotten. I believe God. Some days, I believe in His kindness. In faith, I believe that down whatever road He takes me, He will also guide me and hold my hand. However, I do not believe that faith is a way for me to choose my own road or gain access to an easier one.
I don’t have any faith that my pregnancy will go as I plan. I do have faith that it will go as He plans.