My body isn't safe

Dear Richard

Dear Richard,

During the months leading up to your birth, many mused that “the safest place” for you to be was in my belly. For it was there that you were being fed every time I ate, soothed by every song I sang, and rocked to sleep when I simply walked to the kitchen or upstairs to put away laundry. But I have been scared every minute you weren’t in my arms. 

For months now, I have endured the same intrusive, recurring thought: What if the cord is wrapped around his neck? I told your dad that I had a horrible feeling it was. Or if it wasn’t, that it would be. And what if you went from kicking within my belly today, only to arrive cold and lifeless tomorrow? Just get out of me, I begged you, as though praying to a baby makes any sense, because I needed to know you were safe. 

I don’t need to do a deep analysis to understand what was going on. Only last year, our fourth beloved child died within me. Our second to go from a strong heartbeat and protruding belly one day, to inexplicably dead weeks later. No, my insides are not safe. They may have helped form you - though God gets the credit for all of your perfection - but they are not safe. And I cannot protect you from within. 

I cannot protect you here, either. I know that now. I sit, with beeping lights and sounds, watching you breath softly under a blue-light blanket. I know a million moms have experienced this very thing - counting bilirubin levels and switching between the breast and pump - but it all feels so fragile right now. I am still healing from your entrance. Still struggling to walk without a little limp from the trauma of giving birth. You are still learning to exist outside the cave of me. 

The thing is, you were born with the cord wrapped around your neck. The doctor mentioned it briefly, then brushed it off, saying “it happens all the time.” No problems caused. It was my placenta he was worried about (stuck inside me, removed only by force and internal bruising). But my breath caught in my throat at his casual explanation as to why I couldn’t hold you right away, still attached to me: because the cord was wrapped around your neck. All I could think was: what if…what if…

When you have lost children, your body doesn’t feel safe. It may do amazing things. It may be a body I am thankful for and even in awe of, but it is not a body I wanted you in any longer than you had to be. I wanted you here, in my arms. But as I said, in my arms doesn’t mean safer. I know that. And I hate knowing that.

Faith is so hard, Richard. It takes a lifetime to trust God; to trust the One who has the power over wind and waves, tornados and babies. I don’t know what to say some days other than, to whom else should we go? There is no other Hiding Place. There is no other Refuge. He alone is God, and He is as terrifying as He is loving, of this I am certain. 

Outside, the wind blows walnuts off the towering trees above our yard. What if one hits his head? I ask your dad. What are the odds of that happening? he replies, with confidence and gentleness. I remind him that a tornado hit our house just last week. I remind him that the cord was wrapped around your neck, just like I thought. I remind him…I remind myself…that we have no control. Not really. 

And this is the true test. Will I worship God, keep praying to Him, loving Him, and worshiping Him, knowing that I have no control over the most precious things in my life - precious things like you and your sister? 

I have nowhere else to go. Jesus alone has the words of eternal life. He alone is strong enough to cover us with His wings, gathering us like a hen gathers her baby chicks. I do not know His will or His plans, and that terrifies me, but I am more terrified to be outside his wingspan. He is our Safest Place. Remember that. 

I will do everything I can to care for and protect you. But God is the one to trust with your whole life, all your life. And that is what I am praying today, as I hold your tiny hands in mine, and try to warm you with my skin. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, I know it full well. And I am so blessed to be your Mom.