Sometimes I wish I could just unhinge my head, pull out my brain, put it in a box next to me and sleep in peace. To have one of those - oh what are they called - "Nothing Boxes" -? men have. Like, WHAT must that be like? I think I may be able to be convinced to give my right arm for one of those.
It's 12:46 a.m. and I've finally given up the fight, my pregnancy-induced restless leg syndrome relieved that I stood up and moved around a bit. But now I'm back sitting, here on the couch, surrounded by trucks and puzzle pieces and primary colored mega blocks, my pillows from my bed stuffed on my lap, in hopes that maybe I can "blog it out," gain some mental peace, and fall asleep down here.
I'm not sure what all the fuss in my head is even about. But my inner-monologue is running haywire. The appointments I need to call and make, a conversation I wish I could do over, mapping out a DIY project for baby girl's nursery, a few additional things I forgot to add to the Target shopping list, the friend I want to send flowers to, the flowers I wish would be sent to me, and on and on and on.
I've been wondering lately if my brain really is more cluttered now that I'm a mom. Now that I type that I'm realizing I'm just adding to the clutter in there by even thinking about that, so maybe that's the problem all along. Or maybe it's not more cluttered, it's just that I given away a bunch of brain cells with each baby that I no longer have the mental capacity I used to. (Those kids better be brilliant.) Or maybe it's the fact that I've been hit on the head with toy firetruck one too many times in this past year and a half.
Whatever it is, I do know one thing is for certain. I worry a whole lot more than I did before I became a mom. And that definitely takes up a lot of precious brain-space. I remember when my son was first born, I kept thinking, "What if God takes him away?" "What if God allows him to be disabled, hurt or handicapped within his lifetime?" I loved my son and was so thankful for him, but part of me knew that adding him to the family also added the opportunity for a whole lot more pain to come my way if something happened to him.
Because deep down, I am fearful that God won't protect him in the way I want him to.
And so if my son is sick, I worry he won't get better. If he is crying inconsolably, I worry it's a deeper cause than being overtired. If he is happy and well, I worry the tables will turn. And even my unborn daughter who looks fine now on the ultrasound, I worry she'll still be born with an issue they didn't catch.
It doesn't matter how rosy or how bleak things look on the outside, I can always find reason to worry.
And so it is on nights like these, the nights I am up late, my brain swimming between the waves of to-do lists, dreams and worries that I remember. I don't follow God because he guarantees protection or health for me and my family, I follow him because he died for me. I follow him because I can trust him to be the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Because he is true, loving and purposeful. Because I know ultimately, his plan is good. I trust him because even if something I worry about tonight becomes true tomorrow, he will still be the same. The same God he was when things were good, is the same God when things are difficult. I follow him not because he offers an easy path in this life, but because he offers a better path in the life to come.
As mothers, this truth tends to elude us when the worry is the greatest. The worry compounds on itself, snowballing into our hearts and icily fortifying it against the warmth of hope and truth. But it is always there, that small voice in the back of our heart, saying, "Trust me. Not you. My plan. Not your plan. It's under control. And I promise, it is good."
This is the truth to lean on. This is is how we rid ourselves of the 50/50 bittersweet combo and gain 100 percent good. Because we don't know if God will protect our families like we want him to. There are no guarantees in this life. But we do know His plan - whatever it may be - is good.
And that is good enough to get me to sleep tonight.