Worry...

There's something I have told myself since the beginning of this pregnancy: If I don't learn NOW not to let worry about my child consume me, I will be worrying for the rest of my life. After pregnancy worries there will be labor worries and then newborn baby worries and then SIDS worries, and then worries over development, and then worries over education-- ENOUGH! I have seen parents like that, and let me tell you, after 18 years it isn't pretty! Not to say some healthy concern isn't a good thing to have... but make it HEALTHY concern, not obsession!

I'm to talk. I've spent most of my pregnancy trying not to worry about stuff. First it was ectopic pregnancy, then miscarriage, then about having an incompetent cervix, then about the baby's development, and now about having some disease that I can't possibly have just because of some obscure symptoms I discovered last night.

And you know what? The pregnancy was not ectopic, I didn't miscarry, I actually found out I have a cervix that is longer then normal so my chance of preterm labor is very small, and it is practically clinically IMPOSSIBLE for me to have the illness I have worried about all day. Oh, and the baby is beautiful, healthy and actually a little AHEAD in development. So all that worry has gotten me... WRINKLES. YAY.

Terry always tells me that "fear is the opposite of faith." And the Bible tells me "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" (Matt 6:27). And I always say "I know." And I do know. So, knowing this, why is it so hard for me to just let go and have faith?

Because I'm human- I'm fallible. And let's face it, saying you know something and really BELIEVING it to be true are two different things. I have knowledge, but I need faith. And that faith can only come from God.

Thinking of seeing my baby's precious little face during the sonogram still makes my eyes mist. Those perfect little hands, those perfect little feet. That's my son in there, and I already love him fiercely. I want what's best for him. I am willing to do whatever it takes to ensure his health and happiness. Even, apparently, be hopelessly paranoid about everything I do that could be remotely harmful to him. But you know what? There's One who loves him more.

God knew about this child before I ever did, and He had a plan for him before the beginning of time. He is knitting him together in my womb and has already given him an eternal soul. I am his mother, but He is his God. The same God who has loved, protected and sustained me will love, protect and sustain him. And no matter His plan for my son, it is better then mine.

So I need to start reflecting this conviction in my life. That's the hard thing about faith- it only grows when you act on it. If I truly want to grow in my faith, I must take some hard steps.

Mainly, stop running internet searches that only scare me. Stop fretting every time the kid konks out and I don't feel him for a few hours. Stop wondering every time I bend over whether I'm crowding him.

For heaven's sake, my mother was born 2 months premature, had no medical care, and was thought to be dead. She put in a shoe box and then placed on a shelf on a cold December night in 1942 and only the next morning, when the box was retrieved for burial, discovered to be not only alive but destined to live! God sustained her because He had a plan for her life, and my life, and Andrew's life, and all the other lives she touched. He is faithful, in both life and death.

So here is my commitment not to worry. If something needs attention, I will give it attention. But I will strive not to worry about it.

Thus ends my incredibly long venting session. I will now go and do the dishes I have been putting off and make spaghetti.

Mmmm... spaghetti...