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Sunday, September 1, 2013

Letting Go

(Written last Monday night…)

I admit to feeling a wee bit queasy.  I have been anticipating this day for almost three years.  Even before the twins were born I wanted to fast forward my life  to get back to the place where I had a little one in preschool again.   It’s not that I wanted to miss the sweet moments, but I did want to skip the painful barely breathing days and just be a normal mommy of a preschooler again.    There are no emotional microwaves though, and in our humanness we are locked into time.  I am certain that the last three years have been the slowest of my life.  And now that the big day is here, I can hardly believe it!

Tomorrow morning I will pack my little ones up and take them to their first day of school in the two year old class.  They cannot wait!  Just like their big sister.  Their teacher’s name is Mrs. Robin.  Just like their big sister (even though we are in a new town and at a new school)!  They have pink and yellow and orange plaid dresses.  Just like their big sister.  I found myself saying out loud today, that God willing, they will graduate from preschool.  Unlike their big sister. 

The healing goes deep.  But the scars go deeper still. 

I feel it in the moments of what if… like the night of open house when a yellow jacket hovered insistently around Abby (who is allergic) in the middle of her pre-k classroom.   It is almost as if he was there to mock me with his buzzing.  Can I really send her off to school with that epi-pen to play outside everyday and hope that God will keep her here with me?  Can I open my hand and let go?  Of control?

I feel it in the fog of morning when I am just between asleep and awake.  Like yesterday before I opened my eyes... I was in the car with Cameron and Makiah.  And then the accident happened.  And I pulled myself to consciousness and whispered desperately to God,  “That is my moment of horror.  I don’t want to live there, God.  I give it to you again.  Please take it today.” 

Even as I write these words there is a knowing on the inside.  That the Healer of my pain will not cease to work until I am home with Him.  Safely out of control and free from moments of horror or fear forever.  And I know that the scars will not always run deeper.  Because our pain has an end.  A cap.  But my healing and yours flows from a never ending source.  Pain can’t outrun Him.  Sorrow can’t outlast Him.  It cannot overwhelm Him.  Because when we have reached the end of ourselves, living waters will continue to spring up.  Bubbling in our soul and filling us with Life.  Life abundantly. 

So I breath it in deep.  And soak up the strength.  It is only there for one day.  At a time.  A grace for today.  In the morning it will be there for tomorrow… when I hold their hands and walk them into that school for the first time.  And when I let go of little fingers and of control and turn away with empty hands,  He will hold mine.  And theirs.  And if you let Him, He will hold yours, too.

"...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."  Philippians 1:6

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