Alder loves holding my hand. Even though all five of his fingers reach only my first knuckle when stacked side by side, even though his entire grip won't surround the circumference of a single finger, he still clings to me. Several of the nurses have noticed. The respiratory specialist has noticed. I've seen it, too, even from the very first day. He knows who I am, recognizes my voice, my touch, my smell. Everything is known to him, familiar. When I'm there, Alder relaxes; I'm his safe place.
That's how I feel these days, too, about being with my Father. When I can feel Him close to me, leaning in, holding my hand, whispering and rejoicing over me and my children, I begin to remember it's o.k. for me to be the child, to let Him be the Father. It's o.k. to be without words, without understanding. Knowing He has me doesn't make my pain go away; the anguish of not knowing what comes next is still there. But I know who He is; I can recognize His touch. He is my safe place.
At 12 am last night, I woke up to pump. I didn't feel much in the way of His presence. At 4 am I woke again, to repeat the pumping. (Have I mentioned yet how much I hate pumping?) Instead of His presence, all I could feel was fear for tomorrow. Sure, right now Alder is doing all right. But what about tomorrow? What if I never take him home to his brother and sister? What if we move back to Cambridge not with a new baby to introduce but with empty arms and broken hearts and a 4,000 mile gap between Nana and Papa and Gammy and Pops and the aunts, uncles, cousins that have cared for them when I couldn't be there? What if...? Ironically, it's when I begin to let myself look to tomorrow and all the unknowns that I suffer the most. I miss the gift of today.
When we visited Brooks and Evelyn Rose a few days ago, I showed them a video we'd taken of their new baby brother. Evelyn Rose wanted to watch it again, and asked to hold my phone. I obliged. She immediately cradled it in her arms, rocked it back and forth, and began to coo and sing in her best 2 year old voice. She repeated this over, and over, and over. Every time the video ended she started it again. And my heart swelled and burst into a thousand pieces, all for the love and joy and sorrow and suffering. All those what ifs in a moment like those merely shadow the beauty of what's in front of me. But in that moment, the starkness of what was meant to be and what is was too clear to miss. (There I go again, crying even as I type...)
Two years ago, I watched my precious sister grieve the loss of her 25 week old, Anna. I never quite understood what she meant when she told me that I shouldn't worry about having the grace for tomorrow because I don't yet need it; God gives us the grace we need for the moments we need it. I didn't understand it back then when she spoke those words, but I clung to it, anyway. And these days, I cling to it even more.
When I wake in the middle of the night and focus on all my fears, those nagging "what ifs," my heart is clouded and feeling God's presence is nearly impossible. But God's consistency isn't dependent on what I feel. He has promised to be with me. He was with me 22 days ago when my water and my heart broke. He is with me now. And when I'm too fragile to raise my voice in prayer, He still has me, and He sends a Helper: "the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words." (Romans 8:26)
When Moses passes on leadership to Joshua, he, tells him not to fear what's ahead. He reminds Joshua of the promise. They need not worry about the grace for tomorrow, because tomorrow isn't here and the Lord always provides what we need in the now. We might not know what's next, but God goes ahead, preparing the way. He's never caught off guard:
"Then Moses summoned Joshua and said to him in the sight of all Israel, "Be strong and courageous, for you shall go with this people into the land that the Lord has sworn to their fathers to give them, and you shall put them in possession of it. It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you, he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed." (Deut 31: 7-8)
Alder loves holding my hand. I can't be there every moment, but even when I'm not there, I leave my heart with him. I would never, ever abandon my child. God promises me the same gift but a thousand fold. He is with me, right now, even when my worry numbs me to His touch. He will sustain, protect, provide, and lavish me with the grace I need when I need it. Right now? I just need the grace to remember that He's not going anywhere. Right now, I just need to rejoice that he has given me today with my son, Alder. Right now is good, and right now is what He's given.