Well, I finally did it: I splattered an entire bottle full of freshly squeezed milk all over Sam's Super Dad shirt. In case you were wondering, it wasn't out of good humored fun. It's hard to say how it happened really; things escalated so quickly. One moment we were fine, the next we were launching words intended to hurt, looks intended to mock, and before I thought through what I was doing, milk started flying. In a moment of pure outrage I unscrewed the bottle still attached to the pump still attached to me, and I flung. I flung the milk, and with it all the rage, the soured words, the anger, the fear that I can't control--they spewed all over Sam. Sam, the man I love most in all the world. Though Sam and I have noted the hilarity of the incident retrospectively, (there may even be some snickering happening as I type…) at the heart of my behavior was not comedy. Lurking under this ridiculous act was rebellion, hostility, and selfishness. Not just towards Sam, but towards the Lord. In that moment, I wasn't just angry with Sam. I was livid with God and taking it out on whoever happened to be closest in proximity. Poor Super Dad.
The next morning things carried on, mostly as usual. We had some good apologies under our belts and a good breakfast, too. But when we arrived at the hospital, everything started crumbling. Alder was having another dsat, and this one required extra attention from respiratory care. My dad beat us to the hospital, and was pacing the halls, shaking his head. My fear got the best of me; my hands trembled as I placed them on his tiny back; my voice stuck when I tried to sing him a lullaby. I started pleading with God not to take him. Please, not now. The nurse gave my dad a good scolding for making the situation more stressful than it needed to be. Alder came back up for air again. I took a breather, too, for pumping and a phone call.
I called my dear friend, Katie, and explained what had just happened in Alder's room. Wise as she is, she caught on straight away to the undercurrent of the entire three days prior: fear, unrepentance, and resentment. They had built a dam in my heart, laid siege on God's love and peace. The past few days, I've not been able to break free from the oppressive fear that, at any moment, something terrible might happen. I've looked to the future, afraid to dream of the beauty there and instead only seeing there a grieving, struggling version of myself. I've looked to the past, and instead of seeing God's hand I've lingered in the fear of what might have been. God is with me, but I've muffled His voice under my fears, through resentment at our situation and at others for the times they've made it unintentionally harder. My prayers are stuck. My heart is stuck. I have no one to blame except myself; I've forgotten to be thankful. How do I forget so quickly? Haven't I been writing exactly these truths every day for the past 25 days?
"Every day is repentance and forgiveness," Katie had said. Have I humbled myself daily? Repented daily? Forgiven daily? Umm. . . As Katie and I prayed that the Lord would bind up my spirit of fear, granting forgiveness and the ability to forgive, I could almost tangibly feel a burden lifting. After praying together yesterday, the Lord replaced my fear, my pride, and my anger with His peace which passes all understanding. (Phill 4:7) He taught me and is continuing to teach me, reminding me daily, that only through that kind of dying to myself can I really live.
Yesterday, after the chaos of the morning and the calming of the storm, Sam and I shared some of the deepest laughter that I can remember. After repentance came the gifted, shared joy. I've never laughed like that before, alone or with another. The Lord is making all things new, even my laughter:
“Then shall the young woman rejoice in dance, Then shall the young women rejoice in the dance,
and the young men and the old shall be merry.
I will turn their mourning into joy;
I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.
I will feast the soul of the priests with abundance,
and my people shall be satisfied with my goodness,
declares the Lord. ”
So today as I'm scrubbing the milk from Sam's dirty T-shirt, I'll laugh with gratitude and I'll pray with joy and humility: "When we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John 1:9)