Not mine, but Your's

All three of my kids have summer birthdays.  Each year, I take the couple days before each birthday to reflect back on their birth, their struggles, and their strengths. I have come to treasure this time and think of it as the anniversary of the day I said, "Not mine, but Yours" to the Lord.

My first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. I was 22 and devastated. After spending some time grieving the loss of Simon Gad, I got pregnant again. We were elated at the thought of a baby in our house. We chose a "happy" name.  After what we just lost, we were looking for some joy.

My son, Isaac, was born in the most idyllic of situations--or so I thought.  My husband and I had recently gone through a parenting class and I was confident that we would be the perfect parents. (sighs and eye rolls now, but I was young and romantic then.)

The day after we brought our perfect little baby with 10 perfect little fingers and 10 perfect little toes home, we had to rush him back to the hospital due to an escalating fever that was reaching a critical temperature. My 3 day old underwent numerous tests including a spinal tap. I was burning with emotion and my heart was melting all over the hospital waiting room floor.

We spend the next few weeks in and out of the hospital, while the docs tried to figure out what was happening to my perfect little baby with the perfect little fingers and perfect little toes.  I remember one day in particular.

The docs filed into our hospital room and began to say things like, "We just don't know what is going on. We've run many tests and we are doing all we can. Your son may not make it." Then they filed out as robotic as they had filed in. As my son's fever was on the rise again so was my anger towards God.

I hit maximum capacity and I started silently screaming at Him. "How could you do this to me? You killed the first, and now you are taking my second? I don't know how I can follow you any longer? This isn't love!"

A very pure voice full of loving correction whispered to my soul, "Why do you think I had you name him Isaac? Put him on the altar now." I obeyed. It was the Almighty after all. Very quickly after handing my perfect little baby over to God, my anger dissipated. The Lord carried not only my son's pain but mine as well. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. Even my 20 ton fear of losing another baby is light to the Divine.

No parenting book could have taught me what the Lord taught me that day. My children are a gift that God has entrusted to my care. Ultimately, they must follow Him and the path that He has for them. They are out of my grasp.  Not mine, but His.