It's always been easy for me to have faith. Because of the profound way my life changed when I accepted the LORD, I've always believed God could do anything. Did I believe I could get pregnant after six years of infertility and one prayer? Sure! That's no problem for Him. But, lately I've found myself sounding a lot like David in Psalm 22, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent."
Day after day I watch my baby cry out in pain. Her little body has such painful gas that (so far) no prayer, chiropractor, doctor, or medicine has helped. Suddenly, my sweet smiling baby will scream out, and at times nothing and no one can comfort her. There are days when she's in so much pain that we can't get her to eat or sleep. On those days, all we can do to calm her is walk around the house carrying her for hours or take her outside. On my better days, I have so much compassion and love for her that I could walk forever just to comfort her. But after days of this or nights of her waking up every other hour, I get tired, my spirit (and body) gets weak, and I just get angry.
Since she was born, pretty much every thought in my head has been a prayer on her behalf. "God I know you love her more than I do, but as the one you've entrusted to care for this angel, I ask you to heal your child...help her to pass this gas...help her to poop...help her to sleep...give her peace...have mercy on this innocent child..." Sometimes He answers with haste, other times--silence. And, sometimes I will thank Him for something that IS going right, but immediately afterwards the opposite happens. Those days when I'm worn out and He's silent, that's when Andy comes home to a crying baby and a crying, angry wife. But, at the end of my rope, I still feel like Peter when Jesus asked His disciples if they wanted to leave after hearing a difficult teaching (John 6). Peter said, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God." There is nowhere else to turn; no one else who can help.
Because so many of my thoughts are prayers of desperation, I am fully ready to praise Him for any good, but fully ready to blame Him for any bad. I'm angry because I know He can wipe this away with a word, but He hasn't. I have never found myself in this place before. My thinking: it's fine if He doesn't answer prayers on my behalf. I can handle that. But, to refrain from answering prayers on behalf of an innocent child? Now, that's injustice! Immediately following those thoughts are prayers for forgiveness. I tell Him that I'm so sorry for thinking that way. I confess that I'm a lousy Christian and ask Him to renew my mind and give me peace through this trial. I speak back to Him His words from Isaiah 55:9, "Your ways are higher than my ways, and your thoughts are higher than my thoughts" (see also Job 38-42).
I wonder if my spirit would be so weak if I were getting enough sleep. When I'm physically exhausted, my spirit is broken. This is also hard because I'm an extrovert. But, it's easier to stay home alone because I never know when her gas is going to cause her to scream. I miss the social interaction that I used to thrive on. I don't invite people over because I get so anxious when she starts screaming, and it makes me uncomfortable to be around people. I haven't even been to the grocery store one time since she's been born because I don't want to have to leave a cart full of groceries in the middle of the store. Besides that, when her gas is really bad, if we try to feed her (breast or bottle), it looks like we're torturing her. She arches her back and screams and chokes. Who wants to do that out in public and invite looks or comments from those nearby? And, everybody wants to hold the baby, But she cries if she's not held in ways that makes her comfortable. So, my skin crawls when someone asks to hold her because I know what's going to happen. Then, when I take her and hold her in a way that I've learned makes her comfortable, she stops crying. Because of this, I've had a couple of people say that she's spoiled! And, I can't leave her in the church nursery like this. I can't expect every person in there to know "the hold" that comforts her, or to give all their attention to her when there's so many other kids to care for. So, pretty much every Sunday I go to church and end up sitting in the bathroom with her the whole time.
Now, I realize this all sounds pretty dramatic. I mean, on a scale of 0-10 (0 = a perfectly easy baby, 9 = a baby with a terminal illness, 10 = no baby) Beulah is a 1. I mean, it's only gas, right? She won't even remember this when she's older. How could some gas tear a family apart? That just sounds silly! But, I'm here to tell you--it can. I don't talk about it much because unless you've been there, you don't understand. It's like my cousin said after watching Beulah for an hour one day, "I thought you were exaggerating!" I think a lot of people think I'm exaggerating. But after spending a week with me and seeing what I go through on a daily basis, my mom has offered to come stay with me for a week every month until Beulah outgrows this.
The first time I took a car ride alone with Beulah, she was in her car seat in the back screaming her precious head off. It was the first time I didn't rush to her to meet her need. I couldn't. She started making the most pitiful, heartbroken sounds. It was killing me. I tried talking to her and telling her that everything was OK. I said, "I love you, baby. I know it doesn't look like it right now because I'm not rushing to meet your need, but I promise I love you! When we get there I'll hug you and love on you." In that moment I realized, I'm in the car seat and God is driving the car. He responded, "I love you, Michelle. I know it doesn't look like it right now because I'm not rushing to meet your need, but I promise I love you! When it's time, I'll answer your prayers." My mom got a similar message from God when she asked Him to heal Beulah. He said to her, "What if I don't want to? I have a reason for this. Just trust me."
I've tried to figure out the reason. For a while we thought it might be a spiritual attack. God got glory for Beulah's miraculous conception. What better way to steal His glory than to tear us apart after she's born? Or, maybe it's a test of faith. Will I still trust Him if my child is in pain (for more on this see Redemption Day, #2)? That could be the reason. But, last night I think He gave me my answer. God said, "You're going to spend her whole life angry at Me if you keep praying/expecting things to be perfect. This is a fallen world. She's going to experience pain and heartache. Get used to it and learn how to deal with it." Then, I realized that I've been praying all wrong. I mean, this could be so much worse than it is (see the scale from 0-10 above). Instead of asking Him to right every wrong, I need to be focusing on the bigger picture. Instead of getting angry, I need to make myself vulnerable, lay down at His feet, and trust that He has our family's best interest at heart (Jeremiah 29:11). I should be asking Him for the grace to handle what comes my way in a manner that brings glory to Him. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference."
I'm thankful to have a new direction for my prayers and excited to see how God's going to grow us and use this for His glory. I've been embarrassed to talk about our struggles before now. Aren't new parents supposed to be nothing but happy? I had heard of colicky babies, but had never talked to anybody who had one. My pride wouldn't let me admit that Beulah was a difficult baby. No one wants to think their baby has a problem. And, it seemed like everyone else could handle their babies. What's wrong with me? I must not be as strong as them. But, as I've started to open up about it, I'm amazed at how many people have been through similar hardships with their infants. When I opened up to some friends about it, I told them that I felt silly being so defeated by this. One friend who had a difficult baby pulled me aside and said, "It's hard. It's OK to admit that it's hard. Just because it's not a terminal illness doesn't mean it's not hard." Thanks, Courtney. I needed that.
If you had a difficult baby, open up and reach out to new parents. Hopefully someone will be encouraged by your transparency.
