PART TWO: MILESTONE 10
The weekend soared with pure elation as we scattered the
happy news among family and friends. I know the “rule” is to wait three months
before revealing a pregnancy, but after everything we’ve been through, I would
want all the support anyone was willing to offer if we happened to be
unfortunate enough to miscarry. A secret miscarriage would be far too burdensome to bear.
So we celebrated unabashedly all weekend.
But Monday morning has arrived to ruin the party, delivering
a severe change in mood. Now I am coated with a thick layer of fear. What if
this? What if that? What if something goes wrong? My mind is abuzz with
fragmented questions that cannot be answered.
As soon as I get to work, I send out an SOS email to my
women’s group explaining my much-to-be-expected fear and requesting prayer. I
had actually expressed to them at our last meeting, before I knew I was
pregnant, that I was afraid of being afraid during my next pregnancy. As we
prayed together I envisioned the labor and delivery room full of people and felt
at peace as I sensed that, “Delivery day will be a truly joyous occasion this
time.” This stood out as a probable message from above since I would never have
phrased it that way. The strong influence of fear seems to have blinded my
memory of this for now, and I am nervously distracted all day. I work
diligently, but all the while I am attempting to pray away this hideous feeling
that seems to be seeping deeper and deeper beneath my skin. It is a very long
day.
And why is this happening? I know better. I’ve already
passed by this way in my mind, determining that living in fear is not living at
all. I have decided that the women who have had miscarriages and think that
they’ll be safe if they can make past a certain point in their next pregnancy
are putting their trust in an illusion. Maybe part of me is just upset that I
don’t have that. I have to make it through the entire pregnancy before I can
breathe easy. And then I have to worry about SIDS the whole first year. And
then any random accident can happen. There is no safe point at which I can let
out this breath I’m holding. I have thrown up my hands in defeat at this
realization before, and yet here I am, scared out of my mind.
But my friends are praying, and I am praying. What else
can I do? Still uneasy, but hoping to feel better in the morning, I go to bed early.
Luckily, I am one who shuts down under duress, so sleep is just a blink away.
Morning arrives, and I do not feel much better. As I
start up my internal dialogue for the day, the divine idea comes to me to turn
from fear and to focus on praise and thanksgiving instead. Desperate for
relief, I grab onto this and repeat to myself, “Praise and thanksgiving. Praise
and thanksgiving. Praise and thanksgiving.” Eventually I’m able to form
sentences again and thank God for the pregnancy and countless other things. I
remember that next time “delivery day will be a truly joyous occasion” and I
decide that I was gifted this small reminder to hold onto throughout the
pregnancy, and to combat the fear that is sure to strike again. The thick
covering of fear dissolves and evaporates with the heat of joy.
I breathe deeper, with a satisfied smile, free of fear’s
toxicity. I have learned something so simple, yet incredibly powerful. Fear was
designed to keep us safe, to make us aware of danger. But sometimes, it is
misappropriated. And when that happens, I will acknowledge it, run to God about
it, ask for His help, and then reject it. We are told to face our fears, but I
think after we face them, hand in hand with God, we should turn our backs them.
They are not worthy of our precious time. I’ve heard that we become what we
focus on. And my experience proves this true. By trying to pray away the fear,
I was focusing on it, and I remained fearful. But when praise and thanksgiving
became my prayer, I became joy.
