Pain

Dear Hannah,

Today you took a pretty rough spill and for a few minutes you had your parents and Mimi and Poppy scared to death. You are a tough girl and you are no stranger to bumps, bruises and skinned knees. In fact, since you started running (a day or two after you started walking it seemed) your knees have been stained red and purple. But I have never heard you cry like you cried today when you fell into the coffee table. And when I saw that your mouth was bleeding I was horrified that you might have knocked a tooth out or worse. I couldn't do anything but hold you and try to comfort you and beg you to breathe (I think you might be a hyperventilator). Fortunately we realized within a minute or so that the bleeding was minimal and you probably bit your tongue. Within five minutes you were mostly calmed down and drinking your milk and within ten minutes you were ready to play outside. However hours later, I had not yet recovered. I felt uneasy all afternoon, still fighting adrenaline hours later. I didn't really calm down until I went for a walk after we put you to bed and ate dinner.

When I walked in the door after my walk and heard you asking for milk, I smiled. Even though you probably would have gone back to sleep without it, I brought you a cup, happy to have an excuse to hold you again. And as I held you, and thought about the pain you had been in earlier and that unfamiliar cry I never want to hear again, I was hit with the realization that this is only the beginning, that time and again as you grow up I will be gripped with horror and helplessness, with that cry as the soundtrack. For starters, there are all the falls to come over the next few years, with a likely inevitable trip or two to the emergency room, consequences of your fearlessness and love of running, climbing and pushing limits. And it only gets worse from there. I shutter at the thought of you struggling to tell me through tears and short breaths about the horrible thing the girls said/did at school that day. And I dread holding you the first time your heart is broken and trying to convince you it will get better, when I know you won't believe me. And these tribulations are best case scenarios, I have no idea what challenges life holds for us. What I do know is that your pain is my pain, and the idea that I am powerless over it scares me to death. It makes me want to hold you tight in my arms forever and forbid you from growing up. It also makes me want to fly to Midland and give your Grandjackie a big hug, having had a glimpse of the pain she has suffered on my behalf.

After you fell back asleep I opened my bible (well actually flipped on my ipad and clicked on my bible in one year app) to today's readings, one of which was Psalm 18.

I love you, Lord; you are my strength.  The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection.  He is my shield, the strength of my salvation, and my stronghold. (Psalm 18:1-2)

I know my anxieties are non-productive.  Hannah, I pray that both of us will have the kind of faith that calms anxieties, that we will know that He is our shield and our fortress, our protector.  I cannot serve you in that capacity.  I know that you will go through things in your life that will shake my faith, and probably yours.  I will probably question whether you are truly being protected and wish I could bring God's definition of protection more in-line with our secular one.  I must constantly remind myself that the ultimate protection God offers is salvation.  My greatest prayer is that you will seek that protection.

Love,
Mom