Scars, strength and the God Who stayed

They say time heals all wounds. But they don’t mention the scars left even after healing.

It’s been a year since my precious baby boy was born. A year since we survived a traumatic birth experience. A year since we spent nearly a dozen days in the hospital, with him staying in the NICU and us down the hall. A year of miracles, firsts and fun. And now here we are in a different space. I didn’t think I’d make it here.

I thought I’d be in the clouds watching over him. Or that we’d be embracing together in heaven. I was so weak and I gave all of my strength to push and help him into the world, even if it meant I would black out or go out of the world myself. It’s amazing how quickly a complex thought can run through your mind.

I’ve been reflecting, as you can tell, on where I was last year. Just the heaviness I felt almost being confined to the hospital space, the smell of cleaner, sound of beeping, the shine of the floors and white walls everywhere. I thought I would go crazy for a few days. And those days felt like weeks, they stretched on in what I call hospital time.

Today, I would have been a bout halfway through the experience at the hospital and mostly feeling and grappling with hopelessness and fear, wondering if we would ever get to take our precious boy home. I was on the edge of my seat fearing bad news may come after a feeding like the first time when he aspirated and it went in his lungs. I was so afraid for him.

As I saw him in that bed I wondered how I could leave him each day. And I dreaded and anticipated sitting with him again, holding him again. He was fragile. And so was I.

I was steeping in this uncertainty. As people around me prayed and I felt it, I would get a boost of serotonin.

But as the night fell, I would worry again.

Because I’m momma.

And I began to know what that really meant.

Never mind my own scars or the journey I would take with bouts of postpartum depression and anxiety, I was worried about him. Me and my husband both were. And none of us were sleeping well.

As I sit today, I struggle to focus and be productive at work. I’m hearing monitors. I’m thinking of him. Holding him. In the NICU. I’m thinking about that hospital room and the emotional void of hope. How we were in survival mode and I had to scrape from within and pray to make it each day. I knew I could because I’m strong. I knew I could because of my faith. I knew I could because of my God.

I didn’t know the pain ahead of changing tides in relationships and how birth changes everything. I didn’t know the joy of holding a baby in the early morning hours rocking him to sleep. And thank God I didn’t know.

I knew just enough for the moment I was living in.

And maybe that’s the good I can hold today.

Live in the certainty of this moment.

God will take care of you.

Look what He has done and how Faithful!

Friend, God is here.

In this moment with you. In the room.

He isn’t afraid of your fear or doubt or hopelessness.

He came to give you strength, confidence and hope.

And He can if you invite Him into your worry and into your situation.

He will heal You.

He is still healing me.

And my scars are proof I survived and so can you.

I will never stop showing others the scars because they’re tattoos of strength and souvenirs of survival and often proof of Divine Intervention.

Friend, wherever you are in your story, you are not alone.

We all have scars.

And together, we can encourage each other as we walk along the path each day ever closer to Our Lord.