Sleeping in a shack in the middle of nowhere, Mexico? Put me on edge.
I was nervous every single time I had to speak in front of hundreds of people,
and I kept my parents on speed dial every time they left the house.
Starting relationships, ending relationships, going to college, getting in car accidents,
giving up my job, hospitalized for pneumonia, being a missionary, leaving my family...
But the scariest thing I have ever done?
These tiny little hearts, minds, bodies entrusted to my care don't come with manuals.
There's no auto-pilot, return policy, or warranty. It feels so risky; all too dangerous
to let the DNA masterpieces of yourself, your spouse, run around in this big, wide world.
The sirens go off.
A tornado of "what ifs" blows straight through the very core of my being.
The other day a doctor was explaining to me how as mothers we uniquely store the DNA of
all the children we bear within our liver (so whimsical) and in our brains. Perhaps shedding
light on that connection, that intuition, we feel towards our kids: "I just KNOW they
are sad, happy, hungry, upset, sick, at peace..." We just know what they need.
So my liver, or possibly my brain, tells me that I don't want to mess it up.
I don't want to miss something or make a mistake.
In a nutshell, I want to be Jesus to my children.
I run, non-stop, doing all the things, all day long. I pad their lives with all the good
I can possibly muster to fit into a 24 hour day and then beat myself up as I fall asleep
at night for not BEING more. Who wouldn't wanna be me? I cry because I'm scared I'm
failing. I panic because if I really am failing -- then who in the world is going to pick up
where I leave off? Because I've made myself Jesus for my children, and we all know that
Jesus is the last stop.
I'd like to say that I've come around, been reformed, got baptized in the Church of
Surrender all to Jesus, but I can't. I am, however, TRYING. Because the "Hi, my name is
Brittany and I have a degree in Theology" side knows that playing with fire is safer
than playing God. But my heart? My heart is freaking out and praying, "are you sure?"
WHAT IF I screw it all up? WHAT IF something goes wrong? WHAT IF I sin and
fall and bleed this ugly humanity all over these tiny lives I'd die to protect?
And then there's WHAT IF I LET GO?
WHAT IF I do my very best? WHAT IF I do less and be more? WHAT IF I
open up my clenched fists and hand it all over? WHAT IF I quit masquerading as Jesus for my kids and let Him do His job?
And just be me?
I can hear the "all clear" siren ringing now. The tornado is passing.
I've checked myself into that Church of Surrender all to Jesus and the very rain that has
pelted down, bruising my skin, my heart, my soul, is what is going to baptize me anew --
because I don't have time for motherhood to be scary.