One Month Old

My baby is a month old today, and my heart is so full I almost can't bear it. I have learned more about myself and about the nature of God in the last few weeks than I will ever be able to record here. But for the sake of my children, let me attempt to write some of the most needful things.

Chiara's birth came at a very high cost - emotionally, spiritually and financially. I was surprised by how scarred my faith became with this trial. As I sat in the hospital yearning to see my child but unable to do so, racked with the most pain I'd ever felt, and feeling utterly alone without my husband, I became angry with God. I never thought I'd falter in that way. The only other times I've ever been tempted to feel anger toward Him were when I was young and my muscles were hurting so badly I could hardly bear it, and when Grandpa Lowder died leaving me without the only grandpa I had who loved me. But I was able to squelch it then ... not so this time.

I'd been watching cousins and friends have babies without complications for months and months. I'd been looking forward to being a mommy for so many years that my spirit almost couldn't contain all of my excitement. I'd been so faithful to the Lord and so diligent in keeping His commandments that I somehow felt safe from too much heartache. How foolish I was. I have since come to understand and accept that sometimes the Lord does, even in these days, require of us the greatest sacrifices possible. This last month He required of me all my imaginings of what my first moments, days, and weeks of being a mommy would be like.

I didn't take tearful pictures with my brand new baby like I always thought I would. I didn't laugh and kiss my husband with joy. When Chiara came there were so many complications I was only able to hold her for a stressful five seconds before she was wisked away for more testing and treatment. I lost too much blood to be able to visit her without fainting, so I was confined to my own hospital room without seeing her again for days. I'd had such trauma during the birth that I had dozens of stitches and I was in so much pain I could hardly move. Every day the doctors would bring me more terrible news about our daughter and what problems she was facing, and the strain of feeling so desperately helpless was outweighing whatever joy I might have felt in having a new child. And I felt, in my weakness, that the Lord had given me too much - that He had taken from me the very moments of happiness I'd longed for for so many years, and that it was too cruel. How could He do that? How could He require such a sacrifice from me when I'd been nothing but faithful to Him all my life?

Oh, children, please know that attitudes like that are dangerously destructive. I didn't want to pray. I read the Book of Mormon in the hospital, but only briefly ... I was too hardened to feel the spirit of the words. I was so very wrong. It took me weeks to find myself beneath all that sorrow and self pity, but when I did I repented of my faithlessness and turned my face to His light again. He has truly healed my heart. I hardly remember the feelings I felt then. I remember having them, but I cannot remember how they felt ... if that makes sense. I have my baby home now, and the joy of being her mommy fills every single minute of my days.

Maybe I love her more because of all we went through. I don't know, but I don't waste time speculating. I trust the Lord and His commands. What He required of me was difficult, but it was not too much. I survived. And my dedication to Him is reinforced because of my error. I don't mean to say we must sin in order to come closer to God. But I do believe in His mercy He makes such a thing possible to the truly repentant heart. I'm grateful to Him for His trust and His love. I hope He finds me worthy of more trials that will mold me and help me become the woman I need to become before I meet Him again. Next time I will be stronger.