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Being Able to Put the Baby Down

Being Able to Put the Baby Down

The Lord just keeps showing me ways He is healing me. And, of course, it happened most recently (again) with a baby. My therapy baby, to be exact.

I got to keep him and his siblings – the first time I’d seen him in two weeks, due to a minor flood in our basement that had kept me from our homeschool group, where I normally hold him. So I was really looking forward to having him again. But for some reason, this time it was a little different. Specifically, I found that I was able to put him down. As in, not carry him every single second.

This may not seem like any big deal to most of you, but for me, it was monumental.

You see, ever since I moved away from babies being the infant version of kryptonite, I’ve felt just a wee bit attached to Therapy Baby. Like, I honestly could not get enough of him, no matter how much time I spent with him. Seriously, I often felt like I could do nothing else but stare into his eyes for hours. He helped fill in the hole, somehow. That perfect little head, those tiny lips…holding him made me feel, in some weird, vicarious way, like I could recapture a bit of the prize – the “baby experience” that I’d been anticipating for 9 months but never got to fulfill. I felt lonely and bereft when he left, and had these crazy moments (ok, maybe they were more frequent than mere moments) where I wished I could just be locked in a room with him so I could hold him and talk to him and play with him undisturbed for hours. He was, to me, a little like a crack hit to an addict.

Crazy, I know. Yeah, and not exactly the healthiest. Who knew grief could transform a person into a baby psycho?

Thankfully, The Lord has still kept working with me. And this week, I realized I’ve turned a corner. Another corner toward normal.

The way I knew it was when, after Therapy Baby fell asleep, I was able to put him down. I actually placed him out of my arms and in his carrier to sleep. And I wanted to…I was actually ready for a break from holding him. One small placement for baby; one huge placement for grieving womankind.

This is big.

It’s normal to want to put a baby down after you’ve held him for a couple of hours. Normal. This week Therapy Baby became a baby instead of an addiction.

Lets see…I’ve moved from an infant being radioactive uranium on a countdown, to a crack hit, to a…baby. Definitely progress.

It’s progress the Lord has orchestrated. He has truly brought me, sustained me, healed me – in small increments, as I’ve been walking with him along this journey of grief. Such small increments that I almost miss it if I don’t pay close attention. And I know that’s how he wants it. Sure, He could have given me a miracle of healing or a miracle of feeling no grief at all, if He’d wanted. But oh, how much poorer I would have been if He had.

I love Him now with a depth I was never capable of, before. I truly trust Him now, when all of my life I have mainly trusted in myself. I am in love with my Lord, with feeling His presence, with hearing His words to me. I feel Psalm 63 now:

“O God, you are my God,
earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you,
my body longs for you,
in a dry and weary land
where there is no water…

Because your love is better than life,
my lips will glorify you.
I will praise you as long as I live,
and in your name I will lift up my hands.
My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods;
with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

I’ve got a new addiction. Only this time, it’s a healthy one.

2 Corinthians 1:5,9-10 says, “For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead….On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us…”

Continue to deliver us. Not a one time deal. Moment by moment, over and over again, the Lord delivers me, when I rely on Him. I felt the sentence of death, but with Christ my comfort has overflowed, to the point that now, 6 months after my baby’s death, I can hold a baby and put down a baby. And do it all with joy, rather than desperation.

If He has been able to do that with me in 6 months, imagine what He can do if I fully rely on Him for everything, for the rest of my life.

I sure hope I can find out.

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