Snatched...by God's design

When I was pregnant, my greatest fear was that I would suck at being a mom. I absolutely LOVED being pregnant; the stretch marks, the inner movement, just the thought that this damaged body was creating a beautiful life had me in a place of bliss. Carrying the baby was an absurdly easy task, but raising a baby seemed to be something you either get right or get wrong. And the love I had for my unborn son mixed with a tendency towards perfection meant one thing, and one thing only: failure was not an option.

After having such a wonderful pregnancy, I expected to have an even more awesome birthing experience. My vision: #insertideahandshere A mix of Fred Hammond and Faith Evans playing softly in the background. My husband kissing me on the forehead and telling me what an awesome job I was doing.

#Reality

There was no music playing, but conveniently my mom's favorite show "Law and Order" was playing on the television set. And even though I was on the cusp of birthing life into the universe, the half dozen or so people in my hospital room were more interested in what was on tv. I guess I expected people to ask me, "How are you feeling?" "Are you excited?" I hoped for meaningful conversation as I waded through the contractions. Instead I was called a brat and a drama queen for wanting the moment to be about me.

Even the husband kissing me on the forehead dream failed. I had been in labor for some hours, but had only dilated up to around 2 centimeters and I wouldn't open up much more. A few more hours of contractions and then a nurse came in and checked me and said enthusiastically, "Mrs. Jones, you're now at 3 CENTIMETERS!" Ok, that's progress! I'm with it! I'm getting there...slowly but surely. I was happy to be at 3, so when my husband blurted out "3? That's it?" he and his non-edifying comment were quickly and tersely ordered to leave.

Turns out 3 centimeters was as far as I could get. I wouldn't open up so my little precious boy could come out. Hence, I had a C-section.

How was it? You ask. Easy-peezy. As soon as they pulled the baby out of my stomach, they wiped him off and handed him to my mother. Yes, my mother. And she has been trying ever since to take the boy away from me.

Fast forward 14 years and she has finally gotten her wish. Stealthily she sought guardianship and won. Not because I was a bad parent but due to lies she and my sister told. That court date was, hands down, one of the worst days of my life. 

But I seek to speak healing within this scenario. And it is only by the grace of God that this can happen. Lord, I know that nobody, nothing, no situation is larger than You. The fact that this has gone in the direction that it has gone let's me know that it is happening for a reason FAR beyond my comprehension. In this, I acknowledge You as sovereign Lord, Head of my life. Not my will, but THINE be done.

In Jesus' name.

Amen.