i have tortured myself by making apricot jam. i have meticulously stenciled a moroccan print on my dining room wall(the before and after coming soon). i have written about other things on this blog. i have been a little bit of a zombie, lost in my thoughts.
it can be painful to face reality when it is not how you thought it should go. in fact, i planned it to go much differently. you know, when you map out your life and then ask God to bless your plans? like humans do?
i sat in the waiting room, playing with lila nervously as we waited to see the new doctor.
Ook. ook. see! lila turned my face to a bin of oversized blocks. her way of telling me to look at something.
nato sat and built blocks with her. he kept building them even when lila moved onto a different toy. he was nervous.
i was too. kind of. but i was ready. i needed to hear something. tell me anything. i'm tired of doing this by myself. just tell me what's wrong, and we'll move forward.
when the sweet doctor called us into the room, he said, i'm going to test lila and talk with you guys. back and forth. just know that i'm always testing her, so don't prompt her.
and he would ask her to do something and she would look at me and i would point or talk to her in a language she understood. our language.
remember, you can't interject. i have duct tape in the drawer if you need it. the doctor had a dry sense of humor and i liked him immediately.
oh gosh. i'm sorry. i shrunk down in my chair. how is she going to get through this without me?
i didn't realize that i helped her make sense of the world so much.
and it was painful to watch her struggle with colors. at 3 and 1/2 years old. simple color recognition. or directions. or most things that he asked her to do, she could not fully. i wanted to jump up and say, stop! that's not how she does it. she can only understand it this way.
but i knew this needed to happen. isn't this what i've wanted for 2 years now? someone to tell me something isn't right?
by the end of the evaluation, he let lila play and told us that there were some options here. perhaps she still couldn't hear. that would be unlikely after tubes and a passed hearing test in at least one ear.
because if hearing was the problem and it was fixed she would have caught up by now.
no one has told us that yet. i knew it in my gut but no one has actually said the words.
or she could have a severe learning disability. but she doesn't exactly fit the bill of any particular disorder. definitely not autism.
or, he said with a sigh. we need to look at her chromosomes. this could be DNA related. excuse me? i thought she was simply delayed.
an extensive blood test will tell us this. as he was saying things like fragile X, chromosome disorder, and other DNA terms, i prayed that i would just keep me together and hear the doctor's prognosis. i wanted to say, your words are too heavy for my ears but they just kept falling out of his mouth.
and so i kept listening.
you're not pregnant are you?
well, let's get bloodtests back before you guys think about more kids. i'm not saying to stop, i'm saying you have things to think about.
no more biological kids. what? i'm supposed to get to decide that. on my own terms. when i want to decide that. i have plans, doctor.
and we'll need to think about putting lila in a better school district. you can't stay in the one you're in if you want the best care for lila.
moving? no. we're in our forever house. we love this neighborhood. we love our church and our son's school and we have plans here.
and so we walked out of the doctors appointment with blank stares.
and with some direction.
but not the direction i had planned to walk in.
are you ok with me going back to work, honey?
ya. i mean, there's nothing we can do right now.
and i shut the car door and turned up the music and lila sang.
i sang too. and i cried.
all of my plans were failing me. they were crashing down and crushing me.
and the next day, i just cried all day. just all day long. off and on randomly. laying hopes and dreams on an alter one minute, choosing to trust that God is bigger than what feels immensely painful and heavy. and the other minute thinking too far ahead. what will all of this look like when she's a grown adult?
and as i prayed it out, a question popped up in my head.
what are you grieving?
i had plans for her. i wanted her to be something.
i have plans for her. why does your life glorify me more than her life? i knit lila together in your womb just so. just exactly so.
they were such gentle words and yet they pierced right through me. my ugly heart gushed open. i have such a narrow perspective of God and what he can and can't do.
my sin overwhelms me.
i love to think i can control things and that i don't need a savior. that's what i'm saying when i don't trust in the Lord. i can do this better than you, God. you who made the universe and everything in it.
yet here i am, again, learning i can not control anything.
i am learning this week, in a tangible way, that God uses all of life to glorify himself. even in a broken world and even in suffering. and that i am not in control of what this looks like. i am not a savior. in fact, i desperately need a savior.
i am learning that we are just tiny stories in a larger story of redemption and that this life is but a breath. but a tiny breath. and yet i look at my daughter with such small eyes.
lord, have mercy on me. give me new eyes, for my daughter and for this world that is passing away quickly. i have such a small perspective of your goodness. help me to think outside what my eyes can see and what my heart feels sometimes. lila has always been yours. i am her mother for a small time. and you have made her perfectly with plans and a purpose. i pray for healing, but i also pray your will be done and not mine. because you are Good and Just and i can trust in You.