There are only a few times in my life when I have been afraid. As an adult to be fearful is unusual – at least for me. I do not confuse nervousness like you have before getting on a rollercoaster with fear. I don’t misconstrue trepidation like you might have before loading your family onto their first transatlantic flight with fear. And being sued for malpractice…that’s not fear either. That’s embarrassment and humiliation.
Fear is it’s own vintage.
Twenty years ago this morning my husband drove me over the James Island expressway, through peninsular Charleston and over the Cooper River bridge to the smaller private hospital in Mt. Pleasant to have our first child early. Three weeks early. It was an urgent induction due to my degrading health.
I was terrified.
I was thrilled and overjoyed and excited to be having our first child. I had all the expectant eagerness but simmering underneath it all was pure, unadulterated fear. I knew all that might go wrong. I had delivered a half dozen infants in the preceding year to know the logistics of what I faced. I also had a quiet baby that had gotten quieter after weeks of rambunctious activity. What if I couldn’t deliver? What if something went wrong (and the list was long)? What if the baby was fine but I died and left my infant motherless? What if the baby had some birth defect? I had one.
And it didn’t go smoothly. It wasn’t easy. There were complications (mostly for me). But within a few days of delivery the dust settled and we both seemed safe and well.
Today is that child’s birthday. A glorious child whom I love with all my heart. A child that through his mere presence in my life taught me the true meaning of unconditional love, endless love, submission to the will of God and absolute perfect imperfections. I rarely touch that fear from 19 years ago because it is so much better to focus on the joy and bliss. But sometimes it is through our most fearful moments that the Lord teaches us. We are fearfully made.
