Not My Story

Walking out of the hospital, I felt discouraged, sad, and just a little bit angry. Ok, fine, a lot angry. I had become THAT woman...the one who walked into the hospital at 3am after 9 straight hours of pretty steady contractions convinced that this was going to go somewhere. Eventually. I hadn't counted on labor lasting so long. I had read the posts, knew the averages, and accepted that it was a possibility, but I forgot one little detail...they were talking about the average time for ACTIVE labor. This was not it. I knew that. But I was still hoping against hope that maybe, maybe, I could walk home with a baby in my arms. My contractions were textbook. They were coming 30 mins apart, then 20, then 15, back up to 20, down to 15, and finally 10 mins apart, which is when I decided to make my debut.

I hate that I fell for it. I promised myself that I wouldn't. I was going to be that impressive first timer who shows up at the hospital just in time for just the right amount of care without the risk of too many interventions. I've read the blogs. I've seen the criteria. I knew the 4-1-1 rule. I didn't even plan to go to the hospital until I couldn't talk through my contractions, just like all the books and blogs and doctors advised. But when I was there, in that moment...overly excited about the fact that these contractions were actually doing something...I lost my mind. I got so anxious to meet my little girl and kiss her tiny fingers that I couldn't help myself. I went to that hospital. And I became that woman.

I walked out angry and sad and disappointed, but I think I was the better for it. While I was there...hooked up to a fetal monitor in a hospital gown with an oxygen monitor on my finger and trying not to cry because I had made a fool of myself...I got a little pep talk from my husband. He told me about something he had read recently about how God had "interfered" with the Egypt plan, so to speak. He talked about how Abraham knew that his descendants would be exiled. His descendants knew it. That was all part of the plan. They knew deliverance would come, and it did...through Moses. But what they weren't expecting was Pharoah. Moses approaches Pharoah and tells him to let his people go, and what response does he get? "No. In fact..hey...give those people more work." "That wasn't part of the plan, God!" Moses and the Israelites might have thought. Why did their deliverance have to come at such a cost? Why couldn't it be easy? There's a verse in Exodus that answers that question. God himself says, "Go to Pharoah, for I have made him and his servants hardhearted, so that I can demonstrate these signs of mine among them, so that you can tell your son and grandson about what I did to Egypt and about my signs that I demonstrated among them so that you will know that I am the Lord." (10:1) That was it. That was the reason. Simply that God wanted everyone to know, for generations to come, that He was in control. That no matter how much Moses or anyone else looked like they were running the show, they were really just ambassadors on His behalf.

It's God's story. He's writing it. Our lives are simply a line of text in that story. He's the One Who is in control. It's something that I lost sight of as I sat around awaiting the arrival of our firstborn daughter, but it's a lesson that needs learning more often.

After my husband finished his story and analogy, I said to him, "I knew I shouldn't have prayed that a week or so ago that he would help me to quit feeling like I have to be so in control." We laughed, but in all seriousness...I'm glad I prayed that prayer. It may have meant I ended up in the hospital and looked silly, but hey....He got the message across, didn't He? I am just a part of HIS story, and that's what really matters.

Has there ever been a time when you wanted to be in control and learned that you weren't?