The day my first son was born, a new something was also born in me.  I don’t know if every parent feels the way I did, or if I am especially neurotic.  I just know that along with a deep, aching love, was an oppressive fear that I could lose my child.  My very soul left my body and transposed into a tiny baby boy, naked and vulnerable.  I was paralyzed by the thought of anything hurting him.

Almost two years later, my worst nightmare became reality for a friend of mine.  It was just an accident, and a little one was gone.  There are things that I wish I didn’t even know could happen.  Things that take a long time to heal and things for which heaven itself may be the only balm. The pain of seeing a family suffer in the cruelest way was too much for me to bear.  I no longer believed God was good or even that He was at all.  I sunk my claws deep into the idol of my child and turned my arrogant back on Him.

I went through the church motions for a couple of years because it was easier than admitting my anger.  One day during worship I reached my end.  All around hands flung wildly in the air while the crowd sang heartily “Blessed be Your Name, on the road marked with suffering…”.  I couldn’t choke out the words.  I wanted to put my hands over my ears because it hurt so bad to hear.

“You give and take away, my heart will choose to say, Blessed be Your Name.”  How could anyone sing that?  There was a time when those words would have flown from my mouth with fervor.  My pride would not let me sing it now.

I had something too precious to lose.

I cried.  I was frustrated.  I was also tired of trying to be Him.  Being Him made me lifeless, more scared and lonely than ever.  I felt trapped between living with my dead self or choosing to submit to a God I couldn’t understand.   I never thought I would pass on a weak, wounded faith to my kids.  The one thing I was hiding from was the one thing I knew my boys needed more than safety, more than happiness, more than life.  More than me.

I wanted them to know God.  My God.  My God who redeems anything.

Finding my way back is taking more trust, more grace, and more humility than I ever wanted to give.  Before, my faith was based on an expectation of security.  Now I know nothing is certain.  I guess I’m just finally okay with that.  I don’t want to say yes to Him “only if…”.   I want to say yes “even if…”.

So God, here I am.

Andi is the mother to Toby, 4, and Charlie, 1.  When she is not wiping boogers she chronicles life with her young family on her blog, “The Running Mama” at www.andihawkins.com.