The pieces of my heart

Dear God,

When you gave me the gift of motherhood, I knew you had done something huge in my life. You gave me a gift that pushed and challenged me. A gift that showed me just how big my heart is. A gift that showed me just how big yours is.

What I didn’t realize immediately is what you took from me. Often I forget. But I saw it tonight. Or rather, I was reminded of it.

Like the rib you took from Adam to give him Eve, you took a piece of me to give me my children. Like the world’s most skilled surgeon, you removed a tiny piece of my heart to create the incredible beings I get to call mine. You did it swiftly as you distracted me with sleep deprivation and crying, so much crying, and snotty noses and chaos swirling around my every day that I often forget that there’s such a delicate piece of me out in this world that is no longer a part of my body.

It’s easy to forget. It’s easy to forget because some days are just so very, very exhausting. And I rush through the days and the nights just trying to remember who has a doctor appointment and when and whose teeth got brushed or whether or not we have enough milk to last through the week. It’s easy to forget what a significant, incredible, fragile piece of me Oli and Will are made from. In my haste to make sure everyone simply stays alive, I forget.

Tonight I saw it and was reminded again. I saw it in William’s sweet smile when I walked into the room. I saw it in the peaceful, still face of The Boss Lady as she slept, the tendrils of her hair strewn across her pillow, her hands folded under her head. At once I felt incredible love and responsibility and, I’ll admit it, terrified.

Because as I brushed Oli’s hair from her face and watched her sleep, I was reminded that you took this little piece out of me and put it out into the world where I’m not sure if it’s safe, where I have no control.  

God, I’m grateful, truly I am. Without these little people, I have no idea who I’d be. See, by taking from me, you’ve given back immeasurably. But I am scared.

Scared I won’t be able to protect them from the insanity of this world, from people who mean them harm, from disease, from fear. I can’t even protect Oli from bumping into walls or scraping her knees no fewer than 15 times a week! And, yet, there they both go each day, without me, to face and embrace all the world has to offer.

And what am I supposed to do, God? What am I supposed to do while two pieces of my heart are exposed to every danger my insane mind can imagine? How can I possibly build them up enough to take on their toughest challenges? How can I protect them from all evil? How? I have no answers, no way to do it. I watch each day, powerless, as these two pieces of me grow and learn and encounter. I watch as they experience pain and joy and disappointments. And I have no idea how to make sure they are never hurt.

So I turn to you. You who plucked these pieces from my heart and made them into the most incredible beings I’ve ever known. You who gave me this job of being their mother. I turn to you because there are days I am overwhelmed by not knowing what to do or how to do this job.

Is that how you designed this, God? Did you design this so that I would be wholly dependent on you? Was your intent for me to truly KNOW my lack of control over this life?

If this was your master plan, I am happy for it. By turning to you, by leaning on you, I am able to watch with joy as the pieces of my heart go out into this world on their own journeys.  In the vulnerability I feel loving them, I have been able to experience your love for me more fully. You have given me a glimpse into how you love—purely, deeply, letting me have free will, always with the hope that I will return to you unscathed from the harms of this world, always with the desire that I should be healthy and safe.

Thank you for showing me this love, for bringing me closer to you. Make me deserving of this incredible gift and, above all, please protect from all harm these tiny pieces of my heart.

Amen