During church on Sunday I developed an excruciating muscle spasm in my lower back. Know what my first thought was?
Am I experiencing kidney failure?
It's funny now. Now that an extra strength Tylenol, a hot pad and lying completely still for two hours has relieved the pain.
It's just one of those pregnancy things--my body stretching to accommodate the growing babies. But still, I don't like pain. I don't do well with unknowns.
I don't take risks, I always drive the speed limit, I pay my bills on time, I plan, I schedule, I don't like surprises.
I am a worrier. A worry-wart. A nervous Nelly.
I am bothered, however, that all my worrying betrays my lack of faith. Ridiculous as it sounds, I'm worried about being worried!
I'm convinced that part of God giving me twins is Him saying: "Elizabeth, trust Me."
Why does He ask us to do the impossible?
Because He wants to reveal His glory through our transformed lives! Once again, it's not about me, it's about Him.
There is no testimony like a changed life. If the Lord can take a worrier like me and make me a carefree, surrendered sacrifice of worship unto Him; then He gets all the credit!
But it means that I have to take the step of surrender. And honestly? Right now it's daily. Sometimes moment-by-moment. I have to fight to surrender.
The thoughts of worry are always there, competing for air-time. If I give in, my mind becomes a jumbled cacophony of dissonant voices.
Will I be OK? Will the babies be OK? Will I do a good job? Am I good enough?
When I worry, I am saying that my life is my own, that I am in control. But when I acknowledge that I am not my own, that I have been bought with a price, that I belong to Jesus--the worry dissipates.
The alternative is to continue to struggle for control. And when events beyond my control occur, I can easily despair.
But rather than succumb to despair, I choose to surrender to Christ. After all, He's the One Who promised never to leave or forsake me.
For me, surrender begins with not assuming that every pain, every ache in this pregnancy is life-threatening. I know, I know. Some of us have to start small!
[I took this photo in Uncle T's garden in Oregon. This beautiful rose reminds me of the beauty that can blossom from a thorny bush]