Everyone likes to think of themselves as strong.
Personally, I had visions that if I ever got pregnant, I wouldn’t be one of those women who stays in bed all the time, I’d be out, carrying on with life as normal and not getting any extra sympathy. I was used to coping by being resilient and ploughing through most things in life.
But my second pregnancy has been a very humbling experience as I look at what I thought I would be able to do and the reality that has pulled me back down. I don’t think I’ve spent as much time in bed as this last year. A rough first trimester kept me confined in bed with a migraine, near a toilet and often in the dark with music to keep me company, feeling utterly miserable. A better second trimester but with a real fatigue which found me heading upstairs for a nap at any possibility I had. A third trimester with some complications which have resulted in uncomfortable physical symptoms and strict orders of rest. Hospital appointments that sometimes give more questions than answers.
All this has spelt out the inevitable. I’m incredibly weak at this point in time. I’m physically restricted, I can’t take my child out by myself and can’t even pick up a washing basket. Standing on my feet for more than 5 minutes is incredibly uncomfortable, I yearn to be lying down at all times. It truly does feel that the baby is taking everything out of me to grow.
What happens to our identity when one of the key characteristics we attributed to ourselves has been shown to be wrong? Who does this mean I am anymore? How do I view myself? Do I start to resent my circumstances and be bitter with those around me? Do I think less of myself?
As I walk through this season, I think what I’m learning is that I need to come back to God and drop any notions I have of myself being strong. Psalm 23 has become very precious to me at this time. If God is my shepherd, therefore I lack nothing I need, then what I want is not something God knows I need. My pride and my humility are not what I need. What I need is to remember that the good and faithful shepherd provides everything that I need, and he makes me lie down by still waters. I’d rather be up, doing things, proving to myself that I’m tough. But God ‘makes me’ lie down by still waters. He knows if he doesn’t make me, I won’t do it. But thankfully he also knows what’s good for me and therefore uses his rod and staff to bring me back to himself.
He is leading me beside quiet waters and trying to restore my soul, despite me trying to resist this for a time. Now, I’m trying to embrace this season of calmness. Not give in to the guilt which is always there telling me I’m being a useless wife and an absent mother. Satan promises rest, but all he gives are feelings of despair and worthlessness.
No, I’m trying to listen to the Shepherd’s voice and to follow where he is calling me. Not to a place where I’m worthless because my output isn’t very measurable by the world’s standards. To a place where my Shepherd reminds me that he’s already done all the work required. What I do isn’t my measure of usefulness. I’m viewed as worthy and deserving of rest simply because I am one of his sheep. Loved, held and lacking nothing. Goodness and mercy are following me.
As I reflect on this truth at 11:30 in the morning, in bed, having achieved barely anything this morning, what a privileged place to be. What a shepherd.
