Harry went to the church nursery for the very first time this week. At 9 months old, I handed him to a relative stranger, for the first time in his entire life. Pandemic living, I suppose. It was all the emotions that you can imagine, as I placed my child into the arms of the very loving care taker, handed off the diaper bag and said, “I love you sweet boy, be good and have fun!” Then, as I walked down the hallway back towards the sanctuary, I felt my heart sink and leap all in the same moment.
It felt wonderful to be in a church building. To be able to worship around other believers. Not that we couldn’t have been sooner than now, but for all sorts of reasons, January 2021 is the fist time in far too long that we were able to worship among God’s people. Those 20 or so steps from the nursery door to my reserved seat in the back corner of the sanctuary were filled with excitement. To be able to worship as myself, as Jillian and not as mama, felt like an incredible gift; the nursery is truly a ministry straight into the heart of mothers. But as I sat down in my chair, preparing my heart to enter into worship, I realized that I would not be entirely free of my motherly duties… Harry Beau would be a constant ticker tape through my mind as the words of hymns came out of my mouth.
I was so much more anxious than I ever anticipated being. Perhaps it was simply because it was the first time I had left this little human of mine with someone other than a relative or very close friend? Perhaps it was separating my big girl from my little boy? Perhaps, it was missing the 3-almost-4 year old that should have been in that nursery with him? Whoa… things got real deep. How is it that the grief over George Mason comes so subtly and without warning? When the days have become less shadowed by the dark clouds of heart ache and instead filled with the joy (and exhaustion) of a tiny babe, it always surprises me when I realize there is more to grieve. So much of my heart has been poured into repairing itself over the last 4 years. Yes, four (4) years. I have handed over buckets of tears and rooms full of anger to the only one who can heal… and yet, even after all the hard work of grief, there is still more. God wasn’t surprised by my anxiety on this day. He is never surprised by our heartache. He knew exactly the emotions that would sweep through my head and heart as I walked down that hall.
That is quite truly the most incredible gift. To be known, and to feel it deeply into my bones, by the very Creator of the universe. That the same God who spoke the world into existence cares for my single heart, on a cold day in January, is the highest honor. Truly.
I’m afraid that I didn’t hear much of what was preached on this Sunday, and I imagine my mind will wander in and out over the next several months. But God is working even in my distracted state. He is furthering His kingdom, even as His words are preached to a room full of preoccupied men and women. The deepest parts of our hearts are receiving His truths, in preparation for whatever we are next called to do. It is good to know that God’s character, His fulfilling of promises, and His work in this world aren’t dependent on my being fully committed to listening to every word spoken from the pulpit. That even on the days when my anxiety is high and I’m utterly distracted, He is sovereign. He is sovereign over those unpredictable emotions. Sovereign over the care and love shown to my little man in that nursery. Sovereign over the things that trouble my heart in the climate of 2021.
This year is my second attempt at reading through the entire Bible. I failed miserably in 2020. I do not know if my determination will wain as time goes on, or if life will through wrenches into my best laid plans (like setting my alarm 30 min earlier to be awake and spend time in the Bible before the littles wake up, and then the littles waking up 30 min earlier…) but I intend to complete this task; more like journey. And even if it takes me longer than the 365 days that I intend, it will be worth every second. Because every word will write more of who God is into those deeps places in my heart - to be recalled when anxiety ebbs and flows. We are only 12 days in to this new calendar year, and its already proving to be as event filled and stressful as the last. So I will pray that my determination to spend daily time with God is not faulty. I will pray that despite the anxious mama heart that accompanied the joy of worshipping with fellow believers, I would continue to allow myself that space and let Harry be a baby, playing in the nursery.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash