Zoe was born on Sunday, a day earlier than expected. This brought the drama of a little panic and rushing, but in some ways I think this was better than the anxiety of waiting. She came into this world as healthy and as strong as our wishes and prayers had hoped for, needing no assistance to breathe or keep her heart beating.
I spent most of the day, and all night Sunday in the hospital with Jen as she recovered from her C-Section, because her husband went to a different hospital with the baby, and her mom took her older son home.
Spending the night on the post-partum floor of a hospital without a baby in the room was very surreal. It felt very cruel, in fact. Grief is a giant shadow looming over you in the wee hours of the night when babies in other rooms are crying.
My neighbors probably think I’m a little wacko with the eclectic musical selections I play. Our houses are close together and my windows are always open and I usually blare my music at top volume. So when they hear anything from Michael Jackson, to Beck, to Gnarls Barkley, to Vinyard Worship music they probably don’t know what to think of me.
This morning as I decompress from the last few emotional days I’m sobbing and singing as I listen to worship music, hoping the words I’m singing will make some sense to my broken heart and confused mind. I need to be reminded that none of this is about me, and it’s not even really about Zoe, but it’s about acknowledging the sovereignty of God when life doesn’t seem fair. For me, fear sets in when I forget that God is in control. This morning, music has been the healing salve that calms my heart.
That, and a little rum and a hot bath.