Love: The Greatest Risk

                       

November 10^th we celebrated our daughter, Myla’s, first year of life.  Twelve miraculous, joy-laden, sleep-deprived, heart-warming and eye-opening months. 

Along with the wonder of becoming a new parent, I have of course experienced the enormous burden of responsibility and worry this past year to a degree never before felt.   Admittedly, I am your typical paranoid, first-time mom.  The nurses who delivered my daughter could vouch for that.  I think most of the first statements out of my mouth directly after her birth were questions of concern: “Is she okay?”, “Is that normal?”, etc…  Little did I know, that was only the beginning.  A whole new world of sleepless nights overwhelmed me- and I’m not talking about the first six weeks of rocking her sideways, tightly swaddled, next to the running shower just so she would take naps at night.  I’m talking about an assault on my peace of mind- silent threats of SIDS, choking, running out into the street, sticking fingers in electrical sockets and less rational, but just as terrifying fears of abductors, anaphylactic reactions to peanuts, and school shootings. 

It didn’t take me long to realize these worries had the capability to either suffocate my soul or to chase me to the Savior who cares- the One who offers to take all my burdens upon Himself.  Because I have chosen the latter, I have slowly but surely grown less anxious and more at rest, despite the mounting realization of how dangerous the world is for my precious, twenty-two-pound bundle of joy.  This peace is only a product of daily letting go and accepting that my baby was a gift, every detail of her design preciously thought out by her Creator.  He loves her more than I, and each time I pry my white-knuckled fingers off of her life, I learn a little more that it was never mine to begin with.  This realization is going to be a lifelong one, I can already tell.  A lot of letting go, a lot of tears, and a lot of catching new glimpses of my Father’s heart. 

“Surrendering all” didn’t sound so difficult when I was twenty years old and single, with plans of travel and a career.  I distinctly recall feeling confident that I would never withhold anything in my life from the Lord.  I suppose I mistook being unattached for being brave. I thought risk-taking meant being willing to serve orphans in Africa, underestimating the ministry of the relationships already in my life.  I mistook my lack of fear for being full of faith…   Then I became a wife, now a mom.  And the concept of daily surrender quickly became a reality. When you love people so much it hurts, so does the thought of losing them.  In my experience, becoming a Mom has required greater faith in following Christ than ever before in my life. My world may appear boring to, say, me, five years ago.  But though from the outside looking in, my life doesn’t seem full of risk, I have no doubt that there was greater security and comfort in my desire to go to Africa when I was single, than in the daily battles I face today, trusting my family to Christ. 

But isn’t that how God would have it?  We long for a Bourne Identity, fast-track lifestyle, but we don’t want to invest our hearts.  Investment requires vulnerability: we will get hurt, we will experience sorrow, and we will feel. The love of Christ that we are called to walk in is a love of great risk.  Christ Himself experienced the pain, betrayal, death, and sadness that inevitably comes with a life given to love. The life of great peace and joy He possessed- and offers- is not available apart from that risk-taking love.  So though I may still check to see if Myla is breathing halfway through her naps and you will probably catch me cutting up her food twice as small as necessary, know I’m headed in the right direction.  Daily abandoning my cares, daily being reminded that my cares could never outweigh His love.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken... The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is damnation.  The only place outside heaven you can  be perfectly safe from all danger and perturbations of love is hell" - C.S. Lewis

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket-safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside heaven you can be perfectly safe from all dangers and perturbations of love is hell - See more at: http://www.uscatholic.org/blog/2010/03/day-36-cs-lewis-risks-love#sthash.1PFR7t45.dpu 

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket-safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside heaven you can be perfectly safe from all dangers and perturbations of love is hell - See more at: http://www.uscatholic.org/blog/2010/03/day-36-cs-lewis-risks-love#sthash.1PFR7t45.dpuf