House on the Rock

It was a Wednesday in May — two days late on my period once again, but ravaged by fear and overwhelming what ifs. I committed to not taking a test until later. Much later, careful that I might not even get my hopes up about being pregnant until I physically saw a coffee-bean baby curled under the glow of an ultrasound. I woke up early one morning with an anxiety so crippling I could hardly pray.

Open Bible in my lap, I thought about what Carrie Saunders would do. She was no stranger to uncertainty, and yet her knee-jerk reaction was to pull up her Notes app and compile a list — things she knew to be true about God, lyrics from praise songs that lifted her soul, and long lists of Scripture she hid in her heart. I began to craft such a list, and before I knew it, the worry gave way to worship. I was able to get up, head toward the shower, do the next thing.

While showering that morning, the Lord brought a memory to mind. Mom and Dad on the hospital bed, three kids and a bonus son huddled on the floor beside them. We stood in the boxing ring of bad news, taking hit after hit, so she had plenty of reasons to fear what came next. But when we pelted her with questions — what if chemo doesn’t work? What if it’s in your brain? What if you don’t get to come home ever again? — she calmly replied, “God hasn’t given me that. I’m only going to take what He gives me.” And as I reflected on her words from that night, all I could think was this: I might get to deliver a baby, or I might never, but God hasn’t given me that. I’m only going to take what He gives me.

Flash forward a couple of weeks: The back-alley resource center in my hometown had opened up an ultrasound slot for me so I wouldn’t have to wait until the 12-week mark, fearing the whole time that I’d lost a baby again. Fear was overwhelming, but I pulled up the Spotify playlist called Faithful that Mom had built for every trial. I worshiped through the waiting, thinking fondly of the ways she let praise music drown out her doubts. How many times had she printed off lyrics about the faithfulness of God, and how very sweet were those lyrics to me now.

Every day now feels like a battle — somehow choosing faith over fear. Trusting God with this baby for as long as He’ll give it to me, knowing full well that the Lord gives and takes away. But then I remember that radiant smile that lit up even a hospice bed, my mama just moments from her final breath. You have to keep trusting God, she had said. A mantra she modeled through years of parenting, ministry, marriage, illness, waywardness, relationships, lung cancer, hospice care. Trust, for her, was not optional. It was the exact embodiment of how a Christian was supposed to live. And so trust is what we’ll choose, and we’ll trust just like she did.

It’s an amazing thing to consider the impact she left in her short time on earth. I learned so much from her steadfast faith, her relentless trust, her knee-jerk tendency to turn to truths about God rather than folding in fear. I recently heard a speaker say that a praying mother is one of the most dangerous weapons, and we had a mom who daily waged war on sin, strife, and sorrow through her prayers. Oh how she taught us to pray! And her Scripture-soaked words of wisdom, no matter how quick or quiet, have saturated my heart in a way that I’ll never forget them.

I’d like to revisit this post in five, ten, twenty-five years. When the children are grown and we’ve walked through the trenches. How often will I, perhaps without even knowing, employ the wisdom she bestowed on those who knew her? How often will I hit my knees like she did, parent with grace, confess sin, let a child wander but pray them home again? How often will I parent in the ways that she did — ten-minute clean-ups, cuddles at night, sharing silly little secrets on Turkey Run hikes. Watching our babies sleep and praying over their quiet snores, and reminding them God has never failed us before.

If it were up to me, I’d have my mom by my side for every moment of parenthood. From the first ultrasound to the last graduation — I always pictured her there. But God in His kindness gave us a mom who lived and loved like Christ, who poured out wisdom with her walk and her talk, and I’ve collected these lessons like sand in a bottle. The Faithful playlist is one click away, right next to her long list of truths about God that I continue to add to on our long journey home. The Scripture she sent is hidden in my heart, and her example of steadfast faith makes me think, “if she went through that and kept trusting, I can certainly trust God through this too.”