Get me off this ride

It’s amazing how much comfort I derive from from the illusion of control and predictability.

It’s amazing – and not pretty – how strained life becomes when that illusion is shattered.

As you know, I’m currently in the process of raising an almost two year old. Lessons in control abound in our household…daily, if not hourly. Part of my important role as parent is repeatedly shattering my daughter’s sense of control over every aspect of her life. Teaching her that sometimes Mommy needs to, for her health and happiness, make the decisions because Mommy has a much greater awareness of the situation and the consequences of certain actions. So no, Eliana, I will not allow you to pick up and potentially taste test the goose poop at the park. And trust me, that is not some cruel punishment I’m exacting on you.

Last week, while down in LA for a dear friend’s graduation, we had the opportunity to take Eliana to Disneyland. We were heading there with one of my best friends from college and her family. I was so excited to see Eliana take in the happiest place on earth for the first time. I’m smart enough to know that no day with a two year old is picture perfect, but I could just envision her enthusiasm in pointing out and identifying all of the incredible visual stimuli. She loves to be tossed, and spun, and swung, so I thought she would like the rides quite a bit as well.

But…but Disneyland for Eliana was a place somewhat lacking in control and predictability and familiarity. And on almost every ride, without fail, this is how we started out.

Granted, she was coming down with a nasty cold, and her nose was running like a faucet. However, the unknown clearly freaked her out. And she had no idea why mommy and daddy would put her through such torture. She had no idea that mommy and daddy were actually attempting to bless – not torture – her. We could have attempted to explain to her the details of the ride, what to expect and what was to come, but that explanation would not have made much sense to her little two year old mind. This was something she was just going to need to experience to understand.

The funny thing is, she ended pretty much every ride (other than the carousel) asking for “More, more, more,” and was quite upset that each ride had come to an end.

But at the start? Of almost every ride? Panic. The only thing she eagerly, excitedly, and insistingly climbed into? The stationary, unmoving, predictable cars scattered throughout the park. She could climb in and out on her own and she knew they weren’t going anywhere.

And her other favorite activity of the day at Disneyland? Pushing her stroller. This girl loves to be in control. I have no idea where she gets that. Can you spot her in the picture?

Lately I feel like I’ve been placed in a tea cup for the very first time and I have no idea what is about to happen. And I’m profoundly aware of my lack of control of what’s going to happen. My loving father placed me there and is in fact sitting right beside me. I’d like to say because of that fact, though I’m nervous, I’m sitting with a sense of peaceful anticipation and trust. But quite honestly, a lot of the time I’m responding just like my two year old. And I would rather my father just pick me up and Get. Me. Off. This. Ride. I don’t know what’s to come, and I would much rather go find a stationary car to go sit in. Because I know what will happen there.

This Monday, filled with our next round of appointments, is looming large in our minds. There is so much about these coming months that is unknown, there is so much that hinges on what is revealed in that ultrasound room. I am quite honestly terrified about what we will or – perhaps even worse – will not find out. I’m craving some kind of plan, some kind of clarity about the road we’re about to travel, but clarity is in no way guaranteed. I’m hopeful for continued miraculous growth, and fearful of crushed hopes.

After a tearful flood of emotions and thoughts the other night, and a holy pause of acknowledgement, Jeff looked at me and plainly said, “We’re going to be ok. Bella is going to be ok.” I stubbornly (hello two year old Katherine) responded, “We don’t know Bella is going to be ok.”

“Yes, we do. We know she’s going to be ok, regardless of the outcome.”

Truth. That is the battle I am fighting moment by moment in these long days of waiting. Fighting to let truth reign over my emotions and fears and thoughts. Reminding myself again and again and again that no, I am not in control. But there is one much greater, one much more loving who is in control. Who knows the news that awaits us on Monday – and all the implications of that news. And I know there are far better things to do in Disneyland than sit in stationary cars and push my own stroller around. There is no getting off this ride – and I wouldn’t be surprised if someday, in some way (perhaps not until the day we see clearly) I will be so very thankful my Father let me on.