Considering Lily

“Consider the Lilies of the field, how they grow. They toil not, neither do they spin.”

Matthew 6:28

Postpartum OCD is an issue that is rarely discussed in open dialogue, at least to my knowledge.  It is often seen as something shameful, and new mothers fail to reach out for help.  One author says, “I never knew the wheels could fall off of my brain.”  This is how I feel frequently throughout the day.  That my brain is careening out of control, down a never-ending highway of terror and loss.  In any given moment, as I look at my daughter, I see a handful of scenarios that strike terror in my heart.  I feel like I have a glimpse into another dimension, the dimension of “what ifs” that I cannot filter out.  I think that it is somewhat normal to get an occasional glimpse into this dimension, but living there is complete torture.  The fear of what could happen to Lily colors every interaction.  It influences our lives in so many ways.  All new parents have fears.  This is absolutely normal.  Postpartum anxiety and OCD cause fear and stress that can paralyze and cripple.  This type of fear is what I have been wrestling with over the past seven months.  In this midst of all of this mental and emotional torture, I find some solace in the pursuit of gratitude and trust.  May it be known that a chemical and hormonal imbalance cannot always be cured by spiritual platitudes and scripture quotations, but for me, it offers just enough peace for me to hold it together, at least for the next few moments. 

Consider the Lilies...

I can’t protect my daughter.  Something, anything, might happen.  She might be ripped from my arms at any point along the way.  I am not in control.  I can do everything right and something go wrong.  I could do everything wrong, and she could end up all right.  So what gives?  How do I live? 

Consider the lilies…Why did we name her Lily?

They do not toil nor do they spin….She’s not mine.

How they grow…She’s His Lily.

Anxiety has been my anthem for years.  This is the same song, different verse.  My anxiety just picks new people and things to hone in on.  Lily is its prime target.  

But how ironic that God would give her a name so reflective of the garment of trust that He desires to wrap around us.  Maybe God chose her name knowing how much I would struggle with the fear, knowing that I need constant reminding of my daughter's Provider and Keeper. 

Do you not know your Father? 

The one who named your child?

Do you not know that He loves you and He loves her? 

Do you not know that he knows the number of hairs on her head?

Do you not know that her very life is a miracle, one that was birthed out of a broken and dry body?  The medical marvel of fertility after a lifetime of damage?  Can you not see that she is His, not yours?

He whispers to me, “Let go.”

It’s not on my shoulders.  I don’t have to carry it.

Care for her with gratitude, with thanksgiving.  She’s a gift.  Enjoy her.

In Him, she was created, is sustained, and has her being.  Not in you. 

Megan, you are not God. 

In life and in death, we all are His, not our own.  In disaster and crisis, we are His.  When the unthinkable happens, we are His.

The fear and anxiety negate joy.  How can I revel in this blessing when I am riddled with the gut-churning terror of loss?  How can I step out of the terror when it seems to swallow me whole?  In thanksgiving, I recognize that I am not in control. In gratitude, I lay down my sense of my own self-worship.  And then a tint of joy colors my life.

So I still feel anxious.  I have irrational brushes of sheer terror.  I have visions of death. I long for the day that my OCD doesn’t write death all over the screen of my life. But I have thanksgiving and gratitude.  I have joy in knowing that I’m not the one in charge.  So far, I am not cured.  But when my brain is threatening to careen out of control at unimaginable speeds, my heart whispers the truth of why my daughter is named "Lily."