Wednesday, February 2


On one Friday night a month I work with the youth at The Landing. The Landing is Celebrate Recovery's new program for middle and high schoolers. It is basically the regular CR program translated to teen speak. I get something out of it every week, and the last time was no exception.

One of the questions was about what it would feel like to have to rely on someone else to save my life. Most of the kids' (and adults') answers related to fear and anxiety. My answer was different.

I remembered back to the birth of my first child. We knew she was in danger, so the nurses and doctors from Newborn Intensive Care Unit were in the delivery room ready to take her. As soon as she was born she was intubated and suctioned to make sure she hadn't and didn't inhale the meconium she had passed before birth. It was only after they finished working on her, that she took her first breath.

An hour or two later, I noticed that my nurse (who happened to be my best friend) seemed to be concerned with how much I was bleeding. No amount of massaging my uterus would make the bleeding stop. My obstetrician had to intervene.

I had no control and wasn't able to help in any way, so I had to rely on others to save our lives. Sounds pretty terrifying, right? It wasn't. I had a strange peace about all of it. I truly trusted that our caregivers had the willingness, skills, and tools to give us what we needed. In the end, we both survived, with no ill effects.

Sitting there with the youth Friday night, I had a breakthrough. I finally understand what powerlessness is. Now, I need to let go of my illusion of control. I am powerless. Just as a drowning victim has to stop flailing in order for a life guard to save them, I have to stop flailing and trust that God has the willingness, skills, and tools to save me.

Powerlessness is a good thing.