Today we have the privilege to read the post of a blogger called Megan Tietz who writes a blog called Sorta Crunchy. In this post she is 25 weeks pregnant with twins.
Please continue to read the rest of her post at her blog.
Are You Careful What You Pray for?
by Megan Tietz
Lately, I’ve been thinking about something that happened when I was a kid.
When I was in fourth grade, we lived in a house that had a little creek that ran behind it. My parents knew it was in a flood plain, but we were just renting and I guess they decided it was worth the gamble. After a long day of relentless rain, that creek started to rise and rise.
I remember praying that day, praying that it would flood.
And flood it did. We had to move all of our water-logged belongings into a much smaller, cramped rent house, and as you can imagine, there were months of headaches and stress in dealing with insurance and losses.
I don’t know why I prayed that it would flood. Maybe so we would be out of school for a few days? Because it sounded romantic and exciting? Because I was a little kid and I just had no idea?
Years later, I sheepishly told my parents that I knew the reason we went through that flood; confessed to them that it was all my fault. My parents were incredulous that for years, I had carried the guilt of believing that my child-like faith and prayer had caused an entire neighborhood to flood. It was a strangely formative moment in my spiritual history though. Of course, as an adult I view the whole scenario differently, but even still, there is this tiny voice within that whispers:
“be careful what you pray for – it just might come true.” (tweet this)
It is from this frame of reference that I find myself most days this close to whispering “God, please let me be put on bedrest.”
Which is the craziest thing, I know. And I know that those of you who have actually been on serious bedrest would like to smack me right in the face for that. I know that bedrest is no joke – that it disrupts family life and marriage and community and that it’s frustrating and boring and no fun. I know it would be no stretch for you to see me as an impulsive child who has no idea what she is praying for. I know, I know, I know.
Every week, I feel the physical toll more and more. Though I wake up in the morning feeling fantastic and ready to take on the world, by the end of the day, I am completely toast. Achy joints and searing back pain have me reduced to shuffling around the house, and then I crawl into bed where I cannot get comfortable for the life of me and it takes monumental effort just to roll from one side to the other.
And so, yes. Part of me wants a doctor to get firm with me and say, “You really should be in bed most of the time, you know.” Because without a firm order to do so, I just cannot do it.
I feel like if I can still walk the girls to and from school, I should.
If I can still do basic housekeeping, I should.
If I can still haul laundry up and down the stairs, I should. Because surely if I shouldn’t be doing those things, it would be my body and not a doctor that would tell me. Right?
Continue to read the rest of Megan’s post at Sorta Crunchy.
