Living In The Moment

I am a daydreamer--always have been, and I imagine that I always will be.  Before the iPhone opened up inconceivable opportunities for mental stimulation and entertainment, I could easily pass the time sitting in line at a busy DMV or ER waiting room by simply picking an aspect of my imagined future and letting my creative thinking run wild; I’d brainstorm ideas for our 50th wedding anniversary soiree, mentally decorate the beautiful house on a tree-lined street that we would one day call home and pick names for my future children.  Give me five free minutes with just my brain and I’ll paint a glorious picture of my years to come with the brush of my own creative thoughts.  I would say that most people are probably this way to some extent--there is something so magical about looking forward and writing the story of your future.

Moms are particularly well-known for dreaming of our children's future; we imagine them proudly marching down the aisle at their medical school graduation, picking out our mother-of-the-bride/groom dress and plan the photo shoot for their first prom—and all this in the first trimester!  So, naturally, the moment that little pregnancy test showed two lines for the very first time, my future-goggles kicked into overdrive...future Halloween costumes, deep conversations about life, piano recitals and first job interviews all had their place on my mental stage.  As the nursery came together I would sit on the floor in the very middle, close my eyes and imagine holding my baby and in a single breath see her future life flash before my eyes…those were beautiful, cherished and tender moments in my memory.

However, something changed in me after that phone call with the news of Rachel’s diagnosis.  Try as I might, I just could not seem to daydream about this child.  Don’t get me wrong, I would try—but my own worries, doubts, fears and unknowns would inevitably bring any whimsical, dreamy attempts to a wrenching halt.  I would begin to envision the look on Rachel’s face the first time she got asked out on a date; the elation, the extravagant joy…wait.  What if no boys ever ask her out on any dates?  What if she never experiences those feelings?  What if her heart isn’t healthy and she doesn’t even make it to her teen years?

Crash.

I’d wrap my arms around myself, duck my head down and let the sobs loose—another daydream dashed by uncertainty.  I prayed that this would change once she was actually born so I put daydreaming about her future on hiatus until I could hold her in my arms.  And yet still, even with ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket and nuzzled in my arms, the dreams wouldn’t come.  For every dreamy “what if” that my heart would query, my brain would counter with a sobering “what if”.  Each attempt would leave me weeping with fear for what was lying ahead.  Periodically throughout Rachel’s life I have tried again to think about her adult years, or high school years, or middle school or even elementary years and I’ve come to the conclusion that I just can’t emotionally handle the unknown before me.  To be honest, even now as I type, I can not envision Rachel past right now.  I can't see her tomorrow or 10 years from now, I can only see her as the girl that she was when I dropped her off at daycare 2 hours ago.

Until recently my inability to daydream about Rachel's future has really bothered me.  How is it that I can pick out imaginary tile patterns to go in an imaginary bathroom in an imaginary house that I own in my imagination, but I can’t visualize Rachel learning how to drive a car?  Moreover, I can imagine Kaia's high school graduation and hosting sleepovers in junior high...why can't I do that with Rachel?  I have felt robbed of this particular joy and deeply annoyed by my limited ability to push past the potential “what ifs” that living her life with Down Syndrome may pose.  I’ve pouted, cried and whined about this to God more times than I could possibly number.  Completely unfair.

In a quiet moment while watching Rachel sleep just last week, God revealed to me His beautiful purpose for closing the curtains on my imagination.  Speaking to my soul in the sweet, soothing voice that He saves for tender moments like this, He said:

“I want you to enjoy Rachel right now, in this moment.  

You spend so much time living in the future that you often miss the beauty 

of the present.  I gave you Rachel so that you could experience what it is like to stop dreaming of tomorrow and start relishing today. Don’t worry about whether or not she will experience the real and lasting love of romance in the future, soak in the passionate love the two of you share

 for each other right now.  Rather than wondering if she will be able to hold down a

 job one day choose to notice each and every one of her brilliant daily 

accomplishments.  I promise that I will take care of her future, 

if you will hold her hand in the present.”

It’s not every day that I am so keenly aware of how deeply intertwined God’s presence is with my daily life.  But those times when He rushes through my soul like wind through a forest I am refreshed; I stand in awe at the purposefulness of His love for me.  He did not choose me out of a billion women to be Rachel’s mother because she needed me, He chose me to be Rachel’s mother because He knew that I needed her.

Thank you, Father, for knowing me better than I know myself.