I've been thinking really hard about my spiritual leanings recently, what with Owen's baptism next week and his blessing at Stan's Christening in January. I haven't reached any conclusions yet, but I will say that my feelings towards God change on an hourly basis at the moment.
When Owen is clearly in pain and screaming so hard he makes me cry too, I shout at God. I ask Him why he's chosen MY family to go through this; why Owen, why me? It breaks my heart every single day to see my child live in such discomfort and to realise that he has known nothing else his entire, short, sweet life. Why would God put such an awful disease on the planet, and why would He decide that Owen is one of the ones who should suffer? I have taken to venting my frustrations out on Him because I find it a lot easier and safer than talking to Mike or anyone else. After all, God doesn't really answer me back, and I know He'll forgive me if I say something I shouldn't.
But it's so hard to understand it sometimes. It's just so damn hard to watch my little boy suffer so much and to not be able to control it. I find myself looking at the children of friends and longing for their lives instead of our own. That isn't right. How can it be right to covert their lives; their children? And it isn't even as though I want THEIR child - I just want MY child to have THEIR child's easy life. I find it very, very hard to listen to people when they say, "Well yes, Little Susie spat up too", or, "Little Jimmy did XYZ today!" So bleedin' what?! My child is delayed developmentally because he has GERD and there's not a lick of a thing I can do about it.
Those jealous feelings lead me to believe that perhaps God isn't in control of my situation. Perhaps He skipped this house. Perhaps He meant to fix Owen's health issues but He got caught up in Darfur or Iraq, helping those mothers with their frail little ones instead. I couldn't blame Him - they probably need Him more.
Which leads me to my other feelings about God.
I heard a lovely phrase the other day: "Special babies are given to special mothers". I don't know whether this is true, but it's certainly nice to think it is. Perhaps God does have a hand here. Perhaps Owen was given to me because I am the one Mama in the whole wide world who is suited to exactly meet each and every one of his needs. Maybe God thought that Owen is a strong enough baby to live like this and we are a strong enough family to cope with watching him struggle. Maybe these problems had to be given to somebody and it was just a matter of choosing the strongest recipients.
I don't know. In times of despair, I find all that very hard to believe.