Eric announced his arrival with fists pumped high in the air. He could barely choke out the words 'It's a Boy!'
And on February 12, 1998, Joshua Eric Grogan arrived on the scene.
He was wide-eyed and full-lipped, skin as red as an Indian and a set of eyebrows already defined and distinct. And such an alert baby he was--more so than our other four. It's funny how much about him is still one and the same. Wide-eyed curiosity and attentiveness still defines him, not to mention his ability to acquire one mean, savage tan in the summer. And the eyebrows? Need I say more?
I will never forget the day that we took him home from the hospital. He looked like a little man, wiser than his five days. Worrisome and anxious first-timers, we snapped him into the car seat, beyond relieved when the nurse came behind and double-checked our work.
We pulled away from the hospital in our charcoal gray Altima, and headed towards the interstate. My mind was in a foreshadowing-fog as gray as my car and the afternoon sky. All the grayness merged together as we merged onto Interstate 40 and headed east to our home. Somewhere along the freeway near the airport as I gazed at Joshua in the backseat of our car, looking enormously small and exposed, a realization fell on me so strongly that it nearly took my breath away. The reality settled down on my shoulders as forcibly as a fifty pound weight, turning the grayness into a full- fledge black out:
We were bringing a baby home. A real live baby. A baby that we were 100% responsible for for the rest of his life.
My throat suddenly felt heavy and achy while my stomach twisted in on itself, gnawing away at its insides. Right at that defining moment the weight of the responsibility was so overwhelming and burdensome that I didn't know if I could carry it. In fact, I knew I couldn't.
Yet, in the still, lonely blackness I heard it ever so faintly...that whisper that delivered a healing balm to a torn up soul:
'You can't. You won't ever be able to. But I can.'
And in the months and years that followed, He certainly did and He certainly has. He has carried my mama worries, strife and angst far away. He has chased out the fears of what could happen and what might happen. He has replaced it all with His calming peace right when I've needed it.
Even in the times when I forgot to include Him. When I forgot that He was far more able at shouldering than I was. Still, He was right there, ready to take over--all it took was an acknowledging, humbling resignation on my part for the burden-transfer to occur.
While He might not work the circumstances out the way my mind saw fit, He extended His loving, reassuring hand onto which to hold. Always.
Yesterday I felt some of that dread and fear creep back into my soul as we went to get Joshua's learner's permit, as we got back into the car and he asked to drive for the very first time. Buckling his seatbelt and putting the car into drive, he looked small and exposed, much like that day many years ago on the way home from the hospital. Emotions came rushing back and pouring over me so intensely, the weight and burden of responsibility so heavy, that I felt as if it might crush me.
But before the gnawing darkness could overtake my stomach and mind, I remembered. I remembered God's words, His light-illuminating words. They shone forth clearly and most distinctly:
'You can't. But I can.'
Today I am choosing to remember--to remember that He is the burden-bearer. He shoulders our loaded anxieties. He carries our fears of the unknown and the fears of the what-if's and He puts them to rest.
Once and for all.
Today, I urge you to lean in close for a shoulder-transfer. Allow Him to whisper His sweet-nothings and Word-filled promises. I assure you, it's more than enough.
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