So I have more to say about gestational diabetes. For such a “minor” thing it’s really blown up my life, partly for reasons I will discuss here. I hope to do a post later this week about how I am managing it with diet and exercise.

On Saturday I went on my now mandatory post-breakfast walk. It was in the 40s and I bundled Nathan up as warmly as I could manage and headed out. It was too late to make it to the mall, plus it’s very tiresome to have to drive there with all the car seat rigamarole and stroller hassle, not to mention I have to look decent and then deal with a preschooler wanting to play on the playground and needing to pee, and if I run late I have to test my glucose in the bathroom. Have I convinced you yet of why walking in the cold was preferable?

Anyways, we were out in the cold walking on the street. And I was in a terrible mood. I was having imaginary conversations with my nutritionist and midwives in which I very cuttingly explained how ridiculous it is to handle gestational diabetes this way. I will spare you all the details for now – maybe I’ll post a more rational version of my thoughts at a later date.

In the midst of these conversations and ramblings and thoughts my soul suddenly asked, “Why God? Why are you making me do this?”

Now, usually talking to God is normal for me. I do it all day every day about anything and everything. But, on this particular subject I’d been avoiding asking Him for his thoughts. In fact when my soul asked that it was involuntary and I sort of recoiled, because, well, I knew I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Or at least part of me didn’t. But my soul knew better.

“Why God? Why are you making me disrupt my whole routine, add in extra stress and work, force me into routines that are spirit withering for me, and all at a point in my life when I want to be focused on happiness and joy and the work of labor and motherhood before me? I do not understand.”

I kept walking, making it through the point in every walk when I feel like my legs cannot. go. any. further. [Side note: There are not enough endorphins in the world to make it pleasurable to walk outside in the cold with an almost eight months pregnant body pushing a 30 pound toddler in a heavy stroller.] As I walked, I slowly allowed my soul to walk tentatively down the path of questioning God about this whole thing.

Later at home in the shower [Side note: hot showers on the other hand make an eight month pregnant body feel momentarily like a million bucks] my soul continued its journey.

“You made me and know me and I don’t have to explain to you about how exceptionally difficult this is for me. Why would you have me do this?”

Suddenly an answer. Clear as a bell.

“Do it for me.”

Ah.

Clarity.

That was his answer. And as I pondered it, everything fell into place.

This is my act of worship in this season of life. I don’t have to do it for the nutritionist or the midwives, for Elijah or Jason. I don’t have to do it for myself. I’d tried all that and it left me an angry, rationalizing, confused mess. But could I do it for him? I knew instantly the answer was yes.

Because I love Him best of anything and everything. I would do anything he asked. I’ve done a lot of hard things at his bidding and I would do this. My sacrificial obedience. And how appropriate that it’s wrapped up in food, and the very noticeable absence of bread and wine in my life right now – “do this in remembrance of me.”

There was no promise that I’d eventually understand his reasoning, and that’s OK.

I can eat eggs and unsweetened oatmeal for breakfast every flipping day until labor day, I can take my mandatory walks, I can read labels and google carb facts, and I can give up sugar. I can do it for him.

And you know what? Standing there in the shower my mood turned on a dime. I have found such joy in the realization that God is asking me to do this for him.

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