Dear Control: You Have Never Really Belonged To Me

It is possible that the experiences of the past several years of my life have been occurring primarily to lead me to one conclusion – to point me to one truth.

I’m not in control. (I don’t think I ever really thought I was.  But I have been infatuated with pretending as if I was.)

It’s like this is the conversation that has been happening

above, around, near me for a few years . . .

You like the way your parents make you feel secure?  You have a growing reliance on your mom and her role in your life?  Got that all figured out – how that should look and how that should feel and how that should be?

Not so fast, daughter.  You belong to me.  And so does your mom.  And I have this other plan.  And it does not involve your mother living a long, healthy life where she can be near you and babysit your kids on occasion and laugh at jokes with you.  You won’t understand this.  You don’t have to.  But it’s what I am doing.  So there you go.

You think you have perfectly picked your home place?  Think you are settled comfortably and can grow old there?  Hope to raise your kids on that farm, in those fields, in that town?

Think again.  You’re  moving to South Carolina.  Those Virginia fields and that Queen Anne’s lace were beautiful.  I made them so.  Glad you enjoyed them for so many years.  Your driveway was pretty and your space was peaceful, set apart and you were content.  I hope it was restful and I think it prepared you for what was next.

Airtight marriage – right?  Two people, never more in love, don’t argue, made for each other?  Got that one figured out? In the bag?  Secure and all that?  Taking it for granted a bit?  Are you pretty sure Kevin was made to make you happy and that’s what you’re resting in?

Oops.  Oh.  No.  You don’t.  Bad times.  Bad times, sister.  Guess what, little married girl?  You’re not in control.  Your marriage is not yours alone.  It’s mine.  And I am in charge.  Your mate was not made to fulfill all your longings for happiness and security.  Do not rob me of that role.

Five kids?  That’s what you wanted, right?  It was just that one more little girl you wanted and now you are a perfectly complete family?  Just the size you wanted, with an extra seat in your suburban?

Hmmm.  I don’t think so.  Not my idea.  There’s this other little guy – and he belongs in your house.  So I am putting him there.  Because you are not in charge.  Not even of the things you think you are in charge of.  You’re not.  Don’t forget that. Alright already?

Oh – so you think that’s all the big things – right?  Parents?  Marriage?  Home?  Kids?  So, now that you get that you can’t control the biggies – you want to handle the little ones on your own too?

What is your deal?  You are an incredibly slow learner.

Always felt like emotional girls were just choosing to be that way.  Hormones are a joke – right?  Who has a problem handling their emotions?

So now you have a surgery and guess what – YOU have a problem.  You’re a wreck.  Loads of tears and you can’t really stop them – just apologize for them because you can’t control them.  Not even that little thing.

OK – I get it.  I’m not in control – right, God?