Lessons in Pregnancy: It’s Not Me, It’s You

I am not my hair. My hair is a beautifully tressed explosion of organic, moldable curls that all at once breathe fragrance, defy humidity and gravity, and exhibit softness and strength. My hair is, in a word, perfection.

I am not my hair. My hair is a beautifully tressed explosion of organic, moldable curls that all at once breathe fragrance, defy humidity and gravity, and exhibit softness and strength. My hair is, in a word, perfection.

I could say that my hair is so striking because of my consistent care, the quality of products I use, or my diet. While I am sure those factors don’t hurt, my hair is the way it is simply because it delighted God to make it so. I was born with a head of hair that caused Absolom-like attention, because (I’d like to think, anyway) God thought, “this would look cool on my daughter Sharifa.”

I am certainly not my hair; the magnificent, effortless mane. Instead, I try to manipulate, cut off, or twist my circumstances in order to create my own outcome.

I thought to myself, “I will get pregnant when I am ready.” Not a bad thought, necessarily; but sometimes when you are ready, the baby still doesn’t come. Not with all the ovulation charts, diagrams, systems or fertilization treatments.

I slather myself with creams to prevent stretch marks. (But…everyone knows that those bad boys can come whether you slather or not.)

I do good things so God will treat me nicely (which is a completely different motive than worship or obedience, because it’s karma-based).

Pregnancy has been such a potent reminder that it’s just not about me. It’s about God; His timing, His power, His creativity.

As I write this post, I am on bed-rest. I don’t know for how long; I don’t even know why circumstances aligned in my otherwise healthy pregnancy to bring me here today. My weekend plans morphed from laundry, house-cleaning, and prepping the house for visitors, to rushing to the hospital, remaining overnight, and getting poked, prodded and monitored. And in the end, there are still no conclusions as to why my body is prepping to give birth almost 3 months early.

I have never experienced such an intimate and gap-free connection with my emotions and body before, and find myself completely helpless to keep nagging thoughts (“When will I return to work? How will we pay for all this? Will my baby be okay?”) from becoming shortness of breath, contractions, or heart palpitations. I used to pride myself on having a good mask; a great poker-face. Well, the Lord has removed that mask in the face of vulnerability. He wants me to see Him in the midst of this, instead of playing pretend in the darkness.

He wants me to get it; that it’s not about me – it’s about Him. Here’s where I look for that reminder:

Psalm 139:13-16
Certainly you made my mind and heart;
you wove me together in my mother’s womb.
I will give you thanks because your deeds are awesome and amazing.
You knew me thoroughly;
my bones were not hidden from you,
when I was made in secret
and sewed together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw me when I was inside the womb.
All the days ordained for me
were recorded in your scroll
before one of them came into existence.

Oh. So…it’s not me; it’s You who will provide for our family when I stop working (since You provide for us even when I am working). You shape my identity,  rather than my soon-to-end role in the (paid) workforce, or my role as a wife or a new mother, a singer or writer or…or even that chick with the God-given hair.

It’s You who cradles this unborn child in Your hands, knitting him together, shaping his nose as well as his days, even if I sit in a corner and fret (and what’s the use of that?).

It’s You.

(Thank You.)