A Never Ending Battle

When Brayden, my first son, was just hours old, he had several apnea episodes. It was pretty alarming to see your newborn change color in husband's arms and then watch the nurse swiftly take him and rub his back until he started to cry. Brayden, at just 6 hours old, was transported to another hospital with a NICU. I was discharged from the hospital 14 hours after delivery to go be by his side. He was there for 8 very long days. I thought it would be a relief to finally have him home but it was more assuring to have him on a monitor making sure he was still breathing right. I don't know how I survived on such little sleep back then. I pulled the bassinet right next to my bed and slept with my hand on his belly so I could always know he was breathing. Once he got older and was in his own room, I would startle at the slightest grunt or wonder about the long silence on the baby monitor. I was so fearful still that something was going to happen and he was going to stop breathing. About five or more times a night I would wake up suddenly, jump out of bed and run to go check on him. John, very aware that this fear was consuming me, would sometimes hold me down in bed and force me to not get up like I was wanting. It helped me stay in bed but didn't help me not be scared. 

When Brayden was 8 months old, John was away on a missions trip to Germany. I was up late making baby food in the blender (oh, the things I did for the first that I did not do with the second). I remember thinking, "Oh, I am surprised this noise isn't waking up the baby." Just after that a voice that was so clearly demonic said, "He is not waking because he is not alive." I ran down the hall, opened Brayden's door and listened for the sound of his breathing but heard nothing. I walked closer and tried to see his body move in the darkness but I saw nothing. I was so scared. I grabbed my son to make sure he was alive and I woke him out of his peaceful sleep. He started crying, I started crying. It was a breaking point. I remember praying so sincerely, "God, I need you to help me get rid of this fear. I can't live with it anymore." 

I remember something changing after that. I can't say that no longer feared again. But what changed though was my ability to recognize that this battle was not of God and that my faith, although small at the time, could fight against it. I realized from that night, that this fear (although it was my fear), was not just effecting me. It caused me to disturb my husband's sleep, my baby's sleep. My issue messed with my family's peace...and that was not ok. Fear is an annnoying bothersome thing, it doesn't just go away for good. Even now, well, especially now with being on the mission field where there are more dangers, I still battle it but now I know how.

P.S. Like right now (about 10 minutes after I posted this) John and Brayden were running an errand on the motorcycle and then it starts to thunderstorm!! I call John's cell phone, and it rings in the other room! ugh!