I’ll carry you.
The hubby and me and our girls, our aunt, my SIL and three nieces spent the last two days going. Zoo, American Girl store, hotel pool, water park…a fun, packed two days. Walking to our cars, my hubby told our youngest niece, Ella Kathryn, “I’ll carry you.” And he did. On his shoulders, he carried that sweet, tired baby girl when she didn’t have the energy to walk anymore.
He carried her without her asking…without anyone asking. It meant a lot to my SIL, since my brother isn’t here with us yet, to have her BIL step in and help with things daddy’s are just better at. Hubby had also taken our oldest niece on some rides earlier today, another thing daddy’s do best.
This, in itself, is miraculous. A year ago, it wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have offered and we probably wouldn’t have let him if he had. When you worry every minute whether your husband has started drinking yet, you don’t put young children under his watch. Because sometimes you can’t tell the drinking has started until its too late.
But this year, he takes them. On his own. And none of us worry about them being with him. And he carries them when they are tired.
And I think. After a wonderful, fun-filled, but really tiring two days. How many times did I stop to ask my Heavenly Father to carry me? I know there were moments when I was tired and maybe reacted the wrong way or said the wrong words. But did I stop to ask for help? Or did I just take for granted that He was there, ready to carry me, without me asking?
And what about last year? In the middle of our mess, did I ask God to carry me through it? Or was I like my precious, tiny niece, just saying I was tired and waiting expectantly for someone to take care of me?
I know the answer. I expected. Thought I deserved. Constantly questioning why I was still going through all of this on my own. Begging to get out of the mess my life was. Angry that I was alone. Angrier that God was making me go through so much—too much—without any help.
And so blind to the fact that I wasn’t. I had thought and behaved just like a little girl…waiting for God to carry me when I was tired. But without me asking. Instead, expecting. Feeling like I was owed. I’d been through enough, it had been long enough.
I wish I could say that I grew up one day and stopped feeling sorry for myself and started asking God to carry me through…But I didn’t. Hubby got sober, true recovery, and mostly dragged me along for the first several months. Kicking and screaming like a child throwing a fit. I still didn’t get it.
But I do now. I know now that the only way I made it through seventeen years of my husbands alcoholism was because, even when I wasn’t asking, God was carrying me. I know there is no way I made it to the other side walking alone. Or walking at all. I know He carried me. The entire way. Sometimes I was a voluntary passenger, but mostly I think I was so unaware He was even there, let alone aware of being carried.
But He carried me. Without me asking. Even with my selfish expectations, He carried me.
And now, I ask Him to carry me. Often. Daily, at least. Because even as good as things are for us now, life is still hard. We still have lots of trials and challenges. And I can’t do it on my own. I don’t want to. And I don’t want to live unaware. I need to remember every moment of every day, that even when I was so wrapped up in my wants, when I was acting like a little girl, when I was angry about being alone…He carried me.
I didn’t feel Him because I didn’t want to. But He was there. Holding me. Carrying me. Probably with my feet dragging on the ground, my will trying desperately to determine my course…And He never dropped me, no matter how hard I tried to wiggle free.
He just carried me.