Twins and More

Very Loved^R4

Janell M. Rardon

Have you ever had one of those days when you wish you could climb back into bed and pull the covers over your head? Hit rewind and start all over? (If only life had a remote control.) Recently, I did. Before I could open one eye, I felt a strange tug on my arm.

"Mommy," whispered my two-year old, "wake up!"

On the other arm, I felt a similar tug—a bit more energetic—but a tug for sure.

"Mooooommmy!" shouted my other two-year old. "Wake up!"

I must be dreaming, I thought.

"We want you to wake up! We are hungry!" the ranting continued.

Slowly, I awakened and realized I wasn't dreaming. There were actually two tenacious toddlers tugging on my pajamas. Twins. A boy and a girl.

Two years earlier, I begged the hospital staff to let me stay at the hospital, but insurance forced them to release me. A bit panicked, I minced, "What am I going to do with two babies? Look—two. I'm not ready for this. Twins and a four-year old? I have a four-year old waiting at home, remember?"

"Honey, you are going to be just fine. Women have been raising twins for centuries," they comforted me. "You are not the first woman to have twins."

After a huge pep rally and a bucket full of tears, I took a deep breath, gathered my two babies—one in each arm—loaded the minivan and prayed for courage.

"God," I prayed, "I'm a strong woman. I've handled a lot in my life, but this time, I think I'm in over my head. If you don't help me with these three children, I'm not going to make it. I remember hearing someone say that life doesn't give you more than you can handle. Okay, I guess I'm about to find out if that is true or not. Help me, God."

While driving home, I glanced at my husband. He glanced at me. Somehow, the silence spoke volumes. He placed his strong hand on my forearm and reassured me that everything was going to be okay.

"Easy for you to say," I mumbled. "You get to go off to work every day."

"Take life one day at a time," he half-smiled. "We can do this."

His words became my new reality. Living life one day at a time—one diaper at a time—seemed my only hope of survival. Days turned into months, and months turned into years, which resulted in hundreds of sleepless nights, mounds of dirty diapers, countless adventures and one exhausted mommy.

"Rob, I'm at the end of my rope. I can't take any more. Brooke and Grant have been running in different directions all day, and Candace won't quit asking me questions. If she asks me one more question  ... " I cried. "Is there any way you can come home early today? I need a break. A few minutes alone in the grocery store."

The minute he walked in the door, I walked out. Laden with guilt for shrinking under the pressures of motherhood, I drove away from our little home. Unable to cope, I began to cry. Weep, actually. Feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness and defeat overwhelmed me.

Suddenly, a car pulled out in front of me. Before I could honk my horn, my eyes zoomed in on the license plate. It seemed to glow.

"VRY LVED."

"Very loved," I whispered. "Isn't that interesting?"

As I said those two little words, "very loved," a hush came over my heart.

It was as if I heard a still, small voice say, "Yes, you are very loved. I am with you. You are not in this alone."

I drove on in silence.

A few minutes later, I noticed another license plate bearing the inscription "1 Petr 4 8" referring to the Bible passage in 1 Peter 4:8 (MSG).

Interesting. Could this be another message?

As I walked down the aisles of the grocery store, I calmed myself. There, amid boxes of cereal and bottles of juice, I remembered my prayer at the hospital, when I had asked God to help me.

Hurrying home, I unloaded the groceries, made dinner, tucked each child into bed with an extra-special dose of hugs and kisses, and went searching for my Bible—which was hiding beneath a mound of mail. Sinking into the couch, I took a very deep breath and began reading.

"Most of all, love each other as if your life depended on it. Love makes up for practically anything. Be quick to give a meal to the hungry, a bed to the homeless—cheerfully. Be generous with the different things God gave you, passing them around so all get in on it: if words, let it be God's words; if help, let it be God's hearty help. That way, God's bright presence will be evident in everything through Jesus, and he'll get all the credit as the One mighty in everything—encores to the end of time. Oh, yes!" (1 Peter 4:7–11, MSG).

The guilt and anxiety resting on my shoulders vanished. I felt ten pounds lighter. There, on two ordinary license plates and an ordinary street, God reminded me of his unconditional love. He reminded that I didn't have to do it all by myself. He would always be there to help me. For the first time in my life, although I felt completely out of control, I felt strangely at peace. I realized I didn't have to be perfect. I didn't have to do everything right. The only thing I had to do was love my husband and children like God loved me. Simple as that. When I finally tucked myself into bed, I nestled close to my husband, and for the first time in a long time, I slept like a baby.

(1003 words)