On getting vaccinated

When you hear a truly beautiful song, or see beauty on this earth, it is at once pointing you to how life was meant to be lived and at the same time filling you with a sense of loss.  Deeply rooted in what it means to be human is a sense of loss - loss of the perfection we were meant to have, loss of the connection to God, ultimately.  And all beauty reminds us at once of the life we were meant to live and also the reality that it does not exist fully in this life.

Emily had her two month appointment on Wednesday.  Before she was born I had no question in my mind about vaccines...I never really thought twice about it.  But as her appointment drew near, I started feeling anxious about them.  Little doubts creeping in.  How could I let someone stab her with a needle?  How could  I willingly allow them to inject her with something that would make her feel uncomfortable?  And how could I let them do something that will permanently, PERMANENTLY (!!!) alter her life.  I knew that the risk of her having any complication was minuscule in the face of ever getting, oh, Polio for instance.  But still.  I was making a choice for her that she had no power over and would never be able to un-do.

I still took her to the appointment and held her still while the nurse gave her shots.  She screamed bloody murder for about a minute before promptly falling asleep as we walked out and drove promptly to Starbucks for a little PTSD therapy via a caramel macchiato.  I stared blankly (catatonically?) wondering why in the world something so routine and normal was feeling so overwhelming.

It's the beginning of knowing that despite my very best intentions, I can't protect her from pain.  I can't ensure that she will never feel regret.  At it's core, regret carries a sense of loss and it will be an unavoidable, poignant part of her life.

The world she is born in to is not what it was intended to be.  And she will both experience hurt from that and contribute to it.  I can't protect her from it.  She will experience it and process it and grow more aware of the depth of it.  My biggest prayer is not that she never experiences that, but that as she does she knows that the hope Chirst brings is deeper still.  That she knows how deeply and completely loved she is, in spite of her imperfections.  That she knows that even when pain and loss seem overwhelming, there is joy and hope.  That ultimately Christ conquered even the messiest parts of her life and that, in the end, all that's been lost will be found.