This is a story I wrote when Summie was 2 but still applies today!
Mine, mine, mine has become the chant of my 2 year old little boy. It is not a new phrase to me as he is the 3rd of 4 children, but it comes as a shock when they learn to spew that word so quickly. He’ll run through the house holding a truck or car or, let’s be honest, a princess crown, yelling, “mine, mine, mine” with maniacal glee. He’s extra proud when he takes something away from his older sisters and causes them to cry. I roll my eyes every time and wonder if I will make it through these terrible twos again (remember, I have 1 more terrible 2 to go).
God often takes these times to remind me that “mine, mine, mine” is not only a chant of a 2 year old but it is a chant that I also yell gleefully. I find myself running through the halls of life holding my husband, my children, my home, or my life in my arms with the same maniacal glee as my son. I think that God must roll His eyes and wonder if He is going to make it through the terrible twos again (and he has millions more children to go). Just like I remind my son that he must share and that he is not in control of the princess crown, God reminds me that I am not in control of my possessions or even my life for that matter.
Recently, He showed that to me very clearly. I became pregnant with our 4th child. Immediately, I began to have problems. I was told on more than 5 occasions that I was miscarrying only to go back in and see the baby on the ultrasound. At 11 weeks, I was diagnosed with a condition called placenta accreta, which basically is the placenta attaching abnormally to the uterus and it can bore through and attach to other body parts. They told me that my C-section would be dangerous and that there would be much blood loss. People we know told us to abort the baby because we had 3 other kids to consider. There were never any doubts for us. Every life is precious and the value of my life is not worth more than the life of my unborn baby. We continued the pregnancy. At 23 weeks of pregnancy, my waters broke. I rushed myself to the hospital hoping for the best but expecting the worst. It was the worst! My son was going to be born prematurely and there was nothing I could do about it. I was admitted for what we expected to be maybe a 2 week stay, give or take. Because the statistics say that once the waters break, more than ninety-nine percent of women will deliver within 2 weeks. We were just hoping to get our baby to 25 weeks and he would have a fighting chance. Two weeks turned into 81 days! In the meantime, my husband became mother, father, friend, and breadwinner. He was everything to our children. We had friends set up in shifts to come in and clean and cook and keep the kids so that he could work. My mother-in-law all but moved in to our guest room. My mom took the kids for lots of weekends despite her and my dad’s poor health. I lay in the hospital bed learning that my kids and my husband and my home and my life were not “mine, mine, mine” but they were God’s. When I could not take care of them, He did through our friends and family. Because they belong to Him and He has just loaned them to me. God loves all of them more than I ever could. He used my 81 day hospital stay to show me that I belong to Him, as well. We are His possessions and He races through Heaven holding us close to His bosom singing gleefully, “mine, mine, mine.”