I’ve mentioned it off and on through the years about my struggle with anxiety. Most of the time these days, I’m in a really good place. But there are also days that knock me off my feet: my thoughts go haywire and it’s sometimes hard to leave the house.
As a perfectionist, I also tend to frequently doubt my ability to do anything well: my roles as wife and mother, the size of my family, my business. The voice in my head claims that if I were JUST a bit smarter, a bit thinner, a bit more patient…only then could I fulfill that role in the way I imagine.
While anxiety usually stays on the back burner and I’m able to live a full life despite its presence in the back seat, hormones really mess everything up. (hah, understatement!) This spring, as I weaned TJ and (unknowingly) become pregnant for the sixth time, I was gripped with a new round of restlessness. It was hard.
During this time, the kids and I stumbled upon a book about Saint Patrick. As I read about his incredible bravery and trust that God would look out for him, I had a lump in my throat. I desired that trust, that letting go of fear of the unknown, in such a deep way.
So I started praying part of Saint Patrick’s Breastplate Prayer whenever I felt that dread rising in my gut. In case you’ve never heard it, this is the prayer:
I can’t tell you how helpful this prayer has been in my life. When I panicked at the idea of a sixth baby when I didn’t feel like it was in “my plan”, I prayed this prayer. When I woke up in a sweat from terrifying dreams, I prayed this prayer. When the news filled with horror and death and destruction and hate, I prayed this prayer. When I felt inadequate and all alone, I prayed this prayer.
Fast forward to mid-May. I had done a first trimester screening for chromosomal abnormalities and had the option to know the sex of the baby at eight weeks. And in a very anti-climactic telephone call from the office, we received the news that the testing came back normal AND he was a boy.
Our sixth child. Our fifth son.
Mark and I spent that evening hashing out baby names. Nothing seemed right until Mark threw out, “What do you think about Patrick?” With goosebumps immediately prickling my skin, I knew that was it. Of course it was.
This baby will always be known as the one who helped his mama step (albeit a bit unwillingly) into the unknown. He will be the one who helped his mama face fear head-on. He will be the one who taught his mama how to really trust.
Our little Patrick. We can’t wait to meet you.
Saint Patrick, continue to pray for us.
