Fear has a way of being loud.
When it showed up for me, my thoughts were racing in every direction. I’m a planner by nature, and this was something I couldn’t plan out. There were too many unknowns, too many variables, too many moments where I didn’t have the answers I wanted or needed.
Before surgery and during it, the fear of the unknown was what made everything feel so overwhelming. We didn’t know if the procedure would be minimally invasive or fully invasive. We were told it could take four to six hours, but we wouldn’t know which path they took until the surgeon came out at the end.
When the four-hour mark hit, I was on edge. From that point on, I was just waiting, watching the doors, hoping to see the surgeon walk into the waiting room and tell us our boy was okay.
Fear is scary. That sounds obvious, but you don’t really understand how scary fear is until you’re living inside it.
Psalm 56:3 says, "When I am afraid, I put my trust in you."
What Trust Looked Like (And What It Didn’t)
I don’t know how to explain what trust didn’t look like during this season, but I do know what it did look like.
Trust looked like calming my mind over and over again. It looked like reminding myself that my boy was in good hands, medically and spiritually. The chief surgeon was his primary surgeon, with the second-best surgeon assisting. He was surrounded by skilled professionals who knew exactly what they were doing.
Trust looked like keeping myself busy while surgery was happening—working on my computer, scrolling social media, doing anything to help those hours pass a little faster. The faster I could get through those four to six hours, the better I could cope.
Trust didn’t mean fear disappeared. I was still afraid. My mind still raced. I still had to repeatedly remind myself that my boy was in God’s hands whenever fear started to overwhelm me.
And yes—I believe fear and trust can exist at the same time.
If a mom told me, “I trust God, but I’m still terrified,” I would tell her that’s okay. That’s normal. And I would gently remind her—again and again if needed—that God has this, even when it doesn’t feel like it.
The Waiting Fear
The anticipation leading up to surgery was the hardest part.
For over a month, fear quietly built in the background, and the morning of surgery, it all came crashing down. It felt like everything I had been holding in exploded at once. I physically lost it when they wheeled my boy out of pre-op and headed to the OR. He was scared and cryin,g and I couldn’t contain my emotions any longer.
The fear I felt wasn’t irrational—it was protective. It was the fear of a mother watching her child walk into something she couldn’t shield him from.
Not knowing which way the procedure would go was the hardest part. That question lived in my chest the entire time. Waiting during surgery without knowing was excruciating, and it was the very first thing I asked when the surgeon finally sat down with us.
When he said the words “minimally invasive,” a wave of emotion and relief washed over me. It felt like a hundred-pound weight lifted off my shoulders.
I knew immediately that God had moved mountains…again.
He moved them years ago when my boy came into this world breathing on his own, defying every odd stacked against him before birth. And He moved them again by carrying him through surgery in the least invasive way possible.
I wanted to fast-forward through surgery just to know the answer to that one question. As a planner, I needed that information to calm my mind, to function, to survive the waiting.
I prayed constantly—quiet prayers, whispered in my heart. Matt prayed over him every night from the moment surgery was scheduled. We prayed for steady hands, wise decisions, calm hearts—for him and for us.
When There’s Nothing Left to Do
There is something uniquely humbling and terrifying about reaching the point where there is nothing left to do but trust.
Knowing you can no longer physically protect your child—that they are in someone else’s hands while you wait for hours without updates—is excruciating.
I knew when we scheduled the surgery that the outcome would be out of my hands. I thought I was prepared for that. But knowing it and living it are two very different things.
My prayers didn’t change much during surgery—only the urgency did. What began as “please protect him when the time comes” became “please protect my baby—the time is now.”
Deuteronomy 31:8 says, "The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."
I don’t know how to fully describe what surrender feels like emotionally. It wasn’t a sudden sense of peace or relief. The closest word I have is release—but even that doesn’t quite capture it.
After the Surgery: When Fear Shifts
Once we knew how the surgery was done, a huge portion of my fear lifted—but it didn’t disappear completely.
It shifted.
Recovery brought its own questions. Would there be complications? Would he be in pain? Would we be able to keep him comfortable and care for him well?
My trust had to shift too—from thank you, Lord, for carrying him through surgery to please help us through recovery. Please place caring nurses in his path. Please give us wisdom and strength as his parents.
And God provided abundantly.
We have had the most incredible nurses. The kind who go above and beyond. The kind who remind you that God often answers prayers through people.
Relief and doubt existed together, even before surgery. We were almost certain the procedure would be invasive, and I had prepared myself for a harder road. Hearing “minimally invasive” brought immense relief—but recovery was still real, still hard, just not as hard as it could have been.
Prepared Without Knowing Why
Looking back, I see how God prepared me for this season long before I knew I’d need it.
Writing From the Trenches taught me how to recognize God at work—not just in hindsight, but in the moment. It trained my eyes to see His faithfulness, even in uncertainty.
We’ve watched God walk our family through so much over the years. Knowing what He has done before gave me confidence that He wouldn’t leave us now.
This experience confirmed something deep in my heart: God is always present. Always powerful. Always able to move even the heaviest, most immovable mountains.
An Invitation for the Mom Who Is Afraid
If you’re walking through a season of fear right now, I want you to know this:
It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to hand everything over to God imperfectly. It’s okay if trust doesn’t feel peaceful yet.
Sometimes trust doesn’t feel like calm—it feels like choosing to believe, again and again, when fear is still loud.
1 Peter 5:7 says, "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you."
You don’t have to carry it alone, and you don’t have to have it all figured out.
God is steady, even when your heart isn’t, and He will meet you right where you are.
Reflection Questions
Closing Prayer
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