I am sitting in the quiet of my living room as little ones sleep. This pregnancy has led me to eating lunch around 10:15 rather than noon. So as I unashamedly finish off a plate of spaghetti by mid morning, I sit here thinking about this new little one that has continued to grow inside me.
The gift of children has been quite the journey for us. For two and a
half years God has lifted my eyes to trust him as he tells me that his
'word is upright and all his work is done in faithfulness' Psalm 33:4, a
life giving verse for me in the midst of a trial that wanted to suck
the life out of me.
As we first kissed our firstborn and buried him into the ground in the
same week, the Lord stood guard over my heart from the hungry sins of
bitterness, anger, and hopelessness who were always tempting me in my
hours of sorrow. But The Lord stood in my sorrow, loudly declaring for
me that if he did not spare his own son for my sin how could he also not
provide me all things?
Since then, every pregnancy has been a step of faith onto a path to
which the final destination is not visible. We cannot strain our eyes
and squint hard enough to make sure we see a baby down the road that
will survive after birth. What we can see is the Lord's faithfulness to
us before, where there's no straining or squinting for our eyes to see.
God has shown Ernie and I the power of remembering what He has done.
So I lay here, feeling the kicks of a little girl squirming inside me
and I pray that she continues to kick and move and jump for 15 more
weeks. I want her to live. I want to watch her grow and watch our son
care for his younger sister. I do not want to place her in the ground.
But my hope is not in a living child. My hope is that God emptied his anger
and wrath on his son. He showed his son no mercy so that he could
freely give mercy to me. In light of this hope, I can walk in faith with
bearing or not bearing children, raising them or burying them.