“Oh taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man
who takes refuge in Him.” Psalm 34:8
August 18, 2014
I haven’t sat down to write in a while. The days are running together and flying by on the calendar. And surprisingly, most of our days are filled with peace. With joy.
It amazes me that I make it through each day feeling generally peaceful. That we can accept a smiling “congratulations” from a check-out clerk at the store, while she beams at my belly, and I can genuinely be happy and say “thank you,” and mean it. Because of that I know that we are utterly covered in prayer.
I have my moments of bittersweet when Carson kisses my belly and talks to baby Rebecca, or Liv peeks into the folded up pack and play and asks “baby Becca in dere?”
But I enjoy every movement and kick. I smile when a smartly-aimed little foot or elbow is able to slightly ‘bump’ a book or coffee mug that is nestled up to my belly.
I am genuinely happy to be carrying this bright girl. My heart aches to think of not getting to bring her home. To wonder if we will get to meet her while she still has breath. To know that my milk will come and she may never partake of it. But I am still happy to have her as long as she is loaned to us. Be that years or moments, it will be miraculous.
When we first heard the news I was devastated. The kids weren’t with us and I couldn’t even contain my crying, so I couldn’t see how I could possibly carry on a normal routine and meet the needs of my children day in and day out. The first day is still a blur that God surely carried me through.
How does anyone go through this without the CREATOR carrying them through?
But it didn’t take long for me to realize, after crying out to God and spending a lot of time in Psalms – that I can choose joy. I can wallow in pity and wonder why this is happening to us and think about how unfair it is that – without a miracle – we will leave the hospital without our baby.
Or I can look around me and realize how much God has blessed me.
I have beautiful, smart, healthy, funny kids. They bring so much life and joy to our world. And I have many friends who have lost babies and children. Women all over the world go through this every single day.
I have a safe haven to call home, while many live on the street, or live in terror and threat to their lives because of their faith or their race or their caste.
I have a loving husband, grounded solidly in God’s Word. And he loves us. And he never complains.
I looked around. and the more I began to thank God, and proclaim – to myself – His utter goodness, the more I wondered how I could possibly complain about this momentary suffering.
Sure, I can complain. Or I can choose to see how good God is.
I can choose joy.
So in a moment of clarity and thankfulness early one quiet morning, I grabbed my notecards and my pretty sharpie and jotted out at least half a dozen little signs with a simple message:
Because I knew I’d need reminding. I would fall back into self-pity again and I would need to see that message to my soul again. From the truck dash. From the kitchen counter. The coffee table. The bathroom sink. The night stand…
I would need to be reminded again and again to decide to really see His goodness all around me.
And in that, be anchored in the storm.