Two and a half years ago, I was grieving the loss of a baby. Only minimal weeks pregnant, but a baby nonetheless. One that I would continue to carry until it ultimately disintegrated in my fallopian tube.
I grappled with the idea of what was to come. Would my uterine condition keep me from carrying another baby? Did I feel comfortable with pursuing fertility treatments? I had felt so called to have at least two children. It was never the plan to make Auggie an only child. Did I mistake my desires as God’s plan? Had I gotten it wrong?
While driving to or from work, I remember hearing a new song on the Christian radio station. It was the first time it was playing. At the time, I didn’t know the title of it because I had missed the introduction of it, but as it played it began to catch my attention.
Have you been praying and you still have no answers?
Have you been pouring out your heart for so many years?
Have you been hoping that things would have changed by now?
Have you cried all the faith you have through so many tears?
Two years ago, I saw a positive pregnancy test. I had just came to terms with the idea that I may have no other children, and now I was staring at a stick in disbelief. I was terrified. Pregnancy scared me before, but now I knew that I have a condition which makes things even more high risk. I had felt like God closed a door. I was adjusting to that shut door, and then he ripped it open.
Blood draws. Prenatal vitamins, progesterone tablets, and baby Aspirin. Prenatal appointments and ultrasounds. More blood draws. Was my body really capable of carrying this pregnancy? Or worse yet, my mental state?
That same song from some months earlier had blown up by now. You couldn’t not hear it on the radio when driving 45 minutes to and from work, mixed in with 30 minute drives to the OBGYN’s office often biweekly.
Don’t forget the things that He has done before
And remember He can do it all once more
Ten months later, that song makes it on my playlist to be played in labor. I couldn’t tell you what song was playing when Eloise made her arrive, but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it wasn’t the same song that had encouraged me the year prior. Often reminding me that He has perfect timing.
It’s like the brightest sunrise
Waiting on the other side of the darkest night
Don’t ever lose hope, hold on and believe
Maybe you just haven’t seen it, just haven’t seen it yet
A few evenings ago, I’m holding the baby I didn’t think possible, while sitting next to the baby that lead me to salvation, in a place I never dreamed I’d be, during a global pandemic after facing fears that had restrained me for years and yet still facing similar questions as two and half years ago:
God, I thought I heard you. But, now that I'm here, I'm questioning why. This is hard, and a little expensive. I'm almost 4,000 miles away from friends and family and in a place that's not the least bit familiar. Am I doing the right thing? Are my kids scared? I'm scared. (Though just as scared to hop back on that plane or I might have already have done it.)
Do I know how to take care of my kids in a new environment? Ah, there's tile floors everywhere. The ocean is huge. Centipedes! Rat Lungworm Disease. So much sand. These people drive terribly. What am I doing here? And even more so, how do I want our life at home to change as a result? How do we shift from just surviving to truly living, both while here and when we get back home?
And then I hear it … Live, (Well, as live as Covid allows.) Danny Gokey performing at New Hope Oahu, our first time returning to in-person service since Covid.
He is moving with a love so deep
Hallelujah for the victory
Good things are coming even when we can’t see
We can’t see it yet, but we believe that
So, no. I don’t know why we’re here, or what we’re doing, or if we are in way over our heads. But, I do know that God knows. When I’m questioning all that’s around me, I’m reminded that change encourages the growth we set out to find by taking this extended stay in a new place. And all the while, when I’m uncomfortable and challenged and ready to throw in the towel, He is stable. In Him, I can rest.
Two and a half years ago, I could not have fathomed all that God has brought me through. I could have never seen it coming, and I’m so thankful it did.
Here’s to more uncertainty so He can do it all again!
Aloha for now!
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