19 08 2008

A friend asked me today if I am thankful for bed rest. I responded that I am thankful to be able to do everything I can to take care of our baby. That I am thankful for the friends and family who make this possible. Some days I’m thankful for the opportunity to rest or the time to write.


While these things are true, this isn’t the whole story. The truth is deeper.


I am thankful for this season because I know that God is sovereign and good. I am thankful that he has ordained for me to bear my sons. I know that he created me to be their mama. I know that God is knitting our child together in my womb and He has a purpose for this tiny life. I am thankful because I love our son.

This love opens up my heart like nothing else. Sometimes I feel like I am drowning in a flood of emotions. This normally rational girl who can figure everything out feels a little lost.

It is scary to love like this because I know that this child is not mine. He belongs to his Creator. I am terrified because I know that ultimately, it’s not up to me.


I am thankful for this fear.


When I was 17, I spent the summer backpacking through the Andes mountains in Northern Argentina. When a knee injury stranded me 20 miles from the nearest village and 15,000 feet above sea level, I tasted this fear.

I waited for three days while most of my friends tried to summit the mountain above. During the day, I sat with my bible and my journal and watched the clouds rise and fall in the canyons below. At night, I watched the stars. In the thin air, I moved slowly. Time froze like the ice on the water, the frost on the tundra.  



What is man, that you are mindful of him.


I am nothing but dust and ashes.


For in him we live and move and have our being.


I put my hands on my belly and find curve of my baby’s back. I feel him kick and roll when my hands rest on his tiny body. He is already as curious as his brothers were. Like his mama, he is wide awake in the evening and he likes to sleep in. Like his grandfather, he has a gap between his toes: perfect for flip flops.

Sometimes the love and the fear break through the walls I’ve built around my heart and I feel like I’m sitting on that mountain in Argentina. The truth is that God could take this child. He does not belong to me. Like every mother, my deepest fear and longing is for my children.

As I stare in to the awful, awesome reality, I’m left with the truth. God is good and He is sovereign. He knows when my son will be born; he knows the number of his days. He ordained this time in my life: a season of rest. I need to be still and to let God work out a miracle within me.



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