Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
The sound of a tiny heart beat filled the room and it's rhythm flickered on the screen. My own heart pounded harder. I glanced over at Luke's face as he studied the black and white ambiguity on the screen in front of us.
Us. Parents. Soon. Week before, I'd cried that deep, painful hurt of tears onto Luke's chest as he stood, holding me, rubbing my arms and assuring me that I was going to be a great Mother.
About 2 years later, the same room, and another surprise.
"Well," the doctor starts, "I think I know why you've not been feeling very well."
I stare at the back of the ultrasound monitor, which the doctor has turned away from us just in case, as if me looking at the back of the screen hard enough will give me a glimpse of the other side.
The doctor flips the screen around so we can join him in his newest revelation, "Here's Baby A and here's Baby B. Let's see (scans around)....nope, just two."
Just two?
I taste vomit in the back of my throat and tears burn my eyes. Again, I look at my husband who is again standing by my side, grasping my hand. His face shows joy, exhilaration actually, and a stupid goofy grin that I'd have slapped off his face if at that moment he hadn't caught my eye and realized that I was about to lose it.
The doctor steps out for me to get dressed and I collapse onto his chest with great, heaving sobs. There's no way I can mother all these kids. Elizabeth is barely 15 months old. What is God thinking? (Oh how the Lord has a sense of humor!)
Just over two years later and once more I bury my face into my husband's chest as Aaron's birthparents cancel another visit and the pain of it is more than I can withstand. Why do they not care? He's a baby, how can they not want to see him?
6 months later, Luke and I cling to one another outside the courthouse, sobbing onto one another, taking in the tragedies of what we've just heard about our youngest child.
The road to our first 5 children were filled, seemingly, with me clinging to my husband and my God, often crying out with sob filled questions. I don't often understand the ways of God when they seem to contradict every fiber of my being. But when I look back at the road to us birthing and adopting our first 5 children, I can clearly see that I wasn't suppose to understand God during those trying seasons. Yet He continued to be faithful, even in my heartache
When I didn't think I was ready to become a mother, God knew I was.
When I didn't think I could be a mother to 3 children ages 2 and under, God knew I could.
When I didn't understand how someone could abandon their baby, God knew I could love him.
When I couldn't comprehend all my sweet girl had been through even before her first breath, God had protected her.
Psalm 147:3-5 speaks to each of these instances when it says,
I don't think it's a mistake that these verses are clumped together. He binds up our brokenheartedness, all the while knowing all the stars in the skies - seeing as how He's named them each - and His understanding is beyond our ability to measure. He is in the details and in the majestic. He's in my day to day yet holds the universe in order.
Lately I feel as if life is again spinning out of control in many areas. Some aspects of our life seem to be moving at a pace much faster than I feel prepared for. I've clung to Luke so much during this season, looking to him for assurance, guidance and protection. Though the tears have been few, the emotions have been the same as the road to our first 5 children. As we look to God together at the months that lay ahead of us, we know that the one who set the universe in motion, who created more than we can comprehend, cares about the details of our lives. In fact, He promises to bind up my broken heart, give strength to the weak and as we walk through waters of uncertainty, He promises we will not drown.
Tonight, I sit in the assurance that He is who He says He is and He will do what He says He will do. Tonight, I rest in the comfort of Him and allow my soul to weep when my eyes cannot.
The sound of a tiny heart beat filled the room and it's rhythm flickered on the screen. My own heart pounded harder. I glanced over at Luke's face as he studied the black and white ambiguity on the screen in front of us.
Us. Parents. Soon. Week before, I'd cried that deep, painful hurt of tears onto Luke's chest as he stood, holding me, rubbing my arms and assuring me that I was going to be a great Mother.
About 2 years later, the same room, and another surprise.
"Well," the doctor starts, "I think I know why you've not been feeling very well."
I stare at the back of the ultrasound monitor, which the doctor has turned away from us just in case, as if me looking at the back of the screen hard enough will give me a glimpse of the other side.
The doctor flips the screen around so we can join him in his newest revelation, "Here's Baby A and here's Baby B. Let's see (scans around)....nope, just two."
Just two?
I taste vomit in the back of my throat and tears burn my eyes. Again, I look at my husband who is again standing by my side, grasping my hand. His face shows joy, exhilaration actually, and a stupid goofy grin that I'd have slapped off his face if at that moment he hadn't caught my eye and realized that I was about to lose it.
The doctor steps out for me to get dressed and I collapse onto his chest with great, heaving sobs. There's no way I can mother all these kids. Elizabeth is barely 15 months old. What is God thinking? (Oh how the Lord has a sense of humor!)
Just over two years later and once more I bury my face into my husband's chest as Aaron's birthparents cancel another visit and the pain of it is more than I can withstand. Why do they not care? He's a baby, how can they not want to see him?
6 months later, Luke and I cling to one another outside the courthouse, sobbing onto one another, taking in the tragedies of what we've just heard about our youngest child.
The road to our first 5 children were filled, seemingly, with me clinging to my husband and my God, often crying out with sob filled questions. I don't often understand the ways of God when they seem to contradict every fiber of my being. But when I look back at the road to us birthing and adopting our first 5 children, I can clearly see that I wasn't suppose to understand God during those trying seasons. Yet He continued to be faithful, even in my heartache
When I didn't think I was ready to become a mother, God knew I was.
When I didn't think I could be a mother to 3 children ages 2 and under, God knew I could.
When I didn't understand how someone could abandon their baby, God knew I could love him.
When I couldn't comprehend all my sweet girl had been through even before her first breath, God had protected her.
Psalm 147:3-5 speaks to each of these instances when it says,
He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.
He determines the number of the stars;
he gives to all of them their names.
Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;
his understanding is beyond measure.
and binds up their wounds.
He determines the number of the stars;
he gives to all of them their names.
Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;
his understanding is beyond measure.
I don't think it's a mistake that these verses are clumped together. He binds up our brokenheartedness, all the while knowing all the stars in the skies - seeing as how He's named them each - and His understanding is beyond our ability to measure. He is in the details and in the majestic. He's in my day to day yet holds the universe in order.
Lately I feel as if life is again spinning out of control in many areas. Some aspects of our life seem to be moving at a pace much faster than I feel prepared for. I've clung to Luke so much during this season, looking to him for assurance, guidance and protection. Though the tears have been few, the emotions have been the same as the road to our first 5 children. As we look to God together at the months that lay ahead of us, we know that the one who set the universe in motion, who created more than we can comprehend, cares about the details of our lives. In fact, He promises to bind up my broken heart, give strength to the weak and as we walk through waters of uncertainty, He promises we will not drown.
Tonight, I sit in the assurance that He is who He says He is and He will do what He says He will do. Tonight, I rest in the comfort of Him and allow my soul to weep when my eyes cannot.
