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"Mommy, was I a miracle baby?" prompts preschooler over lunch.
"Yes, you were a miracle baby," i reply with a smile growing in anticipation, waiting to hear the words...
"Tell me the story."
closing eyes, i purposely dust away cluttering thoughts of partially composed emails, menu ideas, the day's schedule and make room for a focused retelling of my favorite story.
"A long time ago, doctors told me i could not have babies because my uterus is very small, too small for a baby to grow in, " I begin.
"and when i heard what the doctors said, i was very, very sad because all i ever wanted to be was a mommy. since i was younger than you, all i wanted to be when i grew up was a mommy."
"i cried for many days, weeks. cried and prayed."
a slight tightness presses against my chest, quickening breath, expanding belly twice swollen with another's heart, bones, blood, life...but now empty.
how quickly i return to that recovery bed in hospital. eyes blurred, thoughts slowed by anesthesia. surgeon forecasting a future opposed to dreams.
heart shattering.
from deep inside, a long breath escapes.
that was then.
now i gaze into the eyes of this beautiful, bright, lovely, healthy, growing little girl. girl child full of life, her name's sake. life itself. a miracle beyond understanding, beyond physical limitations. offspring from a body that should not have been able to handle the weight, volume, expansion.
i continue the story.
"during that time, God gave me hope in my heart, peace in my mind, and a song on my lips."
He laid a blanket of peace over my dreams, and they slept. for years they hibernated deep within, undisturbed.
during the spring of my 26th year, dreams awoke.
Gentle Thinker agreed, it was time.
"then one day God placed you in my belly to grow. i was so surprised, overjoyed, humbled. He chose me to be your mommy! you were growing inside me and i could feel you, begin to know you."
one day this story will expand with details a mind of four years cannot yet understand: one ovary, one fallopian tube, half a uterus, half the blood supply; inadequate placenta, drastically decreasing amniotic fluid; how her tiny body sacrificed continuing growth to save, protect her developing brain and so, so much more.
"you are a miracle. what the doctors said was impossible, God made possible. and look at you now!"
steeping in the words of her beginnings, preschooler declares, "yes! and claire is a miracle baby too!"
"yes, she is. one day we will tell her the story of being a miracle baby." sisters growing up knowing their story...how God personally authored the beginning of their lives.
i wonder if other mamas around the world pull their children close, gaze into their eyes and tell the story of being a miracle baby. for it's all so amazing, isn't it? how God personally authored the beginning of every life?
Author of Life, humble me with the bigness, greatness of You. for you created my daughters' inmost being; You knit them in my womb. i praise You because they are fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, i know that full well.
photo: our first miracle baby
for the past two days, the darker tones of gray in the sky accentuate vivid shades of green outdoors, contrast deepening. sky heavy with anticipation of rain, atmospheric labor continues as sun descends on another day.
my heart, also, is heavy. pressure in chest building, pulling attention towards its palpable weight.
i know what it is, partially.
mental words, fragments echo the speech of my preschooler from early in the week. questions uttered by an unassuming child shift the atmosphere in my heart, tilting balance, halting the predictable rotation.
during a play date, mommy compliments rebounding off stoic girl exterior pierce heart-deep when directed towards another preschooler's masterpiece. desperate self-protection masked behind innocent green-blue eyes and rosebud lips mouthing reassurances of "what about mine? my picture is pretty too, right mama? say my picture is pretty too!" her reaction finds me unprepared. searching to convey assurance, i respond with adulation like candies falling from a cracked pinata hoping she will clutch handfuls of treats to store in her emotional treasury.
i choose words as the currency of acceptance to a thirsty heart unable to be quenched by words.
for two days i ponder this experience, puzzled by the affect it has on me. what did my child need to hear to satisfy this desire for acceptance and worth? does she even know how much i love and cherish her? how can she possibly fathom my limitless love for her, never to be diminished by my love for others?
standing over bed folding laundry in the path of morning light streaming through the windows, scattered pieces of this puzzle quickly begin to shift, rotate and connect. forming picture is staggering and unexpected: there i slump, only a day before, pitying lack of eager involvement from loved ones which friends and other family members seem blessed to receive. is there something wrong with me, God? do they not want to be around me or my kids? do You really want me to go through all this alone without a loving, willing hand to guide?
piercing, stinging, digging...truth burrows deep into this devastated heart as the picture continues to develop: i am the preschooler curled over paper and crayon shavings searching parental eyes questioning, "what about me? i am worthwhile too, right Daddy? say i am worthwhile too!"
yet this query does not find Him unprepared.
He has already answered.
For he chose me in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined me to be adopted as his daughter through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given me in the One he loves. In him I have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on me with all wisdom and understanding. (from Ephesians 1:4-8)
in all my raw human ugliness, He chose me as worthwhile before laying the foundation of the earth. i am accepted. chosen. predestined. redeemed. forgiven. lavished with grace.
relief and peace wash over distracted thoughts, heavy heart and bruised emotions. truth burrows deeper still, filling me with news of Father's acceptance and faithfulness: yes, i do have what i need. God's love.
time for a perspective shift. God provides willing, loving contributors in the form of elderly neighbors, childhood friends, strangers at the supermarket, phone calls at the perfect moment, a knock on the door in the hour of loneliness. His love is all around flowing through beautifully unexpected channels.
Father, forgive me for not noticing, cherishing and gratefully accepting these gifts of Your love. how amazing and unexpected are your ways! open my eyes to see You in those around me. enable me to trust in You steadily, hope unswervingly, and love extravagantly.
for the past two days, the darker tones of gray looming over my thoughts accentuate the vivid shades of green budding inside, contrast deepening. heart drinking cleansing rain, emotional labor dissipates as Son descends on another day, meeting me right where i am.
thunder rolls in the distance. rain is on its way. cleansing rain.
photo: masterpiece of preschooler, "neigh"
toes of little onion bulbs all blooming in a row.
five summers ago on the day of disclosure, the tips of these toes were barely larger than yaupon berries, doll feet cradling delicately in the comparatively massive mommy palm. as time passes they elongate and curve -- formation necessary for running, climbing, leaping, galloping and cart-wheeling.
high arches, roughened soles, perennially scraped cuticles, soiled heels...these are the feet of my daughter. i marvel at their design, handcrafted by the artist of our universe.
planets orbiting, stars burning, moon reflecting, earth inhabiting, ocean tiding, whales breaching, mountains soaring, land carving, feet calibrating -- all spoken word of the sovereign designer.
how precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
how vast is the sum of them!
Psalm 139:17
significance found in the humbly insignificant: feet.
a mother's prayer for the feet of her child:
Sovereign Creator, Father of love, turn to my daughter and have mercy on her, as you always do to those who love your name. direct her footsteps according to your word; let no sin rule over her. redeem her from the oppression of men, that she may obey your precepts.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
one year, four days.
despite my passive attempt to prolong what is to come, the time not only arrived but is now four days past. how can a mother describe the complex emotions towards the impending arrival of her child's first birthday? of course there is great joy and contentment in assurance of her baby's health, growth and development. after all, days of spit-up smeared shirts, leaking diapers, leaking breasts and sleepless nights are pushed back into the recesses of foggy memories. yet there is sadness, a longing for what is gone: sweet, milky baby breath; warm, peppery scent of her head; cradling a sleeping newborn. if i linger in this vain, sorrow for what is passing by too quickly casts a shadow over me.
instead i strain a little harder, squinting through the fog beyond this bitter-sweet moment to a time when motherhood was a dream greater than weddings, husbands, houses. crossing over into adulthood, that dream was dashed upon the rocks by crashing, volatile waves. heart heavy with grief, eyes swollen and burning from weeks of sorrow, hands empty. i remember You pulling me close, embracing my broken heart, broken dreams and whispering Your faithfulness into my ear, thoughts, heart, spirit. clinging to Your promises with desperate grip, my heart steeped in Your words until they infused blood and bone. You gave a gift to fill my hands, soothe my burning eyes, and lighten my heavy heart. hope. hope for what was unseen, by all accounts impossible. You turned my sorrow into hope, anxiety into peace. what was meant for destruction, death of dreams, you conceived in my heart a faith and trust to grow, mature.
seven years of hope and peace passed.
a cry rung out in the warm June sky. the cry of hope, peace, faith and trust birthed in spirit and in flesh. tears flowed from a mother's eyes in awe of experiencing Your touch and faithfulness. blessings continued. three years later You brought forth miraculous life once more. an inheritance.
here we are one year, four days later. this heart of one multiplied into a house of four.
prosperity. hope. a future.
humbly, i bow in adoration and gratitude of Your character.
