October 12, 2016
Recently I overheard my sweet Hattie “reading” to herself in her bed. She was looking at one of Edy’s 2nd grade readers—a book far above her Kindergarten skill level—but no problem! She just made up the story as she went. She’d overheard Edy reading from that same book earlier, so she had a rough idea of the what it was about: a boy named Jimmy and science class.
She read: The teacher asked “Jimmy, what is the definition of science?” Jimmy stood up and said, “Well, Teacher, Science is…”
Then Hattie paused her story. Long paused her story. Extra long paused…
Then, in just a whisper meant, I think, only for herself to hear, Hattie quietly confessed, “I don’t really know what science is…”
I laughed. A lot. And so did she.
Sometimes it’s hard to go on with our stories, especially when we can’t define just what we’re going about.
So in my last blog post I eluded to something in my life that God had unexpectedly handed me. I was intentionally coy about, but a few of you more brilliant souls caught on.
Yes, I am pregnant. With my fifth small human. (Insert wild-eyed, mouth-ajar, what-in-the-blazes-have-we-done picture of me here.)
Oh yes, something like this.
And then you didn’t hear anything else from me for a while.
As I tried to cutely tiptoe around this new baby, this nothing-short-of providential-change-in-our-life-plans-baby, I wasn’t being entirely honest.
Yes, I wanted to trust God. Yes, I know that His word says that He is a good father and that He gives only good gifts to His children. Yes, I know He does not make mistakes.
But ask a parent with a terminally sick child if it feels like God has given them a good gift. Ask a woman facing infertility if it does not feel that God has made a mistake.
And (on an entirely different and not at all equal level) ask three-months-ago-Hannah if this abrupt change in her life’s course did not feel like suddenly the future was closed for business. Like she would be forever nauseous, forever pregnant, forever the butt of the “You know how that kind of thing happens, don’t you?” joke. Ask that Hannah if God had dealt her a serious blow to her dreams and her hopes for the future.
If she were being honest, she would say yes.
I was mad at God.
I was sick, and tired (still am), and angry that I was here again.
Sure, Nate still has four years until Kindergarten, but I was already planning what life would be without an infant at home. Imagine the freedom…and now I had to face pulling those hideous maternity pants out of attic and back into my wardrobe.
I know all of you with grown children want to shout through the computer that I need to be grateful for these young years at home, and I am. Truly, I am.
But imagine approaching the end of the marathon. The finish line is in sight. You’re exhausted, but rest is coming so soon you can almost touch it.
And then someone moves the finish line back five years.
I was caught off-guard, and as much I wanted to say, “I know it’s God’s will,” all I could muster was a whispered confession to myself… But I don’t really know what God’s will is. I sure don’t understand it.
And so sometimes it’s hard to go on with our life stories, especially when we can’t figure out just what we’re going on about.
It was wrong for me to be mad at God, and I’ve told Him that I’m sorry. I’ve told Him that I don’t know why He’s allotted another baby for me, and that I don’t understand this twist in my life’s tale. But I’ve told Him that I’ll stop complaining now because I’ve said my peace.
And so has He.
As seen here:
So I’m still sorting through all this. But perhaps the moral here is that our life stories are not are own, no matter how want them to be. They are God’s and it is His right to assume full control.
I like being in charge. I like knowing the future. I like achieving my dreams and patting myself on the back for accomplishing what I’ve set out to do. But this one is out of my hands, and because of that, I will never be able to take credit for it. I will never be able to say, “Look what I have done!”
I will love this child, but this child will be more than just my fifth baby. This child will be God’s Plan in Action. A living testimony that God is in charge and that He does work all things for our good, even when it doesn’t look that way in the midst of it.
So I will rejoice when this child is born, and I will remember:
God’s plan for our lives is better than our own, even when it doesn’t feel like it.
Always. Always. Always.
“The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised” (Job 1:21b)
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