We don’t know how to tell people about the last four months of our lives. When we talk about it with people who have known me all my life, we’re met with tears–lots and lots of tears. Some of those tears are joyful excitement. Most of them are silent but constant fear.
I’m pregnant. Oh, oh my Jesus, I’m pregnant! Everything about my body says this shouldn’t be happening. It was hard to get my epileptic, broken-heart syndrome, cerebral-palsied brain around that back in July. It’s even harder now, at 17 weeks, to get our minds wrapped around this pregnancy despite the seizures and pseudo-heart attacks which have laced our nights from time to time.
Peter and I, as much as we wanted kids, took a long time to process what pregnancy with my medical condition would mean. Would the baby survive? Would the baby be wounded while in the womb simply because of an epileptic seizure or one of my Broken Heart Syndrome episodes? Could I actually mother this child with my own vast limitations? Will Peter be raising our child(ren) virtually alone while my disorders get worse?
The questions nearly killed us as each question was met with silence and a disheartened shrug as we realized the mountain in front of us. Adoption has a huge corner in our hearts, but I never found myself on adoption websites. I found myself researching things like, “epileptic mother, fetus survival rate.”
It’s now quite obvious that I’m not barren, but most medical professionals probably would have preferred I acted as such. They don’t know, though. They weren’t there. They don’t understand….
We let the fear and unknowns drive our decisions for far too long. Finally, in a moment of desperation, we did what Gideon of the Bible did thousands of years ago. We told God we’d stop attempting to control the future, and if He wanted us to be pregnant, He’d have to move mountains.
10 days, three pregnancy tests, an insurmountable amount of crying, celebrating, and phone calls later, we finally accepted the truth.
God had moved our mountains, and somehow we were adding a baby to this family. Hallelujah!
We’ve both had to learn how to surrender our expectations to the Lord with this baby. As the child grows, it’s getting harder and harder to mutter with confidence, “You give and take away, Lord. Even if you take this baby, our hearts will praise you.”
Yet as our hearts grow towards parenthood, we’re constantly given glimpses of God’s tenderness towards us as His children.
Every time Peter talks to the baby, we’re reminded of the times our Heavenly Father talks to us and we don’t hear Him, yet we feel safe because of His presence. Every day the baby is just a wee bit too still, we’re reminded of the times God sits with us in silence, waiting for the moment we want to continue our journey together.
As each day progresses and our child grows, both of us are reminded how impossible this pregnancy is. Equally, though, we’re reminded how impossible God’s love for us is, and yet He continuously woos us to Himself.
Because of that, we lose sleep at night wondering just how much this child’s existence will testify to the One who held his/her little head long before we could.