Tiny, little anythings

(Disclaimer:  I have not even told my friends about the following.  When God told me to write about it this evening, I said, "Um, no. Too raw.  Too recent.  Besides, I haven't even told anyone...."  Truth is, I didn't really even want to tell anyone.  But I've come to realize that there is no use in arguing with God, and that even if there were I don't want to anymore.)

tiny, little anythings

When I wrote about 'anything' in my previous post, I was thinking of big things...Not just big things, but mostly big things.  The big things that people (including me) have a hard time giving to God.  Your house.  Your wealth.  Your life-long dreams.  I didn't realize that maybe one of the hardest things to give up would be tiny...barely the size of a bean.

The other day my mom and I were having a conversation about 'anything.'  She said something along the lines of, "How can you pray 'anything,' Amy? Do you want to give up your kids?"  And I of course said, 'No.'  I said I didn't want to give up my kids.  I hope I never had to.  But if God asked me to walk through that, I would--hopefully with my faith in His goodness and His love for me in tact.

Last week, with much surprise, I found out I was pregnant.  It came as quite a shock, because the timing didn't seem feasible.  It didn't seem like I could be pregnant.  But I was...I had a counter full of pregnancy tests to prove it.  It was such a gift.  Not only for the obvious reasons, but because of the struggle I had been having that same exact week.  

I knew I wanted to adopt for quite a while.  But, I also desperately wanted to have one more biological baby.  The plan had been:  one of each.  One more bio baby, one adopted.  Perfect.  Then last week, I started questioning that.  I said to Cam, "Is it selfish of me to want one more baby when there are so many babies that need mommies right now?  Is it God's will for you and me to create another child, when no one is taking care of those children?"  

I was not making some blanket statement about how everyone needs to quit having children and adopt, but I wondered if God was asking me specifically to make that sacrifice.  Sacrifice the heart-wrenching desire to feel another baby kick from inside of you, to hold the brand-new baby in your arms, to know their every detail from the first breath they take.  Their smell.  Their nose, their lips, their toes.

"Okay, God. We won't try for another one.  I'll sacrifice that.  I'll give that desire to you."  Sadness.  Don't look at baby stuff on Pinterest.  Don't read that friend's birth story.  "You are worth it God, you are worth it.  You are worth it."

Imagine my surprise when three days later, there I am standing mouth agape in the bathroom, staring at a positive pregnancy test that seemed an impossibility.  

But, my joy was short-lived.  There was bleeding.  Dr's office on Monday.  Possibility of miscarriage.  Wait.  Pray.  "God, why give me this miraculous pregnancy, this gift after the struggle, just to take it away?"  Dr's office on Thursday.  99% chance miscarriage.

Flashback to the conversation with my mom.  Would I give my child to God?  Would that be an 'anything' I was willing to walk through?  

"God, I want this baby.  I want THIS baby.  THIS life that is inside me right now.  But I will trust your hand in either outcome...I will pray 'anything' in this."

I have always wondered about the grief felt when someone miscarries early on.  I don't want to sound harsh, but I wondered if it was more for time lost--like wanting a baby immediately, but instead having to start the process over again.  Or was there already a connection between the soul of that baby and that mama?  I have friends who have lost full-term babies.  The grief is real, and huge, and unfathomable.  

But, I found out there was a connection.  I wanted that little life inside me.  I wanted to know that baby, to raise that baby.  I don't care about having to start the process over again--that's my baby, half me and half Cameron and I want it.  I want it, Lord.  I still do.

I have friends who have struggled with infertility for years.  I can't actually imagine anything more heart-breaking than their struggle.  To yearn with all of your broken heart for a child and to have to face defeat and despair every month, every year.

I feel like I can relate to them a very small amount.  I count it is a privilege to share in their suffering.  "Lord, I will share in their suffering...just please let it ease their suffering.  Don't let it be for nothing.  I'll take some of their suffering, take a little off of them and put it on me."  Philippians 3:10-11 says "..that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,  that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead." 

We are supposed to take joy in suffering.  To take joy in sharing in His sufferings.  And you know, it hasn't been that hard to find joy in this.  I could feel the love of God more tangibly surround me as I drove home from the dr's office yesterday than I ever had before.  I don't wonder if He is a loving God...I wonder at how much He loves me even now.

As far as science is concerned, this baby bean is dead.  As far as science was concerned, Jesus was dead too.  The text I sent from the dr's office said, "Dr. said there is only 1% chance of viable pregnancy.  But our God is the God of the  universe, of babies and of embryos.  He is not hemmed in by percentages given in dr's offices.  I will continue to hope for the best until next week."

Since we are believers in Christ, we are a part of the resurrection.  I wonder if God will show his glory and resurrect this baby bean.  I wonder if when I go in for the final blood work and ultrasound next week if there will be a miraculous little baby in there with it's little baby heart beating.  I hope so, so much.

But if there is not, Lord, I will continue to give you the big 'anythings' and the little, tiny 'anythings.'  I will look forward to holding that baby on the other side of eternity, along with so many of my friends who will be holding theirs for the first time too.

I will not forget your love for me, and how you grieved the loss of your child too.

"For even if the mountains walk away, and the hills fall apart,

 my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD, who has compassion on you.

Isaiah 54:10