When I stepped out of bed at dawn that day my body told me I had lost something.
My feet hit the floor.
My faith rocked.
I cried out.
And then I crumbled.
In that swift, sick moment – I felt Him say “It’s going to be okay.” But the proof of life lost leaked anyway. A doctor’s appointment later in the day confirmed it.
I crawled into bed that night confused.
I had clearly heard the “It’s going to be okay” word when I realized what was happening that day, but it wasn’t okay. Baby two was gone.
Yet, in the weeks following I felt hope rising again. Excitement bubbled as I planned to pursue a baby once more, only to find out about a cyst on my ovary. My doctor wanted it to go away before we tried for another child.
Not “okay”. With a distorted, tear-streaked face I looked to Heaven in wonderment and chaos.
Thankfully, the cyst dissolved but my dreams didn’t, so we got the green light to go again. And on a cool October day in the early hours of a Saturday, a faint pink line appeared next to another one and I felt pleased but cautious.
Then in late July 2009, we welcomed a bundle of pink.
She’s 8 today.
And she’s light and sass and spunk and love and fierceness.
We’re the gals of the house. And it’s good. And I thank God. And it’s all more than just “okay” now.
On your birthday, I bask in the odd faithfulness of a mysterious God.
You’re the gift I needed, the life I longed for, the restoration after the loss.
We celebrate, give thanks, and wonder wildly at what you’ll be.
You’re fantastic and we are forever smitten.
Go about your day, your years, your life – knowing that you were sought after and that you are savored and that your good God has mighty things planned for you.
With Him, it’s all possible.
Happy, happy birthday love.