On the last day of May of 2017, when my baby son was placed into my arms for the first time, my heart felt like it could burst with joy. The months and months of sorrow and pain fell away and our struggles with infertility and miscarriages were like a distant chapter that we hoped to never revisit.
But as our son grew and I delighted in being a mother to him, a desire for another baby naturally filled my heart. He would be the best big brother is a thought I have often had. He is four years old now. A tall, inquisitive, dinosaur and sea creature-loving boy with a big smile, a mischievous streak, and a tender heart. And I wish he had a little sister or a little brother.
The pain of my second journey of infertility feels almost embarrassing to share with others. After all, we have a child. So many others never experience that gift. Perhaps I should just be content. And there are many days when contentment and peace fills my heart, when, looking at my son and thinking about our lives, I smile, grateful for the blessings from God.
But there are other days. Days when a longing fills me for another child to know and love. Boy or girl, I don't really care. Just another little one to cuddle and care for. Sometimes, the longing overwhelms me and I cry. Other times, it just softly tugs at the edge of my mind, not quite painful, just a light touch that reminds me of what I'm missing, of what does not exist and may never.
I'm getting older too, the constant battle against the grey in my hair a reminder of that truth. Time is not a friend to my hopes and dreams. Yes, adoption is an option and one we have talked about. But as anyone who has gone through it knows, it is not a simple process. Whether you foster to adopt or pursue other adoption avenues, there is so much to consider. I've learned that my heart is fragile at the thought of another loss, even if it is the loss of a child I barely know, or have never met, depending on the type of adoption.
But if there is anything I have learned about seasons of waiting, it is this: in the middle of the ache, hope can still exist and even thrive.
As I write these words, it is early December. Advent season. Although I grew up in church and have always enjoyed the Christmas season, celebrating Advent in an intentional way is fairly new to me. This year though, I've been thinking about it often. Advent is a season when Christians of many different denominations reflect, whether in private or with their church family, on the time of waiting for the Christ child to be born.
In a brief advent devotional that we did together as a family the other night, the key word was "hope." I learned something new from that study. Hope in the Bible is not focused on future events that might look possible to us. No, true biblical Hope is focused instead on a Person, in God Himself. And Hope in God is never misplaced.
As I pondered this, I thought about how during Advent, we imagine the waiting of God's people for hundreds of years for the Christ to come to them. They were waiting and hoping literally for God Himself to visit them...And He did- in His time, in His way, for His glory and the good of His people.
And so here I am, in a season of waiting again. It seems to be the story of my life. But that's all right. Waiting is not meaningless when I'm waiting with Immanuel: God with us.
Comments
Post a Comment