Creating Peace From the Pieces

I grew up in a fairly large family – the little mama sibling who cared for the emotions of a quiver full of younger babies. Someone had to, while our mother was occupied with shooting out the next of us, like a clown car under pressure. Spurred by a love of being surrounded by chaotic littles, I imagined myself one day soon repeating the practice of filling a home with more than a handful of humans. The God I serve had other plans for me, though. He knew that my mind was not prepared to raise children with a loving kindness that much of my own rearing so strongly lacked. Though I understood unconditional love and rudimentary childcare, my examples of kind communication were severely lacking. I knew I desired a home filled to the max with laughter and love, but I only knew control. Control on a massive, fear driven scale. My own children would not, could not know terror of physical harm or develope an internal disdain for the two people who should but cherish their every breath. My own children would know soft redirection. More than anything, my own children would understand patience. This patience, this soft and kind ability to wait, was what I most wanted to give the many babies I envisioned loving one day.

But how could I give what I didn’t understand? How could I be anything other than an unbending, emotionally volatile monster, driven by absurd religious rules and illusory visions of order?

Sometime in my early 20s, I prayed for patience, and I believe God heard me. He didn’t grant it with a little wave, but He taught it to me over nearly 20 years.

I was an arrogant know-it-all who wanted to be in charge, and He gave me success in a retail career in which it was essential that I learn diplomacy, time management, a gentle attention to detail, compassion, and resilience. I was always in a hurry, with very little regard for anyone else, and God blessed me with a medical diagnosis which very quickly demanded that I slow down, listen more closely, and take time to enjoy others.

Skip to a decade or so later.

I was excited to marry the man I loved, and confidently made a plan to get pregnant a year after our wedding. God had another plan. He had shown me how to be kind and wait for others, but this time He taught me how to trust and wait on Him. That one year mark came and went. Two years passed, then three. For five years, I prayed for a baby. Day after day, I begged through silent, unutterable prayers, shaking with sobs, for just one baby. When I didn’t get pregnant after the first few years, I told the Lord that because He’d already blessed me with so much, I understood if it wasn’t His will to give ME a baby, but implored Him to answer my husband’s prayers. I began to cling to the words in James 5:16: “The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” It was all I could do. By this time I had become apathetic and somewhat bitter towards God, so as somewhat of a last grasp at faith, I let go.

The evening we found out I was expecting, my husband mentioned that I hadn’t taken a pregnancy test in a while, and thought maybe I should. I laughed. There was no chance I’d conceived, so why even put myself through the motions? I suppose I plodded to to bathroom out of compassion for my husband or something, but I took the test. To this day, I still cannot explain with clarity, the mixture of shock, joy, guilt, gratitude, and restored faith that surged through my heart and into my soul. Now every time that I recall that night, I think about how Sarah in the Bible laughed and God’s promise to them in Genesis 18:14:

“Is any thing too hard for the Lord ? At the time appointed I will return unto thee, according to the time of life, and Sarah shall have a son.”

The Lord didn’t simply bless me with the lessons I needed learn patience. He prepared me with everything I could ask for to not just be a mother, but to know how to savor every minute of being Mommy. I prayed for patience. My Lord gave me over and abundantly all that I asked.