“Like a tidal wave, crashing over me, rushing in to meet me here, Your love is fierce.
Like a hurricane, that I can’t escape, tearing through the atmosphere, Your love is fierce.” -Jesus Culture
Last night I was so disappointed. After intense contractions through the dinner hour and bedtime routine, I’d let myself get my hopes up again that it would be the night. The one where we’d head to the hospital and meet this baby and snuggle together close. But, as it’s been for the last number of days, the waves stopped abruptly and completely. This journey has been so beautiful and so hard.
I curled up on the bed and decided to put our labor playlist on for the first time. I hit shuffle. And one by one, the songs came, pouring over me and bringing a sense of peace that I haven’t felt in days. I’ve been praying for it and asking for it, but it just hasn’t come. Determined to arrive at a place where I’m honestly good with whatever happens and when, I’ve pushed through emotions to matter-of-factness and run through the million reasons why I shouldn’t mind at all that baby is still tucked away.
When you want something so badly you can taste it (or when you have good reason to think it’s arriving momentarily, only for your circumstances to change again and again), it’s challenging to just be rational and nonchalant about it all. Babies come in their timing, I know. God’s timing. I know. It’s still ok that this is as much a spiritual journey for me as it’s been a physical one, and I am being stretched in ways that the physical side of things is only serving to exemplify. I can’t even possibly see all of the things God is doing behind the scenes, and I don’t need to. I’m just trying to trust and rest in him at each doubting moment–at each emotional turn.
Today when I woke up feeling completely normal, with no signs of labor at all, it was a first in over a week. I felt a mix of relief and confusion. But those songs from last night? They were playing over and over again in my head, like a soundtrack for the day. God had buried them in my heart again overnight, and they kept bringing more peace.
I took my time this morning. A long time, actually. I got ready slowly. Didn’t rush anything about the day. We headed downtown after lunchtime just to get out for a while, and to do something that would feel good in the midst of the waiting. We’re all feeling it, and that’s hard, too. I know the kids are waiting. Jason is waiting. Family and friends are waiting. And since babies aren’t mail order and we can’t command them to do anything outside of what is best for their entrance into the world, it matters that we make the most of what we’re being given, which, for now, is time.
I got Eloise out of the car downtown and held onto her. It’s been a long time since I could just pick her up and carry her without strain. It felt so good to hold her close and not let go. She actually thanked me. Our sweet baby girl needs her mama and I need her, too, and this moment could have been missed. I’m so glad it wasn’t.
The waiting is causing me to live life differently right now. I don’t know how to feel about that, except to say that I think I’m looking harder for the things to enjoy or appreciate in light of this time I really didn’t plan for us to have. It’s good perspective on life in general, especially in light of very hard news in our community tonight, where a young husband/father/son/brother/teacher and friend was lost unexpectedly, and all too soon.
God’s time is not our time. That can be so hard to understand, and I’m not sure any of us really grasps it well this side of heaven. In light of this, what we can do is continue to trust that his ways are higher than our ways, that his love is fierce, that he knows what is best, always, and that he rushes in to meet us where we are.
Please pray with me tonight for a family and community grieving great loss, and especially for a wife and three young children who now long for the day when they’ll see their husband and daddy again in eternity.
Life is fleeting and good. Let’s take all of the days we can and make them count–in big and small ways, for the sake of honoring God’s good gifts to us.
waiting on waves,