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Great is Thy Faithfulness. (9)

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father
There is no shadow of turning with Thee
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be
Great is Thy faithfulness, great is Thy faithfulness
Morning by morning new mercies I see
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me

Single digits. I’ve longed for this place and somehow still doubted it at times, yet here we are. So close to meeting our littlest babe and so far along this journey that began long before a positive test. This sweet baby hasn’t just been growing in me since November. He or she was planted in my heart way, way back and so long ago. Four. I’ve always felt called to four babies, always trusted for God to grow our family to the number He has placed on my heart. But then, I’m human, and after losses and waiting and grief and more waiting, I started to doubt the very thing I believed God had set in my spirit. It’s strange what pain will do to our faith sometimes.

Instead of doubting God, I doubted myself. Did I hear incorrectly? Had I not been listening? Maybe what I thought was true actually wasn’t, and maybe I needed to settle down into the reality that was in front of me. Three babies here with us. Three beautiful babies that are all incredible gifts from God, and certainly worthy of my attention and delight. I started to work at being at peace with three. But I still prayed and asked God to make a way. Countless times, I’ve prayed. I asked God to take the desire from me if it shouldn’t be there, and I asked for a fourth baby in our home at the same time. I prayed for my heart to be open to a future that looked different than my own picture–I pleaded to be content with what I already had.

And God did that in me. He did that in me because He is merciful and good. I didn’t stop wanting a fourth baby here, but I did start to feel a lightening in my spirit to trust the story, to release my hopes more freely, to live into where I was being called in the here and now. I pictured myself opening up my fingers and letting sand pour through them so many times. I practiced letting go in my real life while I visualized letting go and surrendering to the One who knows best. I did this all imperfectly and still wanted to hold it…wanted to control it. But His story is always better than the one we write on our own.

So I watched our babies grow. I celebrated the fourth birthday of our youngest to the full and tried to soak in every last ounce of babyhood I thought we’d see in our family. I had to push past thoughts of deep-seated hopes and arrive at place where I could embrace everything just as it was. That felt like a weighty task, and then sometimes, like a weight lifted. It was a growing season for me in a new way. We entered the fall of last year in the midst of a pandemic, with heartache all around us, and I was finding my way through to a place of embracing a new stage where our children were all arriving at self-sufficiency. I thought about *finally* writing that book…maybe looking for new creative opportunities…homeschooling and volunteering and kiddo shuffling and stepping into something I hadn’t done before. But then.

A dream. Symptoms that struck me as strange for a random November. Those lines. The ones that seemed impossible and unlikely were showing up on the test on the window sill of the bathroom and I thought maybe I was reading it all wrong. God has a way of doing things outside of our line of vision and it turns out it’s the best way I never thought to imagine.

This has been a journey, for sure. Nine months and I know that the story and the gifts and the miracles of this chapter are only just beginning. I hope that I’ll never forget my dependency on God in these months. I hope I’ll never waver from needing His presence here with me as I have since last fall. Surrender. Doubt. Trust. Hope. Fear. Peace. Repeat. It’s been so much richer than the “easier” path I thought I wanted. So much harder. So much better. And here we are at just about 39 weeks, and while I’m still juggling the same blend of emotions I’ve held in the balance all this time, I’m juggling them less. There’s more right balance to them. God has taught me even more about who He is, about His heart. I’ve learned just how much we’re called to live in community and to lean on the prayers and faith and shoulders of others, and how much it takes a village long before babies are ever born. Every last prayer. Every last intention. Every last dream or vision shared with me along this road. It’s something for the books, I’d say, and that’s why it has to be written here. Our little honeybee has had me on a journey I didn’t know I deeply needed. I’m still on it, and I still need it, and it’s so beautiful to me how God keeps showing up.

Surrendering the details of the coming days again tonight, I am thinking of the words to the hymn above and resting in how true they are. Great is Thy faithfulness, Oh God my Father…Thou changes not, Thy compassions they fail not…all I have needed Thy hand has provided…Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

MM

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The Time of Zwischen. (12)

In English, the German word zwischen translates to “between.” Midwife Jana Studelska wrote about the time of zwischen in reference to “the time of in between, where the opening begins” in pregnancy. As she puts it, “Giving it a name gives it dimension, an experience closer to wonder than endurance.” I absolutely loved her explanation of this time before a mama goes into labor and brings forth her baby–reading it today made me feel seen, normal, understood.

This is definitely a time of in between for me, and while familiar, it’s been distinctly different and set apart in its own ways from the times I’ve experienced before. Every baby has his or her own way of entering the world. Just as in labor and birth, I’m sure no two in between times are exactly alike. This makes me think about all of the details that God attends to in order to see His creation come forward…”Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born, I set you apart.” (Jeremiah 1.5) Even in the smallest moments, the plans God has for each one of us are purposeful and personalized.

Studelska describes the time of zwischen as a space of discomfort and tension, vulnerability and openness–something both biological and spiritual. It is a place where an expectant mother is “not going into battle, but she is going to the edge of her being where every resource she has will be called on to assist in this journey.” I feel this through and through right now, and it’s so lovely to read someone else’s words to put to this time that’s hard to articulate. I love her intention to give expectant mamas “permission to follow the instinctual gravitational pulls that are at work within them, just as real and necessary as labor.” This sentiment feels so astute and healthy and good.

In this time of waiting for me, I feel every bit of the middle ground between this season of life and the next. Changes are coming, and really, happening so tangibly all around me though they might not be obvious to everyone else. They shouldn’t be. It would be strange to share all of the feelings I’m having even if they were plain as day apparent. Instead, there’s some kind of balance between sharing to be understood, feeling misunderstood, knowing other mamas remember, too, and can recall their own times of in between, and knowing no one else can be exactly in this space with me. It’s welcoming as I look to God for His help and presence now, and lonely as I attempt to wander somehow present through these days where I feel like I’m in my own little world with this babe.

The time of zwischen. It’s tender and necessary, beautiful and delicate, in the world, but in ways, not of it. Years from now, I hope I’ll remember what this feels like and be mindful of the in between for other mamas who are in their own betweens and waiting. It’s a sacred, tender time I think we’re meant to embrace and walk through as graciously as we can, while offering ourselves all of the kindnesses we’re able in the process.

Zwischen,

MM

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Stones. (13)

The gift of waiting in this kind of season, even though it’s hard, is the way the days aren’t quite as scheduled and there’s sometimes space for a different cadence. We’re done with house projects–not because they’ll ever all be done, but because we’re ready to be done, and because last night we made the decision just to soak up as much of the weekend as we could as a family without having chores and to-dos get in the way. I don’t think we’ll regret it.

This afternoon I held small rocks in my hand–no pockets–just a tiny collection of stones as I picked them up, one by one, off the beach. Smooth ones, etched ones, almost-pebbles that reminded me of this little honeybee in my belly because of their size and perfectly golden color. When I was done growing my small collection, it still grew as the kids each added more to the mix that they wanted to share or thought I’d like. Small stones. A few among thousands or probably millions on the shore of my favorite place, where the waves pushed and pulled them here and there, covering and uncovering new treasures and lapping onto the sand in perfect rhythm. Peaceful rhythm. The place my heart craves most when I’m feeling celebratory or adventurous or sad or ungrounded. The place that somehow always heals, even if there’s nothing pressing that needs healing, and the place that reveals things needing to be healed, even if I didn’t know they were there before.

I gathered up my long dress and stepped into the water today–not something I always do when we go to the beach, though maybe I should. The cool water was like a balm as it covered my bare feet, little gems of rocks in every color beneath me and shifting like the sand. Grounded. The way I want and need to feel right now as I prepare in heart and mind to welcome baby and to enter into the space that is labor and delivery, somewhere between heaven and earth in ways, life springing forth while I’m holding on and letting go at the same time. And these stones. Evidence marking the time of the here and now, but weighty as they represent all that’s anticipated, too.

Leaving the beach, I clutch these stones and bring them home with me. Not because I need rocks in new places around the house, but because they mark a time and space where I felt wholly present to all that was around me and in me. Because in every stone, there is something of the marvelous–intentional creativity and variation, color, texture, beauty. God in the details. Something to notice for the noticers, and I want to be among them. At home, tiny rocks that have a story of their own find a spot clustered together, not mixed in with other stones from other times and places. I won’t always remember them sitting there, but when I do go back to them, I’ll remember this day, this weekend. The way the sun glistened on the water and the breeze was perfect. How the kids picked up rocks to their hearts’ content, how this belly was still so full with baby, how it all felt magical in a way and time stood still.

Stones. Marking the time, the days, the atmosphere. The depth and light of this life I never want to take for granted. The promise of waves always cresting, pebbles always tumbling, God always present and patiently waiting for us to see Him in this moment, right where we are.

MM

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Surrounded. (15)

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. James 1.17 ESV

Tonight was a gift to my heart and spirit in all of the best ways. A small group of dear-to-me women gathered in the backyard of a sweet and gracious friend in honor of this incredible life growing in my belly. We sat around a gorgeous table filled with thoughtful and delicious food, ate and had fellowship, painted and shared, laughed and prayed. There were lights strung around the patio, hydrangeas in vases, watercolors filling up the space where empty plates had been. As our amazing host prayed over dinner, the music in the background began as if on cue:

“And all my life You have been faithful, all my life you have been so, so good. With every breath that I am able, Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God…

“…I love your voice. You have led me through the fire. And in the darkest night, You were close like no other. I’ve known you as a Father. I’ve know you as a Friend. And I have lived in the goodness of God.”

I have longed to gather with friends in this way, whether over baby or just because, and there was an extra sweetness in tonight being what it was for so many reasons. To have these incredible friends pray over baby, over every detail, over things deep in my heart that aren’t always spoken–it was just the most hopeful and grace-filled thing. I don’t know how to articulate more except to say that God’s goodness continues to bring me to new places along this road, and tonight was filled with His presence and peace.

Baby, if you ever wonder how you came to be, I’ll have a lot of stories to tell you about the village that lifted you up before you were ever even growing inside of me. They lifted you up then, and they are still lifting you (us) up now, and I don’t think they’ll stop because that’s who they are and who we’re so fortunate to do life alongside. You are about to begin a life here that is filled with some of the most beautiful people I could hope to surround you. It’s all too much grace to contain and gives me so much hope for your future and the future of this world you’re joining for such a time as this. What God has done in your story and what He will do…I just can’t wait to tell you someday, and I can’t wait to find out who you are and who He has created you to be.

You are loved, you are a miracle, and you are surrounded by so much goodness it’s hard to contain it. Come when you’re ready, sweet honeybee. This unfolding is going to be one of the greatest adventures of our lives.

MM

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A Rich and Steady Time. (17)

“Life is always a rich and steady time when you are waiting for something to happen or to hatch.” -E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web

There’s definitely a balance between embracing the time we have and wishing time away when we’re looking towards something big in life. I always want to strike that balance, but it’s not without effort. As we spend these winding down days of summer, I want to make the most of our time together as a family before everyone returns to school schedules and routines. I know the whole world is feeling that way right now. This year, with baby’s expected due date on the calendar just four days before school begins, the sentiment has been so prominent in my thoughts, knowing that our summer might change at any given time and that August will be an adventurous month for our family.

The pairing of “make the most of these days” and “mom is slowing down” is an interesting one. I keep trying to find little ways for us to have memorable moments rather than big excursions, points of connection over a scrapbook-worthy summer experience. It’s a trade off that’s so worth it, and it’s also hard. Our kids are great troopers, and they go along with many of my off-the-cuff ideas as we’re traipsing through these summer weeks. I loved when our older two were at camp, where they could have a pretty idyllic week that felt like so many things we dream summer will hold. C was bummed to be “left behind” of course, but it was so, so good for H and E to get to be at camp. It felt like the very sweetest spot of summer, even though I know the very best moments are still to come.

Today we ended up forfeiting a trip to the beach with friends to wander around downtown with friends instead. It was a little more mama friendly than trekking out to sand dunes and hiking all things beachy out to a spot near the lake. I would have loved to go there (it’s truly my most centering place), but after hours of contractions last night and only a little sleep, I had to admit I wasn’t up for the challenge. Our dear and gracious friends happily shifted gears with us, and we all ended up having a few sweet hours of time together, in and out of the kids’ favorite shops (and to pick out things for baby!), down the block for coffee and treats, and across the street to run around in the grass and enjoy today’s perfect weather. It was a sweet memory we’ll hold onto, and it surely fell into the category of a “rich and steady time” while we are “waiting for something to happen or hatch.” While some in our crew might have bigger ideas of what would make summer feel fun and dynamic, I am happiest to sit with friends and enjoy the sunshine, soaking up this time as best as we’re able, before the season wanes.

When I close my eyes, I think about all of the goodness packed into this time of anticipation. I don’t want to miss a bit of it, because all of this waiting and building up to something beautiful will soon be a captivating memory instead of present day. It’s like Christmas Eve all of the time, and it keeps lasting. The richness of that is something I just savor and want to be able to recall for the rest of forever. Especially with this baby, after a long journey towards a fourth child here with us, what God is up to has been something really special for my heart, mind, body and spirit. It’s a healing process that I’ve needed, and even though I am truly craving the opportunity to hold this baby, this space will move on with a bittersweetness that I’ll hold like a treasure. This has really been and continues to be the most sacred season as I lean in and deeply desire the closeness I’ve felt to God in so many moments. “A rich and steady time,” indeed. There’s not much better.

Know, sweet baby, that I want more than anything to hold you. You’re like the very best gift on Christmas Day, and I’ve waited for, longed for, begged for the opportunity to be your mama for a long time. It’s just so special to have you tucked inside of me, too, and I will cherish every second of the time we’ve had to grow together in this way. Heaven is breaking through in a new way in our lives with you, dear honeybee. You will be everything we’ve ever prayed for, and then so many extra blessings besides.

Hatch when you’re ready, little one, and until then, know that you are safe here with me.

MM