My jaw dropped and my
stomach sprang itself into knots when I found out about you, little one. Another precious heart, another broken start. I had been nervous for the better part of a
year, knowing it was entirely in the realm of possibility that you would come
to be. And I was entirely incapable of
convincing God that I had done enough, I had given enough, I had said ‘yes’
enough. So it was always in the back of
my head that we might be in the position we were about to be, but I had high
hopes for the logic and rationale of my husband. He would talk me down, convince me that there
was no way we could parent another and that no one would expect us to. For goodness sake, they all wondered what we
were doing with five – and so did we some days.
But apparently we keep forgetting that this story isn’t about us.
It was back to back
nights in April that the Great Story-Writer wrote my dreams. One night I find myself in an entirely glass
hotel on the sandy ocean floor watching the tide come in to slowly swallow the
whole building. I fall asleep under the
glowing blues filled with whales, sea turtles, brightly coloured fish and all
the creatures that make it easy to believe in a creative Mastermind. The next night my kayak glides across the top
of the ocean, alongside glorious cliffs.
Crystal clear water again gives window to the waters teeming with
beautiful, majestic life below me. I wake
up smiling that this God of the universe gives me glimpses into something glorious,
letting me behold His glory for just a moment in my sleep. I know there is more to this divine kiss, some
kind of meaning I am missing, but I have to wait.
A month later I hear
Him again. He flashes the slideshow of
ocean dreams through my memory and says “you will see my wonders.” I am excited, a little bit giddy even. The rush of hearing His voice quickens my
pulse and lightens my step that day. And
then I am nervous as I remember: every time I have ever seen His wonders it is
because they are preceded by the kind of very difficult situation that requires
a wonder. I tell God that I wonder if I even
want to see His wonders and He is okay with my snarky attitude.
I get to revel in the
loved-and-spoken-to aura for a week before that moment that my jaw drops and my
stomach flops and my mind goes into overdrive.
The moment I find out that my daughter has a baby brother. What now?
The first wonder is that my reasonable, rational, logical husband has
been drinking the kool-aid and doesn’t say “no” right off the hop. Or was the first wonder two years ago when
these organized, type A, control freaks of parents loosened their grip on the
wheel that directed the size, race, trauma, baggage, and permanency of their
family? When they opened themselves up
to love and lose, to co-parent with the government, to be open to intrusion and
scrutiny.
In any case, now we
are actually having the conversation about a sixth child, making the
spreadsheet, listening for guidance. The
conversation is fairly circular, something like “How can we possibly do this?”
followed by “How can we possibly not?” and back to “But how could we possibly
do this?” The spreadsheet lists at least
47 reasons not to take our daughter’s brother into our family. And yet every fibre of our being knows that
we will deeply regret saying no. We
waiver for days. Uncertain we are
capable of a decision this weighty.
In various ways we
hear God whisper, reminding us that He thrives on being More-than-Enough when
things seem insurmountable. “You will
see my wonders” echoes in my mind as His breath blows across the surface of the
deep. Is this really just the beginning,
I wonder? How much will He call us to? What does He know about us that we don’t? Because this doesn’t seem like a very good
idea, humanly speaking. But apparently
we keep forgetting that this story isn’t about us.
Truth speaks from the
pages of scripture, like it always does.
First He catches my attention with the interweaving of His words and my
dreams. Psalm 107:24. We were witnesses of God’s power out in the
ocean deep; we saw breathtaking wonders upon the high seas. We were witnesses of God’s power out in the
ocean deep; we saw breathtaking wonders upon the high seas. My heart skips a beat and I steep in the words
for a days, amazed at how truth spans thousands of years. Of how He is the same yesterday, today, and
forever. At how in His immense majesty He
is also intimately personal.
And then my lens
broadens and He speaks again. Psalm
107:21-31
So lift your hands and
give thanks to God for his marvelous kindness and for his miracles of mercy for
those he loves!
Bring your praise as
an offering and your thanks as a sacrifice as you sing your story of miracles
with a joyful song.
Some of us set sail
upon the sea to faraway ports, transporting our goods from ship to shore.
We were witnesses of God’s
power out in the ocean deep; we saw breathtaking wonders upon the high
seas.
When God spoke he
stirred up a storm, lifting high the waves with hurricane winds. Ships were tossed by swelling sea, rising to
the sky, then dropping down to the depths, reeling like drunkards, spinning
like tops, everyone at their wits’ end until even sailors despaired of life,
cringing in terror.
Then we cried out, “Lord,
help us! Rescue us!” And he did! God stilled the storm, calmed the waves, and
he hushed the hurricane winds to only a whisper. We were so relieved, so glad as he guided us
safely to harbor in a quiet haven.
So lift your hands and
give thanks to God for his marvelous kindness and for his miracles of mercy for
those he loves!
We aren’t sailors,
Bernie and I, but we hear the message loud and clear. Sometimes, when God speaks, He stirs up a
storm, but that doesn’t mean He isn’t speaking.
There can be waves and reeling and spinning and despairing, and none of
that is the marker of whether He has spoken.
We are terrified at the notion that things are going to get that
hurricane-like in our family, but it really is not hard to imagine that they
will. We worry about our other 5 kids
and whether they will resent this little one for bringing more chaos. We worry about our boys and how they will
understand the balancing of our responsibility to them and our responsibility to
God. We worry about the opinions of
others and what they will say behind our backs.
We worry about buying a vehicle that fits one more. We worry about vacations, music lessons, sports,
hotel rooms, airplane tickets. We worry
about three under three and six under nine.
We worry about going back to major uncertainty after our family finally
feels settled.
And then when we start
to pray about all of these worries we get sidetracked. We fall asleep praying about our worries and
wake up praying for this precious new life.
Who will love him, who will sacrifice for him, who will care for him,
who will invest in him, who will fight for him, who will be there for him, who
will lead Him to his Great Story-Writer.
When we imagine saying
yes to him joining our family we are scared.
When we imagine saying no we are devastated for him, devastated for
Shania, and ashamed at our lack of faith.
And so we say yes to
God and yes to Chase. We lift our hands
and give thanks to God for his marvelous kindness and we trust for his miracles
of mercy for our family. We have been witnesses
of God’s power out in this ocean deep; we’ve seen breathtaking wonders upon
these high seas. We will be witnesses of
God’s power out in this ocean deep; we will see breathtaking wonders upon these
high seas. We have hope in His presence
in these stormy seas and we have hope in His faithfulness to guide us safely to
harbor in a quiet haven (in 20-30 years).
But in the end, this story isn’t really about us.
