House on the Rock

Tiny, chubby hands slammed a high-chair tray lathered with smashed bananas and yogurt. I worked frantically to keep my own breakfast from burning, racing back and forth from a skillet of scrambled eggs to the table where I could break off bite-sized bits of blueberry for my baby boy.

But inevitably, I was never quite moving fast enough. My scrambled eggs garnered that thin layer of lightly-toasted char which makes them all but repulsive, and my son let out a guttural groan indicating he might just starve if I didn’t shovel him a snack that very second.

I set aside my seared skillet of scrambled slop and resigned myself to the table. His tiny esophagus was no match for Meijer blueberries, which meant each one needed to be quartered, if not smaller. I worked as fast as I could to dice the blueberries, but Luke’s impatience was evident. He arched back, whining, groaning, then slamming his hands on the table some more.

“Oh my sweet child,” I whispered, winded from the whirlwind of the morning’s work. “If you only knew I’m doing this for your good!” The waiting that seemed pointless and frustrating in his little mind was, in reality, the very thing protecting him.

That very phrase uttered in a frenzy caused me to pause for just a moment. I can only imagine it’s that very truth the Lord is leading me to learn. In seasons like this one, where I’m doing my own grown-up version of high-chair tray smacking because things are taking longer than I want them to, I have to imagine He is shaking his head with a smile — lovingly, tenderly beckoning me to see that this season of waiting is the very best thing for me.

I hesitate to even write this, because I know of so many dear friends in a seemingly endless season of longing for children — even one child. And I have to imagine there are days, months, years, where you want to smack the table and scream out: Why is this taking so long?! How could there possibly be any good to come from this?

But the truth of our story is that after giving birth to Luke, (and once we had a few weeks to recover from our near-death delivery), Joe and I were ready for number two. We were so enamored by the little life in our arms. On top of that, we both were blessed to have brothers less than twenty months apart from us, and that closeness in age brought about the sweetest childhood memories from a brother-turned-bestie. We wanted that for Luke.

So, we had a timeline set in our heads: Heal in month 7, try in month 8 (sorry Dad), conceive in month 9, baby by month 19. The perfect age gap, just like Cali-Cam/Jake-Joe. We couldn’t wait for our perfect little family to complete our perfect little plan.

But as it so often goes, we were quickly reminded of how little control we have in such matters. My body was nowhere near healed by month 7. The efforts of our attempts proved fruitless as my body went month after month with no conception. We slowly watched our ideal timeline slip away as month 8 turned to 10, then 11 going on 12.

Again, I want to humbly reiterate that our version of waiting is wimpy in comparison to what many have endured. I think you could very easily scoff at this story and say, “hmph. Poor baby. Three months of unmet expectations — try three years like us!” And you’d be right, and I’m sorry. But waiting is waiting, and my goal here is not to establish myself as Chief Sufferer as much as to merely remind myself for future days what The Lord is teaching me now.

Tim Keller, unsurprisingly, put it best in Hidden Christmas, where he imagines that Jesus is talking to bereaved father Jairus after the (temporary) death of his baby girl:

“If you want to impose your time frame on me, you will never feel loved by me, and it will be your fault, because I do love you. I will fulfill my promises” (36).

I think I can all too easily slip into thinking that God has forgotten me, or perhaps his favor has run cold, or that he hasn’t answered any prayers lately, or that he doesn’t love me like he loves other people. And Keller is exactly right: this is all my fault! As I impose my self-made timeline with no foresight of the future, I forget God’s goodness. I forget His plan is perfect. I forget His promises will come true — they always do!

And this promise doesn’t mean we’re guaranteed another baby. It doesn’t mean we’ll get to see a full house of close-in-age kids and walls lined with pictures of a growing family. In fact, it doesn’t guarantee any ease in this life at all. But what He promises is this: moment-by-moment nearness to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). Strength for the weary (Isaiah 40:29). Faithful love that no distance can separate (Romans 8:38). Immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). The working of all things for our good and His glory (Romans 8:28). And eternal life with Christ for those who believe in Him (John 3:16).

These are the bite-sized blueberries I need to savor: the beautiful blurbs of Biblical truth that transcend all of Scripture. They’re the blessings that ground me in God’s love, rather than focusing on my unmet wants and feeling like He doesn’t see me. In the times where I’m tempted to slam my hands on the table and demand God move faster, may my heart be drawn to the fold of a Father who whispers, “my sweet child, I’m doing this for your good.”