Big Bang Theory

Today is October 17th. Not 15th. I couldn’t write this on October 15th, but today I have some clarity, and a big “Ah ha” moment in fact. Or maybe several little “ah ha” moments that culminated into one big bang. That’s just my theory, though.

The 15th was the one year anniversary of my miscarriage, and ironically National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

For me personally, it’s a bittersweet day, more comforting, than painful, although it took me a while to get here. It’s a kind reminder that I’m not alone, that the sweet soul who was mine for only a minute, yet also for always, is reaping great rewards and we’ll meet again.

For others, it’s more painful. It’s crushing, suffocating, and debilitating. I mourn for them and pray for God’s comfort, peace, and grace to envelop them. It’s a hard journey that no one wants to take, but that many do.

Since Bobby turned one, nearly two years ago (Good Gracious how is he almost three), we’ve been trying to get pregnant.

(Sidebar, here). Such a strange thing to announce. I’ve always thought birth announcements were a little *uncomfortable* as well. Like, “Hey, we had sex, and successfully procreated!” I mean of course, no one says that. It’s always a cute little “bun in the oven” or “Prego” spaghetti sauce or “growing extra sets of hands/feet/toes/fingers” reference. I’m instantly like, “Hmm, it’s weird to think of Dick and Jane having sex. Weird. Let’s go back to pretending they don’t.” I remember when we told our family about our first pregnancy. Awkward. Like, “Hey…So we’re pregnant. Which means we had sex. Which we tried to hide from you for the preceding 5 years. But now that we’re married and there’s a babe we’re just gonna shoot you straight. We have a purpose and it’s not just for fun and games, anymore. We’re serious sexual endeavor-ers, now. Not in a freaky way, though. Okay, sometimes. I mean that’s not exactly what we said, obviously, but that’s how it felt.

ANYWAY, enough about weird announcements. I digress.

It has been really hard. To try for almost two years, and to still sit here waiting. Waiting in the unknown. With a lot of questions, and very few answers. To try to be patient and wait for God’s plan to come to light.

I have three beautiful, healthy, smart, funny, kind, AMAZING children. You’ve seen them, right? I’m a *little* proud.

So, am I being selfish? Greedy?

Am I supposed to be content? Is this what is meant to be?

I don’t know.

Not to be all philosophical, because I wouldn’t know how, but I’ve done some serious soul searching—for me, anyway. I’m usually pretty good at avoiding, deflecting, and procrastinating any self-examination, because that’s painful, and awkward, and messy. But now I feel restless. I need some action. Not that kind of action. Clearly that’s not working. I need to DO something. So the “do” I’ve been doing, is digging. And here’s what I come up with.

I’m impatient. With myself. With my kids. With my husband. With tractors and combines on the road. With stoplights. With the McDonald’s drive through. With my wi-fi. With school assignments and the damn farm cats. With people who want to chit chat with me. With meals. With the weather (no matter what it is) and just with life. Slow the bleep down, Emily. Take a minute, or two, or ten. I feel so rushed through life and it’s just go, Go, GO! There’s no time to stop and enjoy dinner with my family. No time to take a long, hot bath. No time to breathe. No time to deeply pray and reflect. And it’s awful.

I’m unorganized. Likely literally, I put one shoe on this morning, got interrupted by Bobby needing me to open his blueberry bar, which lead to me cleaning up the pantry shelf, which lead to me taking out the trash—with one shoe on. Apparently I couldn’t take the 15 seconds to put on the second shoe. Who does that? Moms. Moms do. But, still. This sort of random, unorganized, flip-floppery, piggy-backed on top of my impatience, shadows every aspect of my life. I feel pulled in 18 directions, with no specific purpose or structure.

I’m a quick pray-er. This is a pretty raw, shameful admission for me. I pray often, but rarely the deep prayer that I so desperately need. It’s like a frequent, intermittent, “Hey God, Take care of my babes today” as I’m driving down the road. Or “Hey God, thanks for these sweet souls you’ve entrusted to me” as I’m tucking them into bed at night. Or “Hey God, I’m really sorry I swore at that &*$%@ combine driver today. (He was in my way!) But really, truthfully. I AM sorry.” I am working on my patience (and my mouth), remember!? A little, grace, please. Which is ironic, also, because I couldn’t give the combine driver any grace, but neither here nor there. One fault and failure at a time.

There are times when I’m really distraught or failing, that I’ll stop. And intimately, honestly, purely open up and really just speak to him and I crave more of that. More time with my eyes closed, just breathing and being and feeling. It feels so healing. It gives me hope. It gives me peace. It makes me feel strong and content and like no enemy or trial could ever bring me down or stop me.

Last night. I went to bed RIGHT after I put the kids to bed. No phone (okay it was on the dresser, but I didn’t look at it). No TV. Just me. I cried. A GOOD cry. I wasn’t even really sad. Just overwhelmingly emotional at God’s goodness. I prayed. I don’t even know what I said. It just came rushing out. All this emotion and hopes and dreams and goals and failures and just gratefulness.

This morning, Trista sent me the link to our family photos. Another “ah ha” moment. As I took in, photo after photo, my heart swelled. In a world where there can be so much pain, so much loss, and so much darkness, why would I ever worry about needing to find the light? They’re right here. These beautiful people, given to me by God, are my light. They’re my structure and purpose.

I don’t know if we’ll have another baby. I still have a lot of questions and fears. But doubting God’s goodness isn’t one of them. He has so much love and faith in me. I’m unworthy some times, but he doesn’t care, and I’m immensely grateful. He asks so very little of me and gives so much. “Gives” isn’t even the right word. It’s just a constant, over-abundant flow of benedictions. I’m literally just spewing words right now because I cannot EVEN describe it, people! It’s so perpetually reassuring to know, that whatever his plan is, I’m always in his sight, in his arms, in his mind, in his love.

I’m going to work on my faults. It’s going to be painful. And I’ll probably be late. And wearing one shoe, sometimes. But I won’t be alone. And I’ll be carrying my blessings with me. In my heart.

And maybe in my arms, too. My kid blessings like to be carried.

Or as my food blessings in 20 grocery bags because I can only make one trip from the car.