Sunday, September 9, 2012

The Story of Us

I just can't seem to make the words fit.

They're here, on the tip of my tongue.  But somewhere between the swelling and the fatigue and the crib sheets, the words get jumbled. 

I put his room together.  Finally let go and let myself begin the nesting process.  A putting together of pieces.  Very much unlike the other women and mothers-to-be around me, but nevertheless all my own.  Like so many building blocks, a puzzle...

So now there's a changing table.  And a crib.  There's tiny little boy clothes in hampers and baskets.  There are small socks and an abundance of blankets.  Scattered throughout my home, yes... our home, are lions.

He has a big name to live up to.  Big shoes to fill.  A deep, strong prophecy spoken over his life.

And he will be here in a few days.

Just a few days.

I find myself in a strange place today.

I find myself at the end.

Here we are.


Two days before I found out I was pregnant, I wrote:

Sometimes we wait for the right time for the right thing to happen.

When all along, the whole idea was to surprise you anyway.

And surprises never happen like that.


I don't know if I can do this or not.  I don't know if I will be a good mother -- or if it will come as naturally to me as it did to my sister last week when this small little boy was born.  

I don't know if I can juggle being a single mother and finishing my last semester of school.

I don't know if I will be able to be two parents at once.  

I don't know if I will be able to pay all my bills.  

I don't know if I will be able to raise my son to be a good man who remains in awe of the small wonders of the world and loves people...

even when they fail us.  


I made it through the 18 weeks of nausea.  Through the titled uterus, which made it hard to hear his first heartbeats.  Through the break outs and the flat hair and the pulled muscles and the weakened immune system.  

There were no insane cravings.  No 2 am runs to the grocery.  Just dragging myself out of bed that first trimester, to walk to class.  Staying up late to write papers, hiding under sweatshirts.  Living off wheat saltine crackers there for a while.  

I ate a lot of red meat and a lot of cheese.  Took myself to every doctor's appointment.  Avoided caffeine for the better part of the year -- but not entirely.  I miss sushi and tuna, though.  I heard my son's heartbeat and saw his face, by myself.  Late in the term, my hands started cramping up.  The nightmares, however, were there from the very beginning.  Vivid, terrifying, every time I closed my eyes.  The echogenic intracardial focus.  

I remember I held my breath until 12 weeks.  Sure that something would go wrong... sure I wouldn't be able to carry a child.

I named him by myself, before I even knew he was a boy.

We thought we'd call him Jude.  

But he has taken on his own name.  He told us, somehow, he is Judah.  A lion.  A gift of praise.  Given a name meant for me, meant for my mother, had we only been boys.

And so I sit, taking a snapshot of my life today compared to January 13th.  

I have a new testimony about God's provision.  To add to my testimony about His voice.  And His plan.  And His love for risks and a good story.

I walk into Judah's nursery and it is brimming.  Stacked.  Piled.  Folded.  A nursery, which had been empty in May is now overflowing.  

A new apartment. 

A new job.

A car.

I also know more about the character of God than I may have ever been able to articulate before.

Because, you see, people have disappointed me.

Consistently for over a year now, people have been breaking my heart.  Not just one, good, clean break.  But a splintering.  Repeated offenses.  They have judged and cursed and abandoned.  They have cast me out.  They have called me whore.  Liar.  They have called me dangerous... selfish.  Damaged.

And through it all, the character of God was what remained the same.  Faithful and consistent.  No "buts" about His love.  No stipulations.  A gentle, steady voice saying He knows what He's doing, He loves me when others do not, and I cannot see what He has planned.  But trust Him, because He does.

Grace, tattooed on my wrist, never meant more.  Because never did He say: "I love you and this little boy, even though you sinned" like so many others did.  He didn't say, "I will make something beautiful out of this, even though you made poor choices".  

What He said was, "I love you and this little boy and I have made this a part of something beautiful." 


If Judah does not come on his own, he will be here by Thursday.  Four days.  That's all.  

I need to do some small things.  Like install the car seat, pack my overnight bag, do another load or two of laundry... but basically everything is done.  

Everything is done, yet I still don't feel ready.  

But I don't think Judah's going to wait for that feeling to go away.  

What we are ready for, is to tell a new story.  

Ready to show the world what it means to be a family, to love, to overcome.  We will show them what resilience looks like, what diversity looks like, what faith looks like.  We will show the world, all those who doubted, what it means to love Jesus.  To forgive others.  And to wait, hope, pray... for the right people to enter our story.


That's what has changed.  This week, that will be what changes more than anything.


It's a story of us now.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This is beautiful and something you will look back on many times in the future. God is absolutely writing an awesome adventure story for you and Judah! I'm so thankful that He has your attention so you don't miss any of His intended blessings!! YOU were chosen to be Judah's mom no matter what the circumstances! And because YOU were chosen, that means YOU can do it and it will be awesome. God is the best co-parent I know :) I'd love to come meet you all sometime soon and bring my miracle to show you what 14 years later can look like :)