Maybe This is What it Feels Like

I sat in a plastic chair at the side of the sidewalk, holding a slice of pizza on a triangle of cardboard, nibbling away. It was my second day in Jerusalem, and there was so much to see and take in around me. But as interesting as the Israeli rabbis and Hasidic Jews buying their lunch along the busy street were, something else caught my attention and imagination, up and away. “There must be a store for buying baby things or else an OBGYN office down the street,” My intellect said to my heart as I tried to eat my pizza. Thing was, my flat-yet-flabby-belly seemed so…so empty. Woman after pregnant woman strolled past me, chit-chatting with her friends, pushing baby strollers, waddling their big round bellies full of life down the street. Why was I so mesmerized by the sight? Why did my heart ache so much? My mind tried to stay busy, taking in the fascinations of town, the unfamiliar sound of Hebrew sentences, the smells and sights. But the pregnant ladies passing by every other minute had my heart.

What did they feel, as they strolled along, rubbing the large roundness of Baby within them? What would it be like to be That Pregnant Mama? What would it feel like to have only a short time left and then, the advent of a baby to my arms? What would it be like to linger over little baby clothes and be filled only with the feelings of eager anticipation, rather than the dull ache of remembering a tiny rough coffin in a nearby country, where a never-to-be-forgotten part of me was laying, buried under the dirt? Oh, the longing to ask That Pregnant Mama, what does it feel like to be you?? I long for that fullness in my womb, that satisfaction of being a safe place for a little child; that swelling of mommy-pride at the intensity of a strong kick from within!

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Today, I look down at my belly. Just a little over one year has passed since the day I sat trying to swallow pizza and grief all in the same gulping motion. Today, my belly is big and round. Maybe this is what it feels like.

The fingers, toes, knees and elbows that jab and tickle, somersault and wiggle within me. The anticipation of the day I will get to meet my second child for the first time. Will she have brown eyes? Or will they be like her Daddy’s, which are always changing in their shades of green and blue and grey? Will she smile the day she is born, or will she mostly just cry a lot or look around with wide open eyes between naps? Will she nurse like it’s an instinct or will it come with sweat and tears? Will she be five-and-a-half-pounds like I was at birth, or will she be bigger, maybe seven-and-a-half, or more? Will she have her Daddy’s thin, wide smile or my thicker lips? Will she resemble any of her aunts or uncles very much? Will she look at all like her older brother Seth? Will she suck her thumb? Will she sleep at night? Will I have enough clothes for her in three months when she grows out of her abundance of newborn sizes? What will it feel like to be my “normal” size again? On the other hand, will I ever be that size again? Will anything in my closet fit me in a week or two? I can’t wait to share my little one with our families! Oh dear, I am feeling so hungry I can hardly think...

Maybe this is what it feels like, to be That Pregnant Mama.

As I remember back to the scene in Jerusalem which I described earlier and look at the hope blooming in me today, I am marveling at the miracle of new life. New delight and hope. God saw the longings of that grieving, weeping Mama-Heart and wept with me, while simultaneously making plans to allow me the privileged experience of being a pregnant mama again. It's so precious to realize that He was there with me. And the same God is here with me now, inhabiting this very September day.

I still grieve the loss of my firstborn and find myself in puddles of tears with the ache. With time however, the crumbles of brokenness can break into joy. It is possible to allow God’s sentinel of Faith to come up and stand in your soul where you can only see sadness and painful shards of your heart just now. Possible to imagine peering into this sadness of your soul someday, marveling at the past and current presence of the God in whom you decided to invest your trust. It's OK to dare to thank Him for the present brokenness as well as what He is dreaming for the future. 

Maybe this is what it feels like to swell with the trust and hope of seeing the goodness of God.