He slapped the x-rays onto the harshly lit wall, black and white details of my most inner and intimate parts. In a perfect world the dye would shoot out the fallopian tubes in a shape like the open fingers of a hand.
Not mine. My remaining tube was clenched, holding every last bit of dye, and any possibility for pregnancy, in a tight fist. The doctor was clear and clinical, dismissive even, in his diagnosis. “You won’t be able to get pregnant again.” Maybe he was trying to be helpful, I don’t know but my heart was breaking in that moment and all I wanted to do was run out of there as quick as I could and collapse in tears.
My sweet husband tried to comfort me as best as he knew how. But how do you comfort someone who’s heart just broke? What do you do when your dream dies? We left the hospital dejected, undone, and not sure what our options were. I’d suffered a tubal or ectopic pregnancy several months earlier and after surgery to fix my remaining but damaged fallopian tube we’d learned the cold truth. This mama of one child who wanted five would have one. Unless we adopted.
God has a sense of humor I guess because I’m the woman who loves the chaos, the mess and the noise children bring to a home. Crumbs and crayons, big family blessings, fights and friendships, noisy meals around a big farmhouse table. Always my heart, my dream.
In His wisdom and graciousness, He’d given us one amazing daughter two and a half years earlier. And now He asked, can that be enough? But it wasn’t, not for a long time. This mama’s heart was broken and recovery was long, and 3 failed adoption attempts later, painful. I learned, albeit slowly, how God always has future generations in view.
Because sometimes it’s about something bigger than ourselves.
Three strikes and I was out. To say I was ticked at God is an understatement. In my limited experience as a recently saved young-in-the-Lord Christian I mistakenly believed God was my personal ouija board and all I needed to do was push Him around a bit to get the answer I wanted.
Not so much.
I took a long way around to learn God doesn’t work like that. He’s after something much bigger. And He always has future generations in view. Always. Because of this:
God is not interested in my happiness but in my highest good.
As our daughter grew up, she started revealing gifts and talents that astounded us and He began to teach us how to dig deep and bring out those gifts, polish them up and offer them to the world. He showed us her life was going to be a public one, her ministry large and far reaching and she needed our full attention to help her get there. We began our journey together discovering the music business and learning all we could to help her launch her dreams.
He also taught me something else. Sometimes God allows in His wisdom what He can prevent by His power.
He gave us one child with a world class gift, one with a purpose far bigger than I’d imagined and He said, “Can you take this on? Will you? Will you be satisfied with the road you’re on no matter where it leads?” Then He took my heart hostage as He gently whispered,
“Am I enough?”
God never asks a question He doesn’t have the answer to so I let Him answer.
And He is. He’s everything and there’s nothing I’d trade for the life I’ve been blessed to have. He taught me the most valuable lesson of all. To love Him for who He is, not for what He gives. In spite of my slow to learn heart, God gave us an incredible and loving child and now a wonderful son-in-law and 2 precious grand children who are my absolute heartbeats.
But being the mom of an only child didn’t start out as a blessing. Every baby shower was pure torture for a long time. I hated Babies-R-Us and rushed out of there right after buying a gift card. I didn’t want to have to shop the aisles looking at all the adorable baby stuff I’d never again use. Self-pity clawed at me, reminding me Who was really to blame. Or so I thought.
God, in His wisdom, taught me huge life lessons by not giving me my hearts desire.
Sometimes a hard diagnosis and a hard truth turns into a big blessing.
It may come disguised as tragedy or loss but in time and with perspective, the dark edges turn clear and what started out as a clenched fist of loss turns into God’s open hand of blessing.
It just doesn’t always look like it at first.