The ache in my heart


*Greg, don’t freak out as you read this. It ends ok.

About 8 years ago, I started feeling little tingles in my heart. I didn’t know what it was a first. But as the days passed and I quietly looked within, and then outside myself, at my sweet husband, and our little life, there was a new yearning. A hope. And a little space. And I knew God was preparing me to love. More deeply than I imagined possible.

And it started a cycle of great hope and love and heart ache. Welcoming precious new lives into our family. And with each life conceived. I dreamed. And planned. Because y’all know that’s what I do. There have been six moments when the world has stopped, at least in our house (well, one time in the car when I stuck a pregnancy test stick into a cup of pee I’d brought with me…WHAT?!?! I KNOW I am not the only person who has done this and dear friend and reader who once gave me the idea I am looking at you :) …when the world has stopped and we smiled and marveled at the gift of life. And three times, we have surrendered to God’s good, yet painful plan of letting go for now and hoping for heaven.

But with my last pregnancy, I was so consumed with fear that something would go wrong, and so desperately trying to surrender to God’s best plan for our family, that the reality of a third son did not set in until months after he was born. I found out the gender at just 15 weeks. But honestly I was more interested in seeing a beating heart than wether we would be welcoming a boy or girl. My heart hoped for a girl. But my soul was desperate for a healthy baby. And there is something not final about a little one until they are in your arms. And then it becomes so all consuming. How can you not love those eyes starring at you. Feeling your every breath. And meeting their every need. And I was really tired. But when the fog of the newborn storm lifted, I held a son. My third son. And something inside hurt. A deep. Empty. Hurt. Heart broken. For a daughter.

My heart is full. My life is full. I am blessed. But I wonder. And question. And blame. I have tried shaking my fists. At my husband first….because genetically we know this is his fault. Then at God. And lets be honest, this is not the only time I have looked at God with anger and fear and pain and asked why. WHY?!?!? Why didn’t I get what I wanted? What I thought was best? I have disappointments from years and years and years ago that feel like they happened today. That I have held on to. Too tightly. As proof. In case I ever need to put together a case proving that God doesn’t love me like he Loves everyone else. Which is total crazy talk. Which I am prone to.

But deep in my heart I hear Him say, “I have come to bring you life, Lindsay.”

Bless the Lord O my soul, and forget not all his benefits Lindsay, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crown you with steadfast love and mercy.

The lives of my precious sons bless me beyond words. And I can’t imagine it differently. But I might tear up if I see your daughter’s chubby legs in a little leotard. I might offer to teach her to sew or take her to get her nails done. And I will probably show up when she is decorating her room or getting ready for her first dance. I’ll be overly involved in her wedding. And throw showers until the cows come home. Loving sweet relationships with girls that become women, wives and moms as I watch from afar. And love closely.

I wrote this post over a year ago. When the ache was still strong. But hesitated to share it because it was still raw. Open. Aching. And I didn’t want any sort of sympathy. Or sad comments. Or pep talks. I just wanted to share an area of hurt that the Lord has been faithful to pour love into. And thought it might resonate for one of you.

*unless Greg has a little too much to drink one night and I talk him into a bonus baby! Just kidding. I’m kidding. Kidding on the kidding. We’re all just kidding.


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