Thursday was the due date for our baby that we’ll get to meet someday in heaven. The week leading up to the due date was harder than the due date. Jonathan was two weeks early, Abigail four days, so I knew that this baby would have been early, too.
I think it helped being 800 miles away from home. Surrounded by God’s creation and a constant reminder that He is so much bigger than we give Him credit for being.
I also know I was surrounded by prayers. If you were one of the people holding me up, thank you. I could sense your prayers, and they did make a difference.
I wish I could say I was pregnant. I wish I could hold my baby right now. But I can’t.
Someday maybe I’ll understand. But for now, I can say that I survived. And there’s a part of me that’s a bit more able to move forward. Now, I can’t say I should be eight months or nine months pregnant. I should have a nice round belly. No, at this point I should have a baby.
And I do. It’s just not in my arms. Instead, that little one – Gabriel or Gabriella – is dancing on the streets of heaven. And someday I will get to join him.
And until then, I look forward because I know God will use even this for good – He already has. And someday I will see that good in my life. And even if I don’t, I know to the very core of my being that He is good because He never changes.