Warmth in an Unrelenting Winter
Updated: Apr 2
Originally written March 6, 2017
Today I am sitting in our third bedroom. This room haunted me when we first moved into our house.
It had no immediate purpose. I made it my office and prayed it would not be that for long. I didn't want to unpack it or even walk past.
I felt like it was taunting me, reminding me that it may or may not ever become a sweet nursery to nurture a baby, our ultimate desire for the space.
I don't need an office, I already have a studio where I teach. We don't need it for storage, we have a large storage room in the basement. Do I unpack, my heart heavier with each box emptied? Do I paint the walls, knowing its purpose could change this month or maybe the next?
I am learning, slowly, to engage in my current stage, even when it is one in which I never wanted to find myself. Choosing to try to thrive during the waiting is not going to make the waiting last longer. God is not going to change the outcome of our trying to start a family because I seem to be accepting how things are. Though there is pain here—hurt, loss, disappointment, grief, and fear—there can also be contentment.
There is room in the waiting to accept the grace that is enough for this day.
Today I sit in this third bedroom with the windows open (an absolute luxury during March in Iowa) and study John 16. In this passage, Jesus comforts his disciples, letting them know that the pain of his leaving will soon be overshadowed with joy.
The loss of our two pregnancies and three years of infertility will someday be overshadowed with joy from God. I don't know how or when it will come to us, but I am completely sure of who He is. God always keeps His promises, does not allow suffering to be wasted, and will He not leave me here in this valley. He will win the war in my life, whether it looks the way I expect it to or not.
Until then, I feel the sweet, unseasonably warm breeze on my face and whisper, "Your will be done, Jesus."