Pregnancy wasn't something I prayed about. In my book, it wasn't even desirable. I wasn't baby-crazy, and honestly, it might have crossed my mind once. But even then, it was erased with thoughts of preparation like building a house, establishing my jewelry business, spending sweet time with my new husband - just us two, starting a ministry for teen girls, getting in the best shape of my life, running a half-marathon, and really just enjoying my twenties. But God had a different plan.
It would be a lie if I told you I wasn't devastated when I found out I was pregnant. There were lots of tears - and not happy ones. They were tears of frustration and confusion. I didn't understand why God would do this to me. I couldn't possibly be "Momma". My mind started racing with all the reasons God would be punishing me. Had I not been faithful? Had I not followed His will? Why, oh why, would the Lord place this responsibility on my shoulders?
And then, all at once, I understood.
Ever since I was a little girl, I have prayed for God's guidance in my life. My mom and dad taught me at a very young age that when you don't know what to do, you should ask God. And even if you think you know what to do, you should ask Him if you are making the right decision before stepping out and actually doing it. I prayed about what college to attend, what major to choose once I got there, summer jobs, who I was supposed to marry, career paths, where I was supposed to serve in ministry, and everything in-between. I don't say all this to brag on my willful dependence on the Lord. Rather, I am dependent because I can't make a decision to save my life - just ask my husband or my mom.
My life has been filled with worrying about what decision to make next. It could be something big like whether to move to a different state for a job, or something small, such as what color boot I like better (dark brown or slate). Geeze! It's so exhausting. So in my quest to be a better decision-maker, I have discovered that a complete dependency on Him makes everything easier for me - even the small stuff.
After discerning and calculating and trying to come up with every possible reason God had placed this new life in my lap, my heart changed. My thought was no longer, "Why did God do this to me?", but rather, "Why did God choose me?".
I have many, many friends who have battled infertility. Some have found that it wasn't the right time and now God has blessed them with their little bundle of joy, and others continue to battle the singular neon line on the stick. They have fought with discouragement on a monthly basis, but continue to squeeze out the last droplets of hope remaining. I would pray for them. I would pray that the Lord would give them peace until they met the right timing - His timing. But I could never wrap my head around it: this desire to have a child, to have a little one to tend to, to feed, to diaper, to coo, to feel and love and protect. It all seemed overwhelming, and I didn't understand - yet.
I sit here, now, waiting on the next move of my little fella. He doesn't kick anymore. No, he's much too big for that. His moves are slower yet more aggressive. He wiggles his feet over on my right side trying to stretch out, and his little hands squirm lower causing me to jump because I've never felt that before. It's the most peculiar thing. Jon looks at me as he watches Jude shift and stretch and says, "That has GOT to feel weird." Some evenings we just sit on the couch and watch him - our Son, his first movements.
My bags are packed. I've been working on getting his room set-up and picking out what kind of knick-knacks I actually need rather than buying everything on the "checklist" sent by the baby store. I finally picked out a bag to use as a diaper bag (because I'm too difficult to buy an actual diaper bag), and I have already tied a beautiful, I mean, manly scarf on the side because that's just what I do. I have washed all his clothes in the special baby detergent and put each and every little onesie in his dresser. I've been decorating for weeks. I've read my pregnancy book from cover to cover, and tried to mentally prepare myself for labor (this usually involves lots of prayer and a few deep breaths to try to recover). I'm terrified and excited all at once. The doctor said he's head down and ready to meet the world, to meet me. We are eager.
And then it hits me. I'm the same girl who - nine months ago - didn't want to be pregnant.
I reminisce to those first days of being mad at God for making me this way, for the nausea and the uncertainty and, what I thought was, really crappy timing. And I thank Him for His blessing of choice. His choosing of my body to carry this helpless little one who I'll raise up to serve Him.
Because Jude is something special. And God has a place for him in this world. Those prayers I prayed for God to show me how He wanted to use me are being answered - and it's got nothing to do with me. My selfish hope of starting a ministry and teaching may not be in the books. Maybe God wants to use me through Jude, and the purpose of my life is not to only impact those I come in contact with but the ones who Jude will seek out. He may be a preacher or a missionary or even a humble man with a common job who will tell others about Jesus every chance he gets. Maybe the lives I'll influence won't be because I taught a good lesson or wrote a wonderful book, but rather, because I was chosen by the Lord to carry Jude. It's not about me - it never is. It's all for HIS glory. And I am thank-full.
This little boy will be here soon, and I can't wait to start our adventures together. Because that's what life is: an adventure. Whether we're ready or not, God calls each of us to our very own. And I'm so very thankful He's guiding me through this next chapter of mine, The Adventures of Jude Henry.
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