I was devastated. Word of her pregnancy should have lifted me to
jubilant celebration, but instead it only reminded me of my own
barrenness. During the last month she had accidentally been careless
with protective measures against conception, while across the map in my
own corner of the world, I was purposely careless and pleaded with God to work a miracle through
the physiological impossibilities shared between my husband and me. She
neither planned on nor wanted more children, but I longed for as many
more as the Lord would give. The last month in particular, I had taken
bold and daring steps of faith and risked letting my hope rise again.
Like every other month throughout the last eight years, though, the
wave of hopeful anticipation and expectation crashed ruthlessly into the
rocky shoreline of failed attempts and cold nothingness. Allowing
myself to hope again was simply becoming more than I could bear and I
reminded the Lord of Proverbs 13:12 that says "hope deferred makes a
heart sick..." At my core, I felt my heart becoming sick as depression
mercilessly reared its ugly head again. Nothing, however, could have
prepared me for what God asked me to do that night on my way home when
He said to lay my burden down...
