I had to walk and it took everything in me to get out of the chair. I didn’t care that it was January cold in the middle of the first week of March. The sun burned high like it does when Spring is coming and this day the sky was flint glint blue and the snow fields washed a hard white.
I was just trying to make it to the dirt road.
I was just trying to make it to breathing easy.
I was just trying to make it.
I thought of the four young ones at the house excited for a new sibling and me breathing puffs past peaking pain.
Where am I going to put it? The baby and my patience and my understanding and all this joy, too?
Our house sat tiny on a little rise with a wee loft for the boys and a wee room for the girls and the bathroom shoved into the loft’s corner too low for a shower.
I lumbered and breathed labored.
I wondered about living tight in house no bigger than an old shoe already full of children along with a bi-vocational husband working a job and overseeing a ministry and how I was already at the end of my laces when the pink line appeared.
Three days I lay on my bed while the days tick tocked near my head, my pillow wet with lament and worry.
What if recessive genes come bearing bad news for this little one and we reel and suck in breathless like we did with the boy Drummer?
How am I going to give this child the best of my mothering when I am already stretched and marked way past my abilities?
But God. Words a friend says all the time.
Despair-killing, life-resurrecting words.
A little word right before the uncontainable Word.
But God of the little teeny tiny and….infinity.
But God, Who stretches things like the heavens and tent pegs and wombs.
Who transforms water into overflowing vats of wine and streams into overflowing rivers.
Who fills twelve baskets reed-stretched full of fish and bread because a boy gave up a his fixings for a sandwich.
Who crams the Creator of the Universe into a feed trough.
I inhaled the last of winter’s cold air and made my way back to the tarred road, back to the little house on the rise and later that night the womb gave up a tiny girl baby with stand up straight hair and a ski-jump nose.
I placed her next to her sisters in a make-shift trundle bed shoe-horned into the corner under a window.
The girl grew but stayed small except for her wide mouth and her even wider heart. There were days when I had to put my finger to my lips and say.”Hush…we are in a no talking zone for fifteen minutes.” There were days when I marveled at her boldness to stand up big for Justice and to speak big about Jesus.
I think back to that morning, me shifting in my gait past the farm where we got our eggs and then walking down to the edge of where the dirt met the main road.
I smile remember.
Instead I wonder because it is a wonder.
It is a true wonder that the One Who has put the stars in their place knows where everything belongs. He knows where it all fits.