I turn 40 in a little over a month–deep breath–and I had just had a conversation with some friends recently about the strange phenomenon of age and what child bearing looks like when you’ve given your fertility over to the Lord, and what it feels like to realize your child-bearing years may be coming to an end.
Now understand, when I only had a few children, I used to imagine that mothers of large families gleefully anticipated “being done”, with some kind of big *sigh*. And since I’ve had babies very steadily for the last two decades, there hasn’t been a lot of time to think about not having babies.
I was telling my friend that I had never had a miscarriage but I also was feeling, for the first time, the impending reality that very soon I would be done with the ability to create life. Heavy.
My children have been asking for about three months if I am going to have another baby. It’s such a bizarre thing that some people feel sorry for my children because they don’t think they could possibly “get enough attention”. My kids–every one of them–are so in love with babies, and so in love with the idea of another life that they can’t wait.
So it was with great joy that we were able to tell the kids a few days ago we were expecting. The dropped mouths, wide eyes, giddy laughs while bouncing up and down–you really had to see it. Beautiful, the way these kiddos love life. That’s the theology of “children are a gift”, un-jaded by man’s opinion.
Two days later, I began to miscarry. A completely new experience for me. Only a few days of the knowledge of a new life and they are a part of our family. We are naming, imagining, and dreaming of new born skin. To lose the baby is to lose a member of our family, even this early, and to pack up those new dreams and put them away.
I was unprepared for the way it would affect my children. I expected disappointment, but they’re children. I figured they’d say, “Aw…” and then skip off to play. But they cried. Long and hard. And after a few hours of not crying, they’d start crying again. My eight year old Avalee, after her first bout with tears, saw me several hours later, came and threw her arms around me, and sobbed again.
We are no strangers to loss. We’ve learned a lot over the past year about holding things loosely. But people are different. It hurts. But feeling pain in the night is a necessary part of knowing joy in the morning.
And then there’s a peace that comes because we gave this to Him a long time ago. We acknowledged that He is the Creator of life, the Opener and Closer of the womb, the One who gives and the One who takes away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.




We all want to know “why”. Why did a brilliant young man barge into a theater and murder people he didn’t even know? People he wasn’t even mad at?







