A Different Kind of Perfect
When I was a little girl playing with my baby dolls, I imagined the white picket fence, four blonde babes running around the house with loose curls, and eyes so blue you could almost dive right in. I dreamt of all the times I would laugh when the youngest said “pecans” like me, and our oldest son would of course be the star of the baseball team like his daddy.
When my husband and I married, our plan for the future looked identical to the one I dreamed of as a child. Wrapped up nice and tidy with a cute bow. We would have the sweet little house, great jobs, and get pregnant the first few months of trying. And that would be our life.
Perfect. Safe. Normal.
Then after several years of trying to get pregnant and enduring months of infertility treatments, I sat in the floor of my bathroom with the last negative pregnancy test, and all of those dreams came crashing down. We would never have children that had my husband’s eyes or my smile. And after a little grieving what could have been, I would soon learn to be okay with that.
It’s funny how we do that to ourselves. How we plan our lives to look how we think they should. When really the Father has plans so immeasurable, that are ours for the taking, if we only trust Him.
He met me on the bathroom floor that morning. Offering me an intimacy with Him, I would never have known otherwise. He held a broken heart and lots of broken dreams, and invited me into a story much sweeter than I could ever imagine.
When I was a little girl playing with my baby dolls, I imagined the white picket fence, four blonde babes running around the house with loose curls, and eyes so blue you could almost dive right in. I dreamt of all the times I would laugh when the youngest said “pecans” like me, and our oldest son would of course be the star of the baseball team like his daddy.
When my husband and I married, our plan for the future looked identical to the one I dreamed of as a child. Wrapped up nice and tidy with a cute bow. We would have the sweet little house, great jobs, and get pregnant the first few months of trying. And that would be our life.
Perfect. Safe. Normal.
Then after several years of trying to get pregnant and enduring months of infertility treatments, I sat in the floor of my bathroom with the last negative pregnancy test, and all of those dreams came crashing down. We would never have children that had my husband’s eyes or my smile. And after a little grieving what could have been, I would soon learn to be okay with that.
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