Our children. Luke’s death has impacted that big question we’ve been wrestling with: “How many? How will we know when to stop?” Before our miscarriages, I took for granted that we could have as many as we wanted. They came every year. Our thoughts were more about how and when to limit these blessings than how to receive from God the grace necessary to love them — the unknown, unnumbered “them” — well.
Not too many gifts, God. Not sure what we’d do with them all. Love the Duggars, but don’t think we could be them, ya know?
No matter how much we’d go around about it, we always ended up where we started, with the conviction that we need to trust God to open and close the womb, when and how he chooses. We’ve never closed the door on participating in that decision, but always with the understanding that he would let us know when it was time.
Now we’ve lost two babies. Our arms ache to hold them and we’re suddenly unsure if we will even be able to have more.
If we do get to have more, the risk seems higher that we could have children with physical or medical issues. It’s not really though, is it? It’s no higher or lower than it’s ever been. Our story is already written. If it includes children who aren’t perfectly healthy, it’s always included them. They are already ours to love and conceive. We just have to — get to — trust God. With fear and trembling. And anticipation.