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the world is never ready

39 Comments

“How can you choose to have a child now?”

She asked me honestly, the way a wise and good friend can.

We’d spent half of dinner talking about how the world is spinning mad, careening out of control. And then she leaned over the table in flickering candlelight and asked me – me sitting there nauseous, me drinking water not wine, me wearing jeans that no longer buttoned – how we could do this again, how on earth we decided to have another baby.

She wasn’t accusatory. She was wondering, curious, maybe even baffled.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to say I don’t know. I wanted to say that I ask myself the same question – not only because the world feels terrifying, but because we know the intimate, absolute worst that can happen. Because we have buried babies.

But what I tried to tell her was what the poet means.

The world is never ready for the birth of a child.

Neither are we.

We said yes anyway.

. . .

I’ve kept the secret for months.

I spent a year writing here from the honesty of my heart, from the vulnerability of grief. I never held back my pain, my sorrow, my longing.

But then when we decided to try again, we didn’t tell anyone. For a long time.

Truth be told, I was tempted by this writer’s story. I secretly wanted to creep toward 40 weeks and not tell a soul. Then surprise the world with a healthy baby once we could finally breathe deeply.

Of course we couldn’t keep quiet forever. (I get obviously sick and hugely pregnant and could NEVER hide a pregnancy if I tried.) But it took me weeks longer to share the news than I expected.

Why? I wondered.

Family and friends were hoping for us. Wouldn’t we want to give them joy, after they trudged through a year of grief with us?

People come to my blog every day searching for prayers for pregnancy. Wouldn’t I want to connect with their hearts?

What about all you readers, the ones who prayed our family through the worst? Didn’t you deserve to celebrate the best with us, to share in our delight?

Why wouldn’t I want to give everyone the happy ending, the rainbow baby, the dream everyone hoped for? My husband was ready to shout it from the rooftop. I wanted to hold back. (This is not the usual writerly dynamic in our household.)

Here’s why. Because it’s complicated. It’s uncertain. It’s compromised and hard. Pregnancy after loss is nothing like pregnancy before. I thought I learned this after miscarriage, but the death of children after birth is another terrible world.

When you know that babies can die, you are no longer naive.

So I didn’t know where to start. There would be no cutesy announcement. No ultrasound pictures on social media. No “surprise!” at a family party. All of that innocent fun is from a far-off planet, a lifetime ago.

All I can say to you now is the same thing I’ve been saying to you for a year.

Here is my whole heart. It is broken and still beating. It refuses to give up hope.

All I can say to you is that I’m pregnant. Because “we’re expecting” means nothing once your expectations have been ground to shreds. Because “we’re having a baby” means little when death has taken them from your arms.

But I’m pregnant. One trimester down. Two to go.

We hope. We pray.

(There’s nothing else we can do.)

. . .

We’ve been telling family and friends for the past month. Most people are over the moon; a few were surprised. You can see it in their wide eyes: why would you ever do this again? After what you’ve been through? How crazy are you?

Last fall I read a memoir by a grave-digger’s daughter: We’ll Be The Last Ones To Let You Down. At the end of the book, she describes how the baby section at the cemetery convinced her not to have children.

I drew a deep breath and closed the book.

She and I had both stared into the same abyss, the graves of the babies. And we made completely different decisions.

There is no right or wrong way. There is only your own.

And ours is to try again. One more time.

. . .

What does it feel like?

It feels as wild and unpredictable as you might expect. It feels like we are the bravest or stupidest people in the world, depending on the day or the hour. It feels alternately daunting and hopeful, overwhelming and grateful.

But it feels like the way I want to live.

To choose hope over fear. To take one step beyond terror. To look death and despair straight in the face and declare no – you will not steal my joy.

We always wanted four children. We got them, in spades, in ways wildly different from anything we ever expected. Now I nuance: I tell people, we always wanted to raise four children. We still hope that might happen. We have no illusions or guarantees.

Yet love still takes the risk of birth. 

The world is not ready for another child. It never has been. This place is a mess.

But you could make this place beautiful.

So we keep going, keep hoping, keep daring to chase a dream. Because dream-chasing is the only way to survive.

I’m pregnant again. And we’re expecting nothing but hoping for good. And we aren’t having a baby, because we already have this baby, because love works like that, it sinks its claws into you the second you say yes, and thank God, it grips fast and doesn’t let go.

Here we are. Here we go.

May delivery be easy,
may our child grow and be well.
Let him be happy from time to time
and leap over abysses.
Let his heart have strength to endure
and his mind be awake and reach far.
But not so far
that it sees into the future.
Spare him
that one gift,
0 heavenly powers.

– from Wislawa Szymborska, “A Tale Begun”

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Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Claire says

    30 January 2017 at 7:30 am

    With tears streaming down my cheeks, I’m thanking God for your blessing. I hope the prayers of your baby’s sister saints in Heaven will sustain you through this pregnancy and beyond.

    Reply
  2. Heidi says

    30 January 2017 at 7:37 am

    Thank you, Laura, for sharing your news and all of your hopes, fears, and uncertainties with us. Your willingness to trust again provides all of us a glimpse of hope in this difficult world. We are holding you, your husband, and all of your children in prayer.

    Reply
  3. Ginny says

    30 January 2017 at 7:46 am

    I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. May the Lord bring you comfort from fear and anxiety in the months ahead. Thank you for your example of faith and strength! God bless.

    Reply
  4. Leslie says

    30 January 2017 at 7:48 am

    Praying for you.

    Reply
  5. Kelly Fray says

    30 January 2017 at 8:01 am

    Congratulations! Wonderful news to hear on this Monday morning. Your faith is inspiring!

    Reply
  6. Sarah says

    30 January 2017 at 8:03 am

    I don’t think I have ever read a blog post that has moved me to tears as this one has. I started following your blog after your little girls went to heaven, and your writing has always moved me. Your words are so beautiful. I can only imagine the bravery it must have taken to try again after your experience. Exactly five years ago today I lost my first baby to miscarriage. Since then I have had two healthy boys and am now 20 weeks pregnant with fraternal twins. I have thought of you a lot during my pregnancy so far. Since my loss, pregnancy has never been as joyful as I wish it could be. It is always filled with fear of loss because I know all too well that it can happen at any time. This twin pregnancy for me has been almost more nerve wracking than my first pregnancy after loss. Every day I hope amd pray that in a few months we will be holding both of these babies in our arms. But I also know that my faith is weak and that sometimes (a lot of times) fear gets the better of me.

    Anyway I guess I just wanted to say that I truly admire your courage and your hope and your willingness to try again. I pray that you will also be snuggling a new little one in a few months. Thank you for sharing your story and your writing with me. I truly appreciate it.

    Reply
  7. Nell @ Whole Parenting Family says

    30 January 2017 at 8:04 am

    You know the depth of our joy for you. Holding on to hope and clinging to prayers!!

    Reply
  8. Amanda says

    30 January 2017 at 8:07 am

    Praise the Lord! You have been ever in my prayers and will continue to be.

    Reply
  9. Diana Giard says

    30 January 2017 at 8:11 am

    Tears of joy are brimming my eyes. My prayers are with you as you expect nothing and hope for the best with this rainbow baby. While I don’t know you personally, I follow you regularly and am sharing this joy with you, kind stranger, who has opened her heart to the world and touched mine. Your faith in the darkest of darkness reminds me to also hold on to hope. May your pregnancy be healthy and safe, may birth be smooth, and may you continue to encounter Christ’s unfailing love, encouraging you and your family every step of the way.

    Reply
  10. Amy Anderson says

    30 January 2017 at 8:27 am

    I am so, so happy for you. I have been praying for you and your family for months, and now I will add to my prayers the health of your baby and the strength of your heart as you both heal and hope (and both of those actions require strength). So many blessings coming your way today.

    Reply
  11. Lisa Napoli says

    30 January 2017 at 8:30 am

    Congratulations and God bless. You and your family will be in my prayers.

    Reply
  12. Marie says

    30 January 2017 at 8:31 am

    Congratulations Laura! I honestly had this sense that maybe you were pregnant and every time I saw a new post pop up in the last few weeks I thought “oh she will announce she is pregnant”. I am not sure why I thought that, but anyway, I am very happy for you and grow, baby, grow!!! I felt very similar when we found out I was pregnant with Katharine (6th pregnancy, only 1 live child at the time). I was so, so, very tired (not physically, just mentally) and one part of me didn’t want to say anything because if we lost her like the previous 4 precious children miscarried before her, a part of me didn’t want to have to then retell all of those same people that we miscarried again. But in the end, I choose to share and I am so glad because so many people prayed for us and really carried us through that horrible pregnancy (not horrible that I was pregnant, no, not that all, but the anxiety was off the chart and it was so, so, so hard to wake up every morning thinking it might be the last day she was alive.) I distinctly remember someone saying to us “Oh, I know for sure this baby will make it, I know it.” And I had to reply “No, you don’t. Because you know why, you said that exact same thing when I was pregnant with Anne and we miscarried her too (Anne was our 5th pregnancy, 4th loss).” I didn’t want to be rude, but seriously, sometimes people just don’t know how hard it is to be pregnant after multiple losses and I think it made an impact on this person because they never said it again during the rest of my pregnancy. So please know of my prayers for you and your family and most especially the new baby!

    Reply
  13. Anne J says

    30 January 2017 at 8:34 am

    When I let the world know i was pregnant after experiencing the loss of twins at 22 weeks, a friend wished me “love and light.” They were some of the most beautiful words that were said to me and so now I will say them to you…I wish you love and light in this pregnancy. Pregnancy after loss is not easy…but there are so many things that make it beautiful. This babe is already covered in love.

    Reply
  14. Sharon Clark says

    30 January 2017 at 8:36 am

    Every time…every time you will be terrified, at every stage, every moment. Our prayers are here. Our prayers for your peace, your health, the baby, the pregnancy, the delivery. God has you, in the palm of His hand, and I know that’s the only way you’re getting through right now, because I’ve been there…a couple of times. God Bless you, Laura, I will be praying and making offerings for you both. (((( HUGS)))))

    Reply
  15. Ana says

    30 January 2017 at 8:43 am

    Oh so many congratulations!! And so many prayers, what a beautiful post!

    Reply
  16. Laura says

    30 January 2017 at 8:59 am

    All the very best. God bless you & feel well

    Reply
  17. Elizabeth says

    30 January 2017 at 9:58 am

    I’ve been following your blog since the birth of your beautiful daughters. I read this post with tears of joy and the words of St. John Chrysostom’s Easter homily in my mind:
    O death, where is thy sting?
    O Hades, where is thy victory?
    Christ is risen, and you are overthrown!
    Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen!
    Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice!
    Christ is risen, and life reigns!
    Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in a tomb!
    For Christ, being raised from the dead, has become the first-fruits of them that have slept.
    To Him be glory and might unto the ages of ages.
    Amen.

    And life reigns! I will be praying that God’s peace surrounds you through this pregnancy.

    Reply
  18. kimberly jaskulka says

    30 January 2017 at 10:24 am

    Congratulations!! Praying for you and your family!!

    Reply
  19. Amanda says

    30 January 2017 at 10:30 am

    Laura, I’m praying for you, heart soul and mind, and for your sweet little one. Prayers for continued healing and that Our Lord will comfort your fears and anxiety as the days progress. Your gift with words, sharing, and heart are such a gift of beauty and truth in a world that truly is a mess. So much grace. Thank you for every fiat you have ever said and all the ones you continue to say. You are an encouragement, a goodness, a true beacon of light in a dark world – in your hardships and in your joys. God bless!

    Reply
  20. Sarah Savarese says

    30 January 2017 at 12:37 pm

    Laura,
    Congratulations! I recently stumbled upon your blog, and am so thankful to have found it. This post hits quite close to home. I remember the uncertainty and nervousness that surrounded my “rainbow pregnancy.” It was a journey filled with much prayer and a few sleepless nights. However, I took tremendous comfort knowing that my sweet daughter was in heaven praying for her sibling. Know that I too will be keeping you in my prayers.
    Your writing is beautiful. Thank you for sharing your story with the world.
    Sarah

    Reply
  21. Rachel says

    30 January 2017 at 12:50 pm

    Laura, I’ve been following your family’s grief over the past year- holding you in prayer and also turning to your reflections on grief after our miscarriage. I could not be happier for your family – what a gift this baby is! I will be praying for a healthy pregnancy (for the baby and for you physically and you and your husband and sweet sons emotionally). This is God’s greatest gift!

    Reply
  22. Elise says

    30 January 2017 at 12:58 pm

    Much love and many prayers, sister! Always so grateful for your words and your generosity in sharing your heart with all of us.

    Reply
  23. Sara says

    30 January 2017 at 2:06 pm

    I love the prayer you included at the end. I will pray it for you and baby. Much love and joy for you!

    Reply
  24. Fran says

    30 January 2017 at 3:03 pm

    Such beautiful news.

    Reply
  25. Caroline says

    30 January 2017 at 6:11 pm

    Laura – congratulations! I was the last of 8 children of which my mother gave birth. The baby before me, my “big little sister” as I think of her, was born premature at 7 months, and only lived for one day. It was a difficult birth/scary delivery for my mother- her doctor advised her to not have any more- I’m glad she did not listen to him- two years later I came along. I wouldn’t be here otherwise!

    One of my daughters, many years later, was born on the same date as my big little sister’s death, her feast day- and it made me so happy that they shared that day on the calendar. I think of her too on my daughter’s birthday.

    Congratulations again, and we will pray for you and your family and new baby!

    Reply
  26. Kaitlin says

    30 January 2017 at 7:41 pm

    God bless you and all of your amazing children!

    Reply
  27. Dana says

    30 January 2017 at 8:41 pm

    Hi And congratulations Laura! This is my first time commenting on your blog (have been reading since last year). You are truly an inspiration. I am praying for you and your family. With my last pregnancy, I prayed daily to Sts. Gianna and Jude. They seemed like the perfect duo for a complicated pregnancy 🙂 I firmly believe that it was because of their intercession that my late premie only spent a few days in the NICU with minimal complications. She is beautiful, happy and healthy. Calling on them for you. As a previous commenter said- love and light, always.

    Reply
  28. Rose says

    31 January 2017 at 9:43 am

    Love, Light definitely, and with 3 boys, I suggest everyone add laughter!!! These are the 3Ls that I pray for my 5 children.

    Reply
  29. Deanne says

    31 January 2017 at 4:16 pm

    This is incredibly joyFULL news Laura! Congratulations on being a beautiful and willing vessel to another gift from God! Philippians 4:4-7 comes to mind and will be my prayer for you… “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Sending an abundance of prayers and congratulations your way!

    Reply
  30. Sonia says

    2 February 2017 at 11:15 am

    You write so beautifully. Pregnancy after a loss is an emotional rollercoaster that people don’t understand unless you’ve been through it. On one hand, you are excited and hopeful. On the other hand, you are anxious and scared because you know there are no guarantees. As a fellow Mama to a Saint in heaven, I know how you feel. Our only son was stillborn February 5, 2014. We had our rainbow baby in April 2015. She has brought us so much joy and helped heal our hearts. I will be praying for you and your new precious blessing. Thank you for being unafraid and showing grace while grieving for your sweet girls. For me, while I was pregnant with our rainbow, I really tried to “let go and let God.” I prayed that I would accept God’s will for me, whatever the outcome. I prayed that I would not feel anxious because I wanted my baby to feel nothing but love. I will be praying the same things for you. Love and hugs to you from Texas.

    Reply
  31. Sonia says

    2 February 2017 at 11:18 am

    Praying for you and your new precious blessing daily.

    Reply
  32. Christine says

    3 February 2017 at 1:16 pm

    What a beautiful post. My congrats to you, and our prayers are with you! God bless!

    Reply
  33. Kaitlyn Mason says

    9 February 2017 at 11:37 pm

    Felicitacions!! Je vais vous prier. 🙂

    Reply
  34. Ari says

    14 February 2017 at 11:36 am

    Congratulations. We just finished our second miscarriage, no other children. I don’t know how I will ever be open to life again, but maybe someday.

    Reply
    • Claire says

      14 February 2017 at 1:45 pm

      Hi Ari, as a longtime reader of Laura’s blog, I just wanted to say that I’m very sorry to hear about your miscarriages. I also have had two miscarriages (one was very early, and the second was identical twins at the end of the first trimester). I never went on to conceive after my last miscarriage, but one month before my babies’ due dates I adopted a beautiful baby boy who is now 9 years old. I will never stop grieving for the babies I lost, but I also can’t imagine life without my son. I know not everyone is called to adopt, and your future very well could include a live birth, but I wanted to encourage you that hopefully grief won’t be the end of the story for you.

      Reply
    • motheringspirit says

      14 February 2017 at 5:22 pm

      Praying for you, Ari. It is such a deep grief and a dark place. There are no easy words that bring hope; I think there is only the God that sits with us in the dark, even when we feel only absence. I will keep you in my prayers, for healing and someday hope.

      Reply
  35. Meetu Chopra says

    17 May 2017 at 12:28 pm

    Prayers for you.

    Reply

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  1. This Week’s Miscellany: What I’ve Been Into Edition (Vol. 165) says:
    3 February 2017 at 7:48 am

    […] The world is never ready: Mothering Spirit (If you’ve been following the journey of my friend, writer Laura Fanucci after the death of her twin daughters, you’ll want to see this update.) […]

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  2. the spiritual side of pregnancy after loss - Mothering Spirit says:
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    […] wrote about this truth in our pregnancy after miscarriage. Now that I’m pregnant again after the deaths of our twins, everything feels more […]

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I’m Laura Kelly Fanucci. Mother, writer, wonderer. This space is where I explore mothering through writing. It’s where I celebrate how God shows up in the chaos of raising children. It’s where I love to build community with readers like you. Read More…

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thismessygrace

Mother, writer, wonderer.
Seeker of God in chaos & life with kids.
Author of Everyday Sacrament & Grieving Together.
Glimpses of grace & gratitude.

Instagram post 2196944524877817946_1468989992 Beauty from brokenness.

At the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, there’s a mosaic tucked back in concourse F, hidden by the bathrooms. I notice it now because it’s the work of a kindred spirit.

A grieving mother.

By chance I read her story when the mosaic was installed. How her second child was stillborn and her world shattered and after months of wondering how on earth to create again, butterflies became a symbol of hope rising from ashes.

I remember her whenever I pass these restrooms, usually dragging a small child of my own behind me before a flight. Today I walked in with a pregnant belly, looking for all the world like a simple story: woman having baby.

My story is not simple. Neither is hers.

We are among you, the bereaved. Walking by you every day. Daring to keep going instead of giving up. Creating beauty from brokenness. 
You might miss it. We learn not to shout. But when we get space to share our stories, strange and sparkling beauty can be found.

Mary Shelley wrote her masterpiece Frankenstein while she was grieving the death of her baby. Prince had an infant son who lived only a few days. I collect these stories now—the artists who created out of their pain.

When something is shattered—a bone, a bowl, a dream—it can never be put back together in exactly the same way again. Cracks, jagged edges, trauma’s hard memory persists.

But an artist catches the glint of hope under the rubble and refuses to let destruction have the final word. Every creation is a mosaic, built from brokenness.

MSP Airport, gate F4. Check it out next time you’re here.

Thank you, @josielewisart 🦋
Instagram post 2195334718010341825_1468989992 You don’t have to apologize for staying in the slow lane.

Took two snowy hours creeping to the airport before dawn to remember this truth. Impatient trucks on my tail, angry red lights for miles.

Feel free to pass, as I fought off the urge of irritation at their too-close-for-comfort. I’m staying right here. Slow and safe.

Call it the Advent lane. The choice to slow down when the world speeds up.

Liturgical living isn’t about doing more, adding extras or achieving. It’s often about doing less. Living at a slower, sacred pace. Letting the world’s frenzy pass you by. Listening in the quiet for the still, small voice of God.

And here’s the secret you learn after years and years: it’s delicious, this discipline of living differently.

You gain time where others lose it: a full season of Christmas instead of one fleeting day. You feel time where others forget it: the weight of weeks before Easter. You notice how nature lives by the same cycles: waxing and waning, dying and rising.

Years ago our pastor preached about stopping at yellow lights as an Advent practice. One simple act, a few times a day, to remind you to wait.

Wait.

Slow down. Take a moment to breathe. Slip back into the living pace where you are no more important or urgent than anyone around you.

In a culture obsessed with success, speed, and endless upward mobility, it can seem crazy to take the slow lane—or the off ramp.

But you can stay here, slow and steady. Peace was never found by speeding up.
Instagram post 2192445717293184648_1468989992 “What if God were helpless?” Her question shook me.

We had sat together for an hour, wrestling with the biggest, hardest questions—suffering and death and grief and trust. But even from where she sat in her rocking chair, hair white with wisdom, eyes searching up at the ceiling for answers that don’t exist, her words shook me.

No, I wanted to leap to protest. God has to be Helper, not helpless. Powerful, not powerless.

Otherwise everything unravels, right? Otherwise what is solid ground? Otherwise who can I trust?

But I caught my own words. It’s Advent, after all. What we celebrate at Christmas is exactly this: God becoming helpless.

A newborn baby: nothing more helpless among us. Born into poverty. Vulnerable among animals. Away from his community. Unable to walk or talk or feed himself. Helplessness Incarnate.

And this was what God chose, the ultimate Power that set the stars spinning. Incarnation was the vulnerable, unexpected, scandalous, unbelievable way that Love took flesh and came to stumble in dirt beside us.

What if God were helpless?

What if it’s not a hypothetical question, but a theological paradox? What does it mean for my life?

It shakes me, as it should.

If you have understood, wrote Augustine, what you have understood is not God.

Advent is not a simple season, chocolate calendars and Christmas countdowns.

This is a time to remember that Jesus’ story is radical, upsetting every neat category and tidy expectation.

It would be easier if God stayed powerful: distant, removed, almighty. The shock is that Jesus becomes powerless, too: intimate, humble, among-us.

What if God were helpless? What would it mean for my life, my faith, my need for surety and solid foundation?

If God can be both—Helper and Helpless—what else might turn upside down? What grace might be waiting in the wreckage of our expectations?
Instagram post 2191564285632887396_1468989992 Anna Quindlen wrote that hidden within each of her grown children is the baby they once were, like the toy duck in the bathroom soap.

I feel the same way about infertility.

Yesterday I curved my sore back over the baby huddled inside, bent and swayed by the bathroom sink, seeking any relief. Nausea, sciatica, normal aches and pains—all of it daily burden, barely worth mentioning after all these years.

But I felt her rise up within me, the one who wanted Exactly This. All of This. Nothing But This.

She is the me inside me, the former and forever.

I see her in crowds, the one in ten walking brave each day through a world that flaunts what she wants (as the world does when we are wanting, filling our longing view with happy couples or pregnant bellies or warm homes or good jobs while we lust for the same). I carry her with me as I have carried each child, the ones whose hands I held and the ones I had to let go.

She taught me what it meant to crave control and to discover that I have none. She gave me the language of lament and the songs of sorrow.

I left her behind eleven years ago, on a cold winter morning like today, when a thin plastic test blurred to two lines for the first time.

I burst through the bathroom door as someone new, someone pregnant, someone’s mother.

I have never been the same.

But she is still me, and I am still her. Every day she prays me back to the place of all who are still waiting and weeping.

I could never call infertility a gift. But her companionship is.

When she whispers, it is louder than any stranger’s sneer, the judgement heaped upon four kids running ahead and a waddling mother trailing behind.

This, she reminds me.

You wanted exactly This.
Instagram post 2191077565846125357_1468989992 Advent is waiting to be discovered.

By those of us who have lived it for a lifetime. By those of us who have found it brand new.

Advent is quiet and calm when the world is anything but.

For those of us who delight in stillness and silence. For those of us who struggle to slow down.

Advent is the antidote we seek.

For those of us who crave radical challenge. For those of us who love ancient comfort.

Advent is never what we expect and always what we need.

The shortest season for the longest wait.

The perfect paradox for the God of surprises.

Advent is already the gift.

You can dip into this current any time, running strong and steady beneath the chaos of December above.

Any Advent moment will bring you peace and joy, which is already Love Incarnate, which is already Emmanuel, which is God among us.

A miracle. Don’t miss it.
Instagram post 2186625723368059660_1468989992 When I was pregnant with the twins, a strange thing happened.

As we started to share the news—in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving—people reacted in a way I never expected.

Instead of raising eyebrows or laughing out loud, they would get this wistful look in their eyes, offer a longing “oh...” and pronounce the strangest blessing. “Your holidays are going to be so wonderful.” I thought they were insane. I could not understand. What on earth did Thanksgiving have to do with it? Didn’t they see that all my plans had been dumped in a blender and set to Purée? That I never wanted twins, or five children under six, or any of the current complications life was hurling my way?

But over and over, friends and strangers looked at me with wistful, longing faces, saying so many times I lost count in my bewilderment:

Your holidays will be so wonderful.

Imagine all of them around the table.

You’re going to have so much fun when they’re all at home.

I am not in the habit of judging family size. Infertility, loss, first-hand heartache of the complexities and complications of childbearing have ripped back the stories beneath the surface. I know there are a thousand reasons why one might choose (or not) to have any number of children—or none at all.

But what I learned from countless unexpected reactions to my own unexpected news was this surprise. Sometimes we see only scarcity or overload where others are able to see fullness.

You might think your life is too much or not enough. But outside perspectives catch angles you can’t glimpse from where you stand. Goodness might hide where you see only hard.

Now I remember those voices every Thanksgiving. In years when holidays felt painfully lacking and in years when they brim to bursting, I remind myself how many saw fullness I couldn’t see.

Whether dreaming of the future or longing for the past—from countless friends who whispered they wanted one more or the stranger who told me she would have had ten if she could have had one—what they taught me was the beauty of here and now. The goodness before my eyes, even if it was never what I would have chosen.

We believe we see our whole story. Thank God we don’t.
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