Pregnancy, for me at least, is like a magnifying glass. Emotions are heightened, both good and bad. One taste of ice cold watermelon or crunchy chicken salad makes me positively giddy. The highs feel so much higher. That happy dance in my tummy when I taste salty Kettle chips or the garlicky butter sauce that comes with Papa John’s pizza.
But the lows are lower too. This past week I read about two babies, both baby boys, who were born and only lived for hours. I sat at my computer reading about one and my phone reading about the other and sobbed. These are the moments I ache for heaven. These are the moments I want to pound my fists and scream and yell and collapse in a heap on the cold tile floor. This world is beautiful but also brutal. Beautiful because it still reflects our Maker. Brutal because it is tainted with sin and death and pain.
If we let it, the journey to a child, whether through pregnancy or adoption, whether fast or painfully slow, softens us. It makes our hearts squishy like a dry sponge that’s finally found water. It’s a beautiful, brutal process, one that continues on for the rest of our lives.
My prayers have been the desperate kind this week. Trust is so hard. Fear is so easy. I can turn my eyes to the brutal and become paralyzed. Or I can turn my eyes to the beautiful and see Glory.