Unexpected gifts

I will admit it. I love to plan. Wait – I think I have confessed this before. It may be a recurring theme. I think that in some scenarios, the words “control freak” may have been tossed around. I try not to be too offended.


You see, I am more comfortable when I can plan what is coming my way, when I can have an organized schedule to follow, when life is predictable.

I think I can now attribute this need for pattern, for stability to a lifetime spent trying to figure out how to appear normal while I struggled with many of the symptoms of ADD. I must have learned early on that if I could plan enough, and map it all out, then no one would be able to tell how difficult things really were for me. This has definitely carried over into my adult life.

Did I mention ADD tendencies? Let me try to get back to the topic at hand. Something about planning, control, schedules……..

Almost 7 years ago, I was at the end of my proverbial rope. I had a very busy job in our church, we lived in a small home with one bathroom, and had six young children who kept me very busy. The new baby was a tiny one at the time of his birth. Weighing in at only 5 lbs, 7 oz., he was determined (and still is) to make his wants and needs known. He was very loud and very frequent with his demands.

It was at this point that I informed Bob that I was finished. “Six is a great number of children” I informed him through clenched teeth. He patiently told me that it was fine if we only had six, but also reminded me of our plan. The plan we made all those years ago, when we still had stars in our eyes, sleep under our belts, and money in our wallets. In those idyllic days, we had decided that 8 was the perfect number of children for our family.

I can still see it, as if in slow motion. I think there might be a cartoon speech bubble perched over my head, as the words tumbled out of my mouth. “It would take an act of God.” Reminder to self – be careful what words fill your cartoon speech bubble.

Just about one year later, I found I was pregnant again. To say I was upset is probably an understatement. I cannot begin to count the hours I cried, the questions I asked, the recriminations I hurled skyward. I did not understand how I could possibly be a mother to one more child when my life was so full already. I spent the pregnancy in various stages of anger, denial, and quasi acceptance. In the background was always a hint of panic. This was not part of the new plan. I was not ready to fit this into a schedule. How in the world would I be able to cope?

Each year in August, before the children go back to school, it is customary for Bob to give each of the children a blessing. Fatherly words of encouragement, advice, that they can carry with them as they enter the new school year. That year, as I sat with my hands on my overly large belly, knowing our new baby was but a month from being born, I requested a blessing for myself. With that simple prayer came a feeling of peace, love, a feeling of wellbeing that carried over to the delivery.

Matthew was born on September 21st. His name means “gift of God”. And he has been. The gift I did not know I wanted. The gift I would not want to live without.

He was a gift in more ways than one. Within moments of his birth, feeling the overwhelming happiness at no longer being pregnant, and no longer being in labor, I was handed a tightly wrapped bundle of crazy black hair, large brown eyes, and the roundest cheeks. As I looked at him, I had an instant of clarity. I dragged my eyes away from this precious baby, and again the speech bubble formed over my head. “OH NO!!!” Were the words that came out of my mouth this time. Bob hurried near to see what the problem was with our new baby. The problem was the realization that came with this child #7.

“There is one more” I said – hardly believing that I could feel it with such certainty, with no doubt, after months of trying to cope with something out of my control.

Somehow, this foreknowledge made all the difference. Exactly two years later, when my doctor offered to induce me with baby #8, I was ecstatic. What a wonderful thing – for these two boys, the ones I had not planned on – to enjoy their birthdays together.

Yesterday, as we celebrated birthdays, the 5th for Matthew, and the 3rd for Evan, I was again so very grateful for the wonderful gifts God has given to me. For all of my planning, I could have never known that I would be so content, so happy. I would not have expected that as I tuck these little boys into bed at night, oftentimes, I do it with an extra kiss, an extra long hug thinking of how precious they are. How much they have added to the rich texture of my life.

I see now, perhaps as He saw then that I am not ready to be finished mothering little ones just yet. I am not yet ready to be home alone during the day. I still love the sound of laughter as they dig in the dirt, or splash their toys in the bathroom sink. These two gifts are the only ones with me now when school is in and I love it. Hopefully I will be able to deal with an empty house one day, but I am so grateful it is not yet.

For now, I will continue to plan, to schedule, to work for order and normalcy. I will also try to be better about leaving room for His plan. Knowing that He is the only one who can see from beginning to end. I can only see to the next corner, and will work to have faith that He will guide me the rest of the way. I will continue to marvel at these two precious gifts.