What If?

I can tell you right now, this is a hard one to write. 

I was challenged by a friend to give my desires for the “right buyer” for our house a deeper look.  So, one afternoon, I sat on my bed, and I asked God about the desire for a child to swing on the swing set, and why I had the desire when it didn’t seem that the right buyers would fulfill it.  What was revealed to me was overwhelming, it brought so much pain with it that I couldn’t even stay in my room, but tore down the hallway, stopping only when I could see the view outside my house.  I was sobbing, at a desire that I had so long ago.

I always thought that Drew and I would have three children.  He came from a family of three, and I came from a family of three, and when people would ask me how many children we wanted, I would always say, “Three.”  I didn’t realize that Drew and I had never really discussed this. When at a get together with friends we were asked that question, and I answered, “3,” like always, and Drew answered, “2,” we gave each other strange looks.  I of course, corrected him, and explained my canned response of how I came from a family of three and Drew came from a family….”  When we got in the car, I asked him why he said that.  He really only wanted two kids. Ha! In my arrogance, I figured God would change his heart.

Whitney was six months old when Drew asked me if I wanted more children.  My answer, “I want more children, but I don’t ever want to be pregnant again.” Pregnancy for me is best described as “a step above death.”  The word “miserable” doesn’t do it justice. I didn’t want to be pregnant again, but I would have done it one more time.  However, this answer was a good enough response for him to sign up for a permanent solution. I grieved. One night, I prayed and cried out to God, and I felt God comforted me with this promise:  I am able to give you another child.  I believed Him. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t take away the longing, and for six years I struggled with wanting another child.  In the homeschool group in Germany, the moms would ask me, “So, how many children do you have?”  I would answer with, “Two.”  The next question always was, “Do you plan on having more?” When I responded in the negative, then would follow, “Ohhhhh.”  Which really means, “Selfish.”  So, I would try to justify myself, with a quick response of, “I really wanted three, but my husband only wanted two.” To which the response was, “Mmmhmm,”  interpretation: “Liar.”

Seriously?  It’s almost comical.  It was like the modern day version of Abram and Sarai.  I couldn’t believe I was being judged for only having two children. The term insult to injury was now a haunting reality.

And then, about four years ago, it stopped.  The  longing.  It was just like when people describe the biological clock, and mine just stopped ticking.  For the first time in six years, I was happy and content with only the two children that the Lord had given me.

So now, I’m standing in my house, staring out the window with the mixed emotions of the deep pain of never receiving a wanted child and the scared to death emotion that God would give me my desire now, after being content for so many years.  Ironically, I’m staring into the space in my front yard where the “wall of bitterness” used to reside.

A previous owner of the house’s car caught on fire in the driveway.  He could see the neighbors looking at him from their windows, but no one came to offer any help.  He couldn’t forgive their unfriendliness, and so he built a wall, a literal one, to match the figurative wall in his heart.  A seven feet high, and 12 feet long expanse separated him from his neighbors and the pain he felt from that day.  It extended from the sidewalk in the middle of the house and onto the driveway several feet.  The neighbors say it took years to build.  The construction allowed the eccentric owner to drive his car behind the wall and walk up to his house without ever having to see his neighbors. 

Can you imagine how this physical reminder reinforced the bitterness in his heart every day?  Can you imagine the misery of living with all that unforgiveness in your heart?  What pure misery. And is it any surprise that my husband knocked it down piece by piece with a sledgehammer in his hand and a furry in his heart?

This was the only place in the house that could withstand the anguish of my heart at the moment. Somehow my pain was absorbed in that spot that had been hidden behind a wall for so long.  Even though I was exposed to the world, I could cry, knowing that my pain was understood. My God sees me.  He knows me better than I know myself.  Some things are better hidden.  Some things are not for us to know right now, because we are not able to deal with the pain.  In His timing He reveals all truth to us, after He strengthens us to receive it.

I am content for my lot in life.  I pray for other people to have children, and God hears my prayers.  He uses me in this way, and He is glorified in it.  He uses my pain, for His glory, and the benefit of others.  He is such a good God.  He sees me, and I will see Him.