The Third Verse
Before arriving with our back to Egypt at the rocky shore of the Red Sea, where God would bring freedom for our son, another gaze at the previous terrain compels a look. The journey behind was a test of the odyssey ahead, though all we had to do was walk.
After the birth of our second son my body had a hard time recovering. The demands of our first son’s brain bondage made daily communication and tasks more difficult, but I couldn’t ignore what my body was trying to tell me. Nursing, finding the new rhythm of two boys, being overly sensitive to an only child’s adjustment to his new world accumulated stress. I ached all the time and struggled to move my body into the positions that my mommy-title prescribed. When the baby was 8 months old I was able to fit in some extra care for myself and introduce a subtle diet change in hopes of finding some relief.
It was difficult to persevere through nursing a second child. 12 months felt like 2 years. Then there was a new, unexpected ache that came with a diagnosis. This one had two pressure points: one in the belly and one in the heart. It was a longing for another baby, known in Mom circles as “The Baby Ache.” I had never experienced this pain before. It was counter to the demands of our life. My husband and I were tired. The noise of our home was louder than clanging symbols and three-year-old melt-downs had become seismic volcano eruptions leaving heat and ash disasters.
Many times I carried a strong 40 pound 3 year old up the stairs kicking and flailing, screaming in terror. More days than I want to admit required laying my 165 pound body on him to try to reach his barbaric mind. I would calmly repeat, “I love you, breathe.” “I love you, breathe.” “I love you, breathe”, in hopes of getting him to gaze at me and maybe take one breath to control the long eruption that gushed everywhere.
The idea of bringing another child into our home was not logical. To quote C.S. Lewis
“Aslan is a lion- The Lion, the great Lion”
“Ooh” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver… “Who said anything about being safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”
(The Lion, the Witch, and The Wardrobe)
What God was asking us to do bringing another bundle of joy into our life was like staring at the face of a lion. I was scared and visualized danger all around. Walking with God as King isn’t safe.
The Creator was growing the baby ache in my 35-year-old weary and exhausted body. Any time I would open the conversation with my husband, his answer was: “No.” “Are you crazy?” “Our quiver is full.” “No vacancy.” So, I began to pray and the ache grew stronger. Then the Lord gave me a name.
Now, I don’t have a mystic metaphysical relationship with God. I’m a traditional stay at home, inductive, precept upon precept, Baptist woman. I’ve had my run-ins with speaking in tongues believers who I respect for their passion but diverge upon their interpretation of scripture. God speaking in this way wasn’t a normal occurrence.
He gave me this unborn child’s name before my husband and I were in complete agreement. We were still in the “talking” or “wife talks, husband listens” stage. We slowly began to discuss it with friends and read blog posts of families that had taken the ride to three and those that coasted with two. Three kids was a chronicle of horror stories. Work quadruples, sleep is useless, money is tight, bedtime is a divide-and-conquer battle, and stress is acute. We were already feeling all of these things loving on two boys. Our view of parenting was challenged, but we believed that children were a blessing from the Lord. If our passion for evangelism was going to continue we were obligated to train them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. Adding a third was consistent with our vision but we were afraid. A good God isn’t safe, but we eventually agreed we wouldn’t hinder the desire. One month later, we were pregnant.
We were in harmony that having three children would require more faith than we had: faith that God would help me endure a third pregnancy, faith that my body could recover on the changes I had introduced, faith to believe that He would fill the gap of caring for three without assistance from family. That was the kind of faith we thought we needed. We were dead wrong.
