Season of waiting

It has been a long season of waiting. And now the waiting is the most acute: waiting for the babies to implant; waiting for the pregnancy test; waiting for God to open the doors to the right job opportunities; waiting to know where we will move next. Waiting is a lot like winter. There is very little movement. No signs of life.

I am thinking about new life today. Yesterday at 12:45, our two little tiny embryos were transferred into my body. Seeing the little picture of them, already visibly three distinct types of cells (which would soon form into placenta, amniotic fluid, and baby), was such an amazing experience. Even better, these little creatures (which my friend Kara suggested are roughly the size of chia seeds, and rapidly expanding!) already were both “hatching” out of their outer membranes as they grow. Within 24-48 of yesterday at 12:45, the doctor told us they would hatch and implant into my uterine lining. As the doctor left the room, he said, “keep praying. These lives are in God’s hands. There is nothing more we can do.”  

Relaxing after the day after the transfer, hoping and praying

            We learned this truth the hard way in the past few months. We had a 77% chance of having a baby the last time around. Yet, four months later, instead of being 18 weeks pregnant and finding out the gender of our babies, we have just begun again. I now have two 7-day-old embryos in my tummy.

            This week God brought me to an amazing verse that I believe is a promise for us. I don’t know how or when it will come to pass. But I have this sense that it is a promise for us.

“See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.” – Song of Songs 2:11-13.

            I don’t know if I have already mentioned this story in here, but this is what I think of when new life from dead ground comes to mind. Last Valentine’s Day (the first one of our marriage) Josh gave me a beautiful white and fuchsia Phaleanopsis Orchid. Valentine’s Day there was a blizzard in Michigan, where we were for my 10-year Calvin College reunion. This kind of plant cannot ever be in temperatures below 60 degrees. So, needless to say, it was looking very droopy by the end of the day. We had to transport it back to Ohio, too. Within a few weeks, all of the flowers had fallen off and the branches were barren. There were no signs of life at all through the long, cold, dark days of winter. Months went by. I read a little, watched some YouTube videos from Brad’s Greenhouse, and decided to clean it up a bit. In early May, after we lost the babies, I decided to give some TLC to that little dead-looking plant. I rimmed off dead roots, sprayed down the leaves with a special cleaning solution, and polished all of the branches. I consistently stuck with the meticulous placement of three ice cubes on the moss each weekend.

The Hope Orchid

            And then it happened. Buds started to appear. As the days grew longer and the sun streamed in, the first flower opened. Within two weeks, we had 14 brand new orchid blossoms! New life from dead branches.

My back patio- early June... 

            I have been thinking the same thing lately as I watch my garden grow. The morning glories especially have me marveling… from such little tiny seeds, such a prolific mass of leaves, vines, and a glorious burst of pinks, purples, lilacs and blues every single morning. And not just where I planted, but trailing and climbing all over the rest of the patio garden bed, chairs, siding, grass, pots, and everything else they can get to. These beautiful morning flowers represent life coming from latent ground that had not been sown in quite a long time.

My back patio- last week

                I guess I am somewhat philosophical now as we abide in our waiting period. My greatest comforts are in knowing the Presence of my God with me, and the constant love of my husband. In the love of my husband I can sense the love of my God. What a beautiful place to be. Even in the waiting, I am content. We wait and we hope. In fact, we join the sentiment of Abraham from the Bible: “In hope against hope, he believed.” (Romans 4:18) The book The Power of Hope explains what he was expressing, “when there was absolutely no hope, he hoped anyway.”

            That is where I am today. Whether or not we become pregnant, whether a child (or twin children!) is born to us come next May, is only in our Father’s hands. What I mean is that, at this point, our only role is to pray and to hope against hope, waiting on our God. We know we can trust our God, no matter what happens. 

As always, thank you for keeping us in your prayers, and for joining us on our journey of faith toward becoming parents.