I thought about the long list of to do’s written in the margins of my planner—the dishes that needed doing and clothes that needed folding. The toilets were dirty and, oh yeah, I hadn’t read the chapters for Bible study yet.

These tasks flashed into my mind one by one as I wrestled my baby boy into a soothing position in an effort to calm him.

Lately, heading into nap time is like preparing for war. I know he’ll scream, arching his back in protest. So I prepare my mind and heart for action. I know there will come a time where he finally relaxes and gives up the fight, but it’s easy to get flustered and impatient when a baby is screaming in your face.

I remember in the early days of his little life how quickly anger and anxiety would erupt from within as I held my helpless baby in my arms, feeling just as helpless myself.…

I’ve never been a “birth story” kinda gal. Only a couple times have I found myself reading one. In fact, birth stories made me anxious. They caused me to fear the discomfort and pain that accompany ushering a child into the world.

Then, as I walked through loss after loss, birth stories reminded me of delivering the three babies I desperately longed to meet but never got to. They made me long for a different story than the one God had ordained for my life—one where babies don’t die in utero and mamas don’t have to live with an ache so deep. So I began to avoid birth stories in an effort to keep my mind fixed on Jesus and content with the lot he had given me.

Honestly, I find it weird that I’m sitting on my couch, staring at my computer and writing this today. But as I ponder what took place just a few weeks ago, I’m left in awe of God.…