Today, we received an email I dreaded, an email informing us that a set of birth parents had chosen another couple to parent their baby girl. While we rejoice that the parents chose life and that this baby girl is going to be a part of a (presumably) loving family, our hearts are broken.
How could our hearts break over a baby we’ve never met, over a baby who was never ours? How do we experience joy and hope and sorrow all at once?
Part of me is angry with myself and wants to shout that I’ll never get my hopes up again. I want to sink into a dark place that includes lots of Netflix watching and junk food eating. I want to be mad at God.
Isn’t that interesting? I’m not mad at God. I WANT to be mad at Him.
I’m not mad at Him because I know Him.
I know He is good. I know He loves me with a “never stopping, never giving up, unbreaking, always and forever love” (The Jesus Storybook Bible). I know He is wise. I know He has a plan. I know He knows me, and I know He knows our children.
I know He knows she wasn’t ours.
As much as I let myself hope, as much as I let myself daydream, as much as I let myself peek into the baby sections at Walmart and Target, this baby girl was not, is not, ours.
So, though the tears haven’t stopped yet, I will hope. I will put my trust in the God who flung the stars into space and knit me together in my mother’s womb and redeemed me with the blood of His own Son. The God who has seen every tear that has rushed down my cheeks today (and all the days before) and knows my pain better than I do.
I love Him, and I pray this baby girl will one day, too.