Trust in the Author

Did you ever read "Choose Your Own Adventure Books" when you were young? The way they work is you read the story until you come to a page with a choice. Either choice will tell you to turn to a certain page, from which 'your' story continues. Sometimes you end up with a bundle of treasure, and sometimes... you're eaten by sharks. As much as I enjoyed the books, I was always frustrated when what I thought was a good decision led to death. I'd flip back through the pages to see what I SHOULD have chosen instead. But either way, I don't really have control, because I didn't write the book.

You probably know what I'm getting at. Life... the greatest book ever written. But who is the author? We'd like to think that it's us, but no, we're not, not really. I make my choices, hoping to end up with treasure and not sharks, but there is, in reality, very little control I have over the story.

And now my story is taking an unexpected turn. A new character is being introduced.

Some of you have read the previous blog entry "Playing Jonah." In a matter of three days, I had three conversations about babies and birth control. What I didn't mention was that each of those conversations included my saying, with a laugh, "We're not having any more children. Unless God wants us to." All along, I half-joked about God giving us another child, but what I was really thinking was, "I don't want another child."

Little did I know (if you've seen 'Stranger Than Fiction', then you know that this phrase is ripe with premonition), I was already pregnant.

The unexpected reveals a person's true self; it turns out I'm a weak and whiny wimp. I argued with God for days. It couldn't be happening, I thought, You wouldn't do this to me! My family was perfect: two boys, two girls. We already gave away our baby clothes... we were moving on! I was making plans for the summer, for Christmas, for my writing, for my tenth anniversary... not for having another baby! And of course, my vanity comes into play. With each pregnancy, my figure is less shapely, my hair falls out until I'm almost completely bald in some spots, and the veins in my legs look more and more like a road map.

But God won the argument (He always does). He reminded me of the mom I saw at the mall. She had two sons with her, and the elder was mentally retarded. He acted like my eighteen-month old, but the difference is, that boy will never grow out of it. His mom is truly a woman of grace, courage, and patience. I admire her. Then God says, "Rita, you can be like her. You can handle this. Trust me." He has a plan for this child, and this child will bless me as much as he will bless the world.

So I'm taking a step again, day by day, small steps of faith (and if I have twins, they'll have to be slightly larger steps of faith). Here begins a new chapter. I do not yet know the name of the chapter, but I'm ready. 

And I'm already falling in love with my new little one.