This week, I [finally] announced publicly that my husband and I are expecting! Our first child will be joining us in April and we couldn’t be more excited (and overwhelmed and terrified and grateful, etc., etc.). It has been a wild couple of months since finding out about the baby.
Many of you will remember a post that I published in late July after having found out that I was not pregnant, though there were several days when all clues had alluded otherwise. I was upset and scared, fighting to hold onto a hopeful perspective. Little did I know, I’d be pregnant the week that piece was published.
It has been a journey already—one that I know I’ll be writing about more in the coming months (and years). As I bid an enthusiastic, “SEE YA!” to my first trimester and anticipate the growing belly I’ll see in my second trimester, one thought will stay with me from the early weeks of my pregnancy, and it’s all about miracles.
The first trimester, in particular, is a strange experience because a woman is pregnant—there is a very real baby forming inside of her—but she cannot see it, touch it, or feel it. Sometimes, the only reminder of its presence is the occasional-or-more nausea that plagues her throughout the day.
This has been my experience. I haven’t had a terrible pregnancy by any means, but I did have a couple of weeks when the nausea was particularly felt and, of course, the deep exhaustion has come without ever really leaving (such is life, I think?). I didn’t love the nausea, but sometimes it was the only visceral reminder I had that there are big things happening within me.
Miracles can begin unfolding in and all around us without us even knowing it. We don’t have to see, touch, or feel any miracle for it to begin taking shape in our lives. Sometimes, the only indication we’re given that a miracle is taking place is CRAZY NAUSEA. This is wild and, for the love of all that is good, it’s so incredibly hopeful. Miracles don’t have to give us a fair warning and clear signals that they are coming; sometimes they develop quietly, without our noticing. Sometimes they bring some discomfort and nausea with them. In fact, many miracles make their grand entrance into the world with much labor and pain. (I’ll have more to say about that in about six months.)
I don’t know what kind of miracle you’re desiring right now, but I do know that God’s work begins in the quiet. Before the Red Sea was parted, there were first little ripples in the water. There is something that happens before the booming grand entrance of miracles—any miracle, not just the baby kind of miracles. First, they softly take shape; we don’t get to see them before they are at least partially formed. Then, they may appear suddenly, or they’ll stretch us and kick us before finally we can see and touch it in real time.
I’m not very good at waiting. I’d like to think I’m getting better but I’m not sure I can honestly claim that. It has done something for my soul, however, to experience the silence of this miracle forming inside of me. Before I even knew this child existed, it was taking shape. Even now, while I wait for this baby to be ready for our first meeting, I don’t feel it, I can’t touch it, and I can’t see it, aside from a few [precious] dark photos of its silhouette hanging on the refrigerator. I cannot wait to hold this miracle in my arms, but I don’t have to in order for it to actually be happening.
If you’re waiting for a miracle, remember that it will first take shape before you could possibly sense it. It may take some time to be ready for you—it may even make you sick in the process—but just because you cannot see it does not mean it’s not en route to you.
I’m so thankful for this sweet community for being such a source of encouragement and support as we waited for this baby. I’m so excited to introduce you to him or her this spring!