I convinced myself that if I didn’t let myself want kids with my whole heart, I wouldn’t be COMPLETELY shattered if/when it didn’t happen. Just a little bit shattered is better than completely shattered…right? I set up emotional buffers for every worst case scenario. I wanted kids desperately, but I was afraid to want them. I was afraid to get too attached to the idea, because….what if it never happened?
— Wanting // Waiting // Worrying // Withdrawing: Part II

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Besides getting married, having kids is the only thing I’ve known for sure that I want to do with my life. It feels like it’s been carved on my heart forever. It’s kind of incredible to think how many decisions I’ve made based purely on that desire. (1) I went to a Baptist university hoping to find a good Christian boy to marry who would would be the perfect godly husband and father. (2) I wanted to be an actor on the stage and in film, so I began school as a theatre major. During my first year, however, I discovered that I didn’t ‘want it’ as much as you have to ‘want it’ in that field. If I really wanted to act, I would have to give up a lot of other things, and I wasn’t willing to compromise having a family for a fleeting possibility that I might get my big break somewhere. (3) Even though we don’t have kids yet, Daniel and I have already adjusted a lot of our choices  around a future that includes them, like where we live and what we do with our money. I can’t separate the desire from my person: it’s part of who I am. I’ve tailored my entire life around it. In my moments of career uncertainty, I’ve always subconsciously fallen back on having kids, reminding myself that even though I have no clue what I want to do with my life, having kids is the one thing I do know. It’s comfortable. It’s familiar.

So…how do I deal with the fact that wanting kids doesn’t necessarily guarantee that I’ll have them? It’s a scary reality to embrace.

I’ve dreamed about it forever: the moment when I find out I’m pregnant, sharing the news with our families and friends, feeling those tiny kicks, finding out if it’s a boy or a girl, watching my belly grow, giving birth, and holding that baby in my arms for the first time. I never imagined it any other way. I should mention at this point that I know getting pregnant isn’t the only way to have kids. But regardless, brace yourself, because I’m about to say something really un-churchy and weird: adoption was never really on my radar. I was aware of it, of course; it’s not like I grew up living under a rock. I heard all about different adoption agencies and organizations through my church, and I even knew a few kids who had been adopted into their families, and, as I got older, couples who decided to adopt. I thought it was a terrific idea. But for some reason, I hadn’t ever considered it for my own family. I don’t know why, exactly. I think I just assumed that my future family would look just like the family I was born into: a dad, a mom, and the kids they created together.

But then I met Baily.

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Baily is my future sister-in-law (come on, February!) and a complete darling. Her story is incredible, and I’d love to have her share it here, but for the sake of time today, I’ll abbreviate. Basically, she was adopted into a family…in her twenties. She was already considered a grown woman, in college and on her own, and yet a couple with two other teenage children learned about her situation and could think of nothing better than for Baily to join their family. I had never heard of anything like it before. Baily brought the concept of adoption to life because she related it to the Gospel:

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.” — Ephesians 1:3-10 (ESV)

How could I have forgotten this? God adopted me into His family. I wasn’t supposed to be part of the family, but He handpicked me and made me feel at home in His arms. I did absolutely nothing to deserve Him choosing me, and yet He chose me all the same. What a beautiful picture of His great love toward us, and a unique way to show that kind of love to others.

Without meaning to, sweet Baily convinced me of both the beauty and the possibility of adoption as a way to make children part of our family. I still long for the chance to physically have children, but for the first time in my life (which yes, is incredibly embarrassing to admit), I’m open to other options. My unintentional narrow-mindedness is shifting, by the grace of God.

Even after all of this, though, I still couldn’t shake a lingering, sinking feeling in my stomach brought on by one tiny little question. I’ve spent my whole life wanting to have kids, my whole life looking forward to those feelings of fulfillment that are sure to only come from those experiences.

But……………………………what if I don’t feel fulfilled?

What if I’ve spent all this time waiting for it and it’s not everything I hoped for?

What if that first baby, that prayed-for, hoped-for, begged-for baby, is snuggled up against my chest one night and I’m looking down at him or her with tears in my eyes because I DON’T have that “Ahh, this is what I’m meant to be doing!” feeling?

What if?
What if?
What if?

There it was. Finally, after all this time, there it was. The monster I was afraid to look in the eye. At last, I was forced to come face-to-face with this terrifying question. All of my worrying, all of my questions, EVERYTHING, had finally come to a head in one overwhelming, defining moment.

It doesn’t matter if I give birth or adopt. If I look for fulfillment in my children, for that feeling of total satisfaction, peace, and security, it will never come. From what I’ve observed, kids are not exactly manufacturers of satisfaction, peace, and security. Kids are wonderful and God uses them in unique ways to reveal pieces of the Gospel to us, but they can’t help but be like tiny convicting mirrors, reflecting your flaws back to you. If I look to my kids for contentment, I will never fully be at peace. I will never feel completely safe and established on steady ground. I am grossly imperfect, and my miniatures will be sinners too. There is only one Person in my life who doesn’t reflect my sin back to me when I look at Him.

Here’s the raw, unfiltered truth:

Christ. is. enough.

If I’m not able to physically have children, He is enough. If I have a difficult pregnancy, He is enough. If I am completely healthy and have lots of healthy babies, He is still enough.

No matter what, He is enough.

He is enough.
He is enough.
He is enough.

“But what if – ”

No. No more.

I have spent my entire life “What if”-ing. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t get caught up in stressing about things that haven’t even happened yet. God’s purpose for my life is not for me to be trapped in a constant web of panic, fear, and doubt. He has never been unfaithful to me at any point in our relationship, and He won’t fail me now. His plans for me are always good; I know I can bank on that.

This series doesn’t exactly have a ‘happy ending’. It doesn’t end with me being like “And now I’m pregnant and everything’s JUST SO PERFECT!”, though that would have been a neat way to announce it. :) I’m still scared. I’m scared of things that are out of my control. I’m scared of having a perfectly healthy baby and then ruining it with terrible parenting. I am the world’s worst at creating unnecessary things to worry about, but the best truth in the world is Christ is enough for me. Jesus is and always will be better than anything else I’ll ever want. Lord, make my heart believe it.

“Surely the righteous will never be shaken;
    they will be remembered forever.
They will have no fear of bad news;
    their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord.
Their hearts are secure, they will have no fear;
    in the end they will look in triumph on their foes.”
— Psalm 112:6-8 (NIV)

“The Lord is good,
    a stronghold in the day of trouble;
he knows those who take refuge in him.”
— Nahum 1:7 (ESV)

“And now, O Lord, for what do I wait?
    My hope is in you.”
— Psalm 39:7 (ESV)

Being around the Burkes while Trinity was growing that first year was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I had such great conversations with Brittany about being a mom, and about being a wife while being a mom, but I learned just as much just by watching the three of them together. The more time we spent with them, the more the guilty coldness surrounding my heart began, ever so slowly, to thaw. Little piece by little piece quietly dripped away until one day, I startled myself by thinking, You know what? I think maybe we could do this after all.
— Wanting // Waiting // Worrying // Withdrawing: Part I

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Since we got married, Daniel and I have consistently had the same timing mindset as far as kids go. We made a pact early on that if one of us started wanting a baby and the other person hadn’t said anything yet, the one wanting a baby would speak up. We had ‘check-in’ conversations every so often just to make sure we were still on the same page, and each time, our mutual agreement was “Not yet.”

Until one sweet day, when our mutual “Not yet” turned into a mutually nervous but excited “…………..Yes….!!!!” I was convinced I would get pregnant immediately. I just knew I was the most fertile person walking the planet.

The first month went by.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Friends around me began to get pregnant right and left, some with their next child. I celebrated with each of them sincerely, rejoicing that God was blessing them for the first or second or even third time. But even though next to no time had gone by since our decision, I couldn’t seem to quiet the steadily-growing panic inside me, fueled by a nagging voice that kept whispering things like….

Why aren’t you pregnant yet?
Why is it taking so long?
It didn’t take ____ long at all.
What’s wrong with you?
Something must be wrong.
What if you’re infertile?
What if you can’t ever have children?
What if you get pregnant and miscarry?
You’re never going to have kids.
Your parents will resent you for not giving them grandchildren.
Your life-long hope and dream will never come true.

I knew that these thoughts were not from the Lord, but it was very hard to take such pervasive and haunting thoughts captive. I didn’t want to think about stuff like that, but just “trying not to think about it” did absolutely no good. (If you weren’t already aware, let my story be proof that Satan does not fight fair. He will jump at any chance to take your deepest fears and spread them out in front of you, paralyzing you and distracting you from your ultimate purpose of glorifying God with your life. I made the mistake of dwelling on my fears and giving him opportunity after opportunity.) I struggled with the knowledge that it was possible to want something good, something God created the desire for, but that God could still choose not to give it to me. I also felt silly for freaking out, considering the fact that it had only been a few months and we weren’t even necessarily trying to have a baby. The few people I had talked to about it had all but rolled their eyes at me, telling me what I already knew – that we hadn’t been trying that long and that worrying wouldn’t help anything. So I stopped talking about it. I was emotionally confused enough without someone telling me to stop worrying.

Just a few months shy of a year later, Daniel and I were laying in bed one night, almost asleep but still talking to each other drowsily. Sleepily and half-jokingly, Daniel said, “So…do you still want a baby?” I half-laughed in response, but suddenly my eyes started filling up with tears. Daniel had rolled back over by this point and from his even breathing, I could tell he was finally asleep. I stared up at the ceiling and thought, Do I? The last year had been draining and disappointing. Each month, I knew I was waiting for something, I just didn’t know which thing it would be. And each month that came and went without requiring a pregnancy test made me feel like my body was mocking me: “Well, you failed this month! Try again next time.” I didn’t know how much more of that I could take. To add insult to injury, that mocking voice kept reminding me that I was impatient and stupid because it had only been a YEAR. I knew people who had been really really trying to have kids for much longer, and people who had stopped trying because they had been told it would never happen. I felt like an idiot for being so frustrated and so distrustful of God after such a short period of time.

I realized something that night. Even though we had decided we were ready for kids, I hadn’t truly opened my heart to the idea. In that short year, I had my heart broken over and over by multiple stories of friends who joyfully announced their pregnancies, only to lose their sweet babies weeks later. Multiple friends. It wasn’t until the last few years that I realized how common miscarriages are, and I have since reached a place of debilitating worry. Something that used to seem so rare suddenly became a possible reality I might have to face. I couldn’t deal with it, and without knowing it, I started to withdraw and shut down. I convinced myself that if I didn’t let myself want kids with my whole heart, I wouldn’t be COMPLETELY shattered if/when it didn’t happen. Just a little bit shattered is better than completely shattered…right? I set up emotional buffers for every worst case scenario. I wanted kids desperately, but I was afraid to want them. I was afraid to get too attached to the idea, because….what if it never happened?

What if my fears were true?
What if this ‘thing’ that I wanted to do my entire life didn’t happen?
What then?

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If you missed Part I, read here.
Read Part III here.

I’ve always wanted kids. Always. Schools and jobs have come and gone, but marrying and having kids have been my two strongest and most powerful lifelong wishes. There’s never been a specific career path or job that has made me think, “That’s what I’m meant to do,” and I used to think there was something wrong with me because I didn’t know what my ‘thing’ was, while everyone else around me already seemed to know. And yet, looking back, when I really sit and think about having kids – raising them, playing with them, watching them learn and grow and become useful tools in the hand of God – I feel a quiet but unrelenting stirring in the deepest part of my person. It’s as if my soul is earnestly longing for its purpose to be fulfilled, straining forward toward this elusive ‘thing’ that will finally satisfy my long-held dreams. It’s a glimmer of something both scary and wonderful.

It’s wonderful because it’s a desire that God planted long ago.

It’s wonderful because I’ve seen that beautiful purpose fulfilled in my friends’ lives through their own children.

It’s wonderful because it’s an unmerited gift.

It’s scary because it’s not a ‘sure thing’ like I assumed it was when I planned my life out as a 9-year-old.

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When Daniel and I got married, I panicked about kids for a little while. I took about 9 pregnancy tests in our first year of marriage alone, completely convinced every time that I was pregnant. It wasn’t that my desire for kids had changed, I just didn’t feel ready. We were still getting to know each other and arguing about really stupid things like toothpaste and trash bags – so how on earth were we ready to be in charge of a tiny, needy human??

I remember one of the worst lunch breaks of my entire life with painful clarity. It was, as I mentioned, one of those months that I was certain I was pregnant (about six months into marriage, I think). I wanted to wait until I knew for sure, so I hadn’t told Daniel about my symptoms. I went to the store to pick up a test, just knowing I would run into someone I knew and be found out. When I got home, I took the test, put it on the bathroom counter, and sat on the floor against the bathtub with my knees pulled up to my chest. I don’t want to be pregnant, I thought. My heart pounded and my head spun with worry. How could I think that? I was married, for goodness’ sake! It was ACCEPTABLE now. And this was what I wanted my entire life. How could I be so afraid? For my mom friends who are thinking, “Oh honey, I was scared too, everyone is at first” – I’m telling you, there was no excitement. There was no joy. It was straight-up fear, anxiety, and panic. No part of me wanted to see a plus sign on that little plastic stick. I felt like the worst future mom in the entire world. How could I tell everyone I didn’t want a baby when I found out I was having one? I remember thinking, This is not how I want to feel when I find out I’m pregnant. This can’t be my story.

The longest two minutes of my life were finally up. With shaking legs, I dragged myself off the floor and picked up the test, closing my eyes for a brief moment and taking a ragged breath.

It was negative.

OH THANK GOD. OH MY GOD THANK YOU GOD.

Instantly, my heart flooded with guilt over my feelings of relief. I can think of few times in my life when I’ve felt more guilty than I did in that moment. I felt so sinful and terrible and hypocritical. How could I beg God for children my entire life, and then panic when it looked like those prayers were actually answered?

Another fear loomed even larger: would I always feel this way?

During the next year and half, I continued to struggle with guilt and worry. People asked us constantly when we would be having kids – because that’s just the next question you get asked after you get married – and every time, without fail, I would smile disarmingly and say something noncommittal like “Oh, we’ll see…!”, all while falling apart mentally and trying really hard not to fall apart in front of them. I had reached a point where I resigned myself to the fact that I just would not be excited when I found out I was pregnant. I knew (hoped, more accurately) that I would get excited eventually, but my expectations were low. I was constantly scared of getting pregnant, plagued by fears that sounded ridiculous if I said them out loud, like (1) that I would never be excited and be the only mom in the world who didn’t love her baby, or (2) that having a baby was going to completely ruin my relationship with Daniel, or (3) that Daniel wouldn’t love our baby as much as me.

And then…our dear friends, Wes and Brittany Burke, had their first daughter. Beautiful, funny, charming Trinity Beth. And everything changed.

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The day after Trinity was born, I went to the hospital on my lunch break to see Brittany. We ended up in the room by ourselves because her family had just left to get lunch, and a nurse had taken Trinity back to the nursery for a little while. I had just seen Brittany the night before, when Daniel and I went up to say congratulations and hold baby girl for the first time, but I couldn’t get over how much different Brittany looked. It had barely been 24 hours, and yet she looked so…wise. Like it made perfect sense for her to be a mom and she was already the best one in the world. She looked exhausted, of course, but she had this glow around her, like absolutely nothing could have stolen her joy away.

As we visited, the funniest thing began to happen: Brittany starting addressing my exact fears about parenthood without even knowing it. I’ll never forget when she said, “You know, Trinity’s only a day old, but I’ve already fallen in love with Wesley so much more than I ever thought was possible. Just watching him take care of her and be so protective over her already…it’s amazing to watch him be a dad.”

It was all I could do not to melt into a giant puddle of tears. I felt God’s presence so powerfully in that hospital room. How could she have known that those words were exactly what I needed to hear?

Wes and Brittany were the first of our close friends that we got to watch transition from dating, to engagement, to marriage, to new parenthood, and we spent a lot of time together in all of those seasons. During the first year of Trinity’s life, Daniel and I had the supreme honor of seeing and hearing the unedited version of married parenthood – and it was the messiest, most chaotic, most BEAUTIFUL thing I have ever witnessed. We got to watch them disagree, problem-solve, reconcile, and flourish in every area in between. We got a front-row seat to some of their sweetest moments as new parents, watching Trinity try new food and learn how to do new things. The older she got, the more she could interact with us. I had never seen Daniel around a baby before, and it was fascinating and heartwarming.

One of the most heart-stopping moments was a game night at Wes and Brittany’s house. I don’t know how this happened, but all of the girls were all sitting at the dining room table playing a game, and all of the guys, minus Wes, were gathered around Trinity on the floor. I glanced over at one point and by sheer luck managed to sneak this ADORABLE (albeit horribly captured) picture:

HE. WAS. BRUSHING. HER. HAIR. *heart exploding*

Being around the Burkes while Trinity was growing that first year was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I had such great conversations with Brittany about being a mom, and about being a wife while being a mom, but I learned just as much just by watching the three of them together. The more time we spent with them, the more the guilty coldness surrounding my heart began, ever so slowly, to thaw. Little piece by little piece quietly dripped away until one day, I startled myself by thinking, You know what? I think maybe we could do this after all.

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Read Part II here.
Read Part III here.