Are We Too Careful With Our Faith?

I never wanted to be you.

All those years that my womb was hollow and when friends were shifting clothes in and out of their closets – moving out pilled maternity shirts (well-worn), and moving in those post-maternity jeans (worn much longer than planned) and pre-maternity sizes that never quite fit again but remained on the hanger as a “one-day, maybe again” reward – the hardest months for me were the ones when I was a few days late.

A few days expectant.

A few days, planning. Dreaming.

A few days hopeful.

The ones that ended in what I then labeled to be a few days foolish.

I inadvertently had given permission to this part of our life in God, that great mystery – one that I had patterned my life around boxing out: hope.

So, here’s why I didn’t want to be you – mama whose womb was filled, only to be emptied again, early. Those few days of expectancy were days when my hope could be mostly dismissed as girlish – even foolish – fantasy.

[Continue reading on —>]