I keep thinking… no, I *cannot* be in this season. As if any day now, things will get back to normal. I will revert back to normal coloured hair, I will have tight upper arms, and the skin of my neck will resemble the skin of my forearm once again. I keep thinking that any day now, I will pick up my Bible and see the words clearly… that I will once again shop for a pregnancy-test kit or shop for maternity clothes and nursing clothes. I keep thinking that any day now… I won’t be in this season. And then, I wake up and see that it’s too late… while I was looking the other way, one season faded and another dawned. I find it confusing.
And then I think on the Word. And I see.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak…” Ecclesiastes 3.1-7
When I was younger, I waited and waited for the tomorrow’s. I waited and waited for better days, brighter horizons, bigger things, more excellent ways. I think I kept thinking that If I learned enough, worked hard enough, or tried hard enough, I’d get it all together and keep it all together. And then more time went by. And wishing for tomorrow, I missed a lot of yesterdays. That’s why I can so emphatically say today, there are no tomorrows. Only todays and yesterdays. No tomorrows. For when tomorrow comes―if tomorrow comes― then it’s today. Or yesterday.
So, the LORD is blessing me with a bit of melancholy understanding. A few times a year in the last several years I have thought I might be back in that sweet season of child-bearing. So much so, that sometimes I could almost see the eyes and feel the soft breath of a snuggling infant. I could almost smell that delicious, almost intoxicating, sweet fragrance of a newborn. And then reality would set in and I would realize over again that that season has been slowly passing from my view ―soon to become a precious memory and not a present reality.
The baby… the little dolly―the little gift of the LORD… has traveled a bit further down the path. No longer can I easily carry her from place to place or snuggle her to sleep in my arms at night. No longer does she need help with the necessities of life and no longer does she need training wheels on her little bicycle. The sweet consolation is that she still needs to be daddy’s baby… and I think he needs that too.
I know I do.