I’m twenty five today. Brielle is 37 weeks today. My Mother and I have individually spent the day thinking about how I am almost in the exact same situation she was in twenty five years ago. She didn’t know it, but she was about to have a daughter (she was expecting a boy) and I am a few weeks away from having a little girl as well. Today is a strange day, it should be a happy day.

When I was a little girl I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, a mom. When I was four I “married” Batman and we had twelve kids. Twelve. Over the years I’ve been asked to choose a profession, a degree, a goal in life. Being a mother was never an acceptable answer, but it is all I’ve ever wanted to be. So I should be happy, I’m twenty five today and I am a mother. I’m a mommy to the best little girl that could ever exist. But I’m not happy. I’m grieving, I’m afraid, I’m deep in despair, and I just want all of the pain I’m in to stop. I want to hold onto Brielle and never, ever let go. My body is ready for Brielle to arrive, my heart and my mind are not. It’s the last thing I want. But my body can’t keep up anymore. So I’m sitting at home crying, because the day she arrives is getting closer. And I just want to keep her inside me for forever. I’m spending the day mad at myself for being upset, when I should be celebrating a milestone that I share with Brielle.

Last week we had such high hopes and great news from our visit to the doctor. Thursday we went back for another scan. David and I fully expected to see improvement or complete healing. We got the opposite. My fluid levels were up to 44 cm, Brielle wasn’t breathing, and my placenta, although still in the normal range, is not doing as well as it used to. David has remained optimistic, but I am not optimistic by nature. In this way, I struggle much more than David does. It’s not uncommon for a baby at this stage to not show signs of breathing, so it may not be a bad thing. She was moving so much we couldn’t get a clear picture of her bones, so who knows if anything has changed. And my fluid levels? We’re completely confused. My body is doing better than it was at 30 cm, David can wrap his arms around me and grab his wrists, and the areas of my skin that were stretched to the max at 47 cm are flabby and loose. My body is showing no physical sign of increased fluid levels (quite the opposite), but the scan says differently.

I spent the rest of Thursday crying or sleeping. And today I’ve just hurt, pain so deep that every breath hurts. David keeps telling me he won’t give up, and that I shouldn’t either, God’s not finished yet. And I won’t give up, I haven’t. But I’m tired. The past seventeen weeks have pushed me mentally, emotionally, and physically past my breaking point. And I’m exhausted, in every way. I don’t have the strength to hope, to grieve, to even think.

My Mom raved about a Bible study she did on Esther by Charles R. Swindoll. So I bought the book and have started the study. Last night, after I had cried my eyes out talking to Brielle, I picked up the book and read the second chapter, hoping to find some comfort. It was interesting, nothing too comforting, until about eleven pages in.

“God can move the hearts of the rulers of this world wherever and whenever He wishes. And, in case you’ve forgotten, He is in no hurry. We tend to think that if God is really engaged, He will change things within the next hour or so. Certainly by sundown. Absolutely by the end of the week. But God is not a slave to the human clock. Compared to the works of mankind, He is extremely deliberate and painfully slow…This is the big picture that we need to see if we are to put our anxieties on hold. God is at work.”

I wanted complete healing for Brielle for my birthday, but that’s not what God wanted. He has a different and better plan and I have no idea what that is. I don’t know how to do this part. I don’t know how to trust or hope, and quite frankly, I’m too tired to actively learn. So I’ll wait and believe. And I’ll believe that God understands my pain and that he will be patient with me. I don’t like this, I want relief and I want things done my way. But that is a rather petulant attitude to have. And God is undeserving of this. He has answered every single prayer I have asked of him. And, in the past twenty weeks he has saved mine and Brielle’s life at least four times. I shouldn’t complain or doubt, he’s taking care of us. But I would be very grateful if he would give David and I a break from this rollercoaster we’ve been on. At least I know he understands and he isn’t angry with me for my weakness.

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him, for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust…” Psalm 103: 13-14

So today I will be sad, I will cry, and wallow in my own misery. But I will continue to believe that God isn’t finished and that he will completely heal Brielle. I’ll also grieve knowing that he understands and doesn’t expect me to be strong all the time, I’m allowed to be weak, because I am just dust. And he is far greater than I could ever imagine or understand.