I have begun to tell this story many times over the past months.  While my heart was overflowing with so many emotions, words escaped me. 

 

This story did not begin last fall, nor nine months before that, but rather two years ago when our daughter married a most wonderful young man.  She had a fairy tale courtship and a wedding fit for a princess.  They worked so very hard – juggling multiple jobs and school – to scrimp and save and make a lovely life together.  When they saw that little pink line shortly after they married we all naturally began to look ahead expectantly.  Plans were made, tentative first tiny booties were purchased – more out of pure delight than anything.  Ten weeks passed and two tiny babies were seen at the doctor's office.  Quickly it was determined they were no more.  

 

 

What followed was not one, but two more losses and a cancer scare.  We braced ourselved as they went for more tests to send along to the oncologist.  By this point we had come to expect bad news.  Once more there was a surprise, however.  There was no postpartum cancer.  There was Will, at that time just the promise of him, growing stronger week by week.  It took many weeks, months really, for the disbelief to wear off and the reality to set in.  By summer we were making maternity portraits and planning for a birth, though I still couldn’t bring myself to say much.   

 

 

 

 

In October, as the pregnancy began to wrap up, we drove east to meet our grandson. I don't know exactly how I envisioned that to unfold.  I don't think I had any expectations.  Just hope.  Fervent prayers.  I was still worried after all, and worn down from months of often frustrating advocacy work at home. While our daughter was growing a baby, we had taken in an elderly disabled gentleman, requiring a short course in social work and more actual hands-on work than could be imagined.  He needed respite care in order for us to leave and we just barely got that coordinated as contractions became more frequent.

 

On our drive to baby day, during an early morning coffee stop in the middle of Wyoming, I ended up chatting with the singular employee at the gas station while she made me coffee in a Keurig machine.  By the time coffee was in hand I had told her our story and she had told me about her daughter, newly pregnant after years of infertility, and we stopped and prayed together for the grandchildren we each dearly hoped to hold in our arms. I remember she took my hand in both of hers and assured me that if we honor God He would take care of us.  Without it being said, we both understood that was NOT a guarantee of smooth sailing, but assurance we would not move through the storm alone.  I left there buoyed by her prayers and with her email in hand to report back. (Yes, I still check in with dear Judy the coffee lady)

 

Two days later we were in a hopsital room watching the nurses place Moira’s IV's and our son in law change in surgical scrubs.  Baby Will was securely tucked, right-side-up, snugly under his momma's heart, so her first delivery would be c-section.  Amazingly, it was one of the most peaceful births you could imagine.  While we talked over birth plan preferences during her other pregnancies, she went into this one quite literally full of grace.  No white-knuckled grip on a particular plan.  She said she had a strong feeling it was going to be clear to her how it needed to be and she resolved to flex with whatever presented itself.  And she did.  When prepped, she quietly stood up from her bed, smiled, and they walked down the hall to the OR.  

 

 

 

When we all met again they were parents of a wide eyed little boy with a head full of black hair.  With that we became grandparents.  

 

 

I’m sharing a bit of back story to illustrate a few truths: first, that we can never know what the future holds – good or bad.  You never know all there is to know about someone else’s story, but it is safe to assume it is much more challenging than it appears. Even when your heart breaks for some time, circumstances can suddenly erupt with unexpected joy. And finally, some stories are better told once you see which way God is taking them.  The older I get the truer this verse is:

“….she pondered all this in her heart.”