Raindrops come down on the windshield . . . steadily, softly. To my right he reads our passage for the day, and I glance out the window as country homes and freshly planted fields whisk quietly behind us.
I love driving in the rain. The sense of security. The safe haven provided by the warmth of the car in the midst of whatever storm is blowing through. Sometimes I’ve felt like I was standing in that wet, cold downpour, at a loss for words as storm clouds came with no sign of rolling away; this ever-hopeful heart stunned in disbelief, trying to take in some dark day and feign strength without, when everything within was crumbling in weakness. I’ve felt at times like I was always on the outside, always looking in. One panel of glass from my reach — that which what could be mine, but never would be, or simply was not yet.
The rain can feel so heartless, so undesirable, so unfeeling, when there you are standing in the midst of its coldness. But in some beautiful twist of Gods design, without that water, we would dry up, our own selves becoming callous, heartless, and unfeeling.
He reads on in the Scriptures as we drive through the morning. I touch my stomach, and feel our little baby moving and kicking with as much strength as a little one-pound darling can muster. Life, oh so precious, growing stronger each passing hour. Halfway there, sweet child. Half done growing in that small warm haven of safety while the troubles of life come pouring down on the outside world.
Only 20 more weeks to go, and I am reminded of how cold life can feel as I look tenderly on the broken lot of another, whose childs heart beat its last minute away on this earth just weeks before he felt his parents’ embrace. 10 weeks for some, 36 for another. Some of us get 20 years, others over 100 — but in the end, we are all as a tale that is told; powerless to slow down the passing of time; powerless to rewind to days gone before, or even skip past those that seem unbearable.
What a privilege to carry this child as long as God permits, and what a wonderful, fearsome looking to the future as we pray for wisdom in guiding it as carefully as our parents steered us.