For a fourth baby boy or an imperfect “house,” gratitude frees

Categorized as Rhonda's Posts

“Every good and perfect gift…”

I’ve been beggin’ the guys here for lists. If you-all are like me, you really want to pick something they’ll just love, and their joy and excitement and gratitude on Christmas morning is so–well, we’re just suckers for it.

It was 11 years ago this week that a certain little stick turned pink, my face turned white, and our world turned up-side right down. I remember shaking; recall the shock. Can hear the, “No, no, no!” that spilled from my lips like glass beads crackin’ on the ground.

Drivin’ home in morning’s sun today, I thought about a certain appointment, then. Fearing the return of preterm labor, I’d slipped in emergently to see my providers with fear, great fear in my heart. Not only of bedrest for weeks, but of the dreaded word (Downs), for at my age, it was a “clear and present danger.”

I cannot tell a lie. After birthing three handsome sons I was wild about, in my heart I held a longing to birth a daughter. There are, as someone told me, “only so many ways you can cut a sailor suit.” And princess that I am, I was rarin’ to dive straight in to pink. And curls. And Barbies. And dresses.

Lying there on the table that day with a technician passing a wand over my belly, she measured tiny limbs; arms and legs. “It’s all normal,” she said. “It’s all looking good.” And I gave thanks. And then this, “It’s a boy.”

Driving home that day, I cried. I’ll admit it. I did. I cried first at the death of a little dream. I would never have a daughter. That’s when the sweet Spirit of the Lord sat down. He did. Right there in the seat next to me as I was drivin’. And I knew…

“God always chooses what’s perfect for us.” That’s what came. “And He has chosen what’s best. A fourth son!” I cried again, for the peace and gratitude just flooded in. God’s “best gift” was a sweet baby boy.

The reason I’m writing today is because this is all true, it’s all real, and it applies to everything else–including our bodies. Girls, it’s time we understand what we’ve been given. What He’s made.

Your body is a hand-crafted, only-one-of-your-kind original, and it’s a gift for you while you’re here. Your Father made it. And it’s time that you (and me, too) accept it.

Just as we love the delight and happiness and grate-full-ness from our loved ones on Christmas Day, so does He. Him, too!

We’ve been sold a terrible, death-bringing, stinking bill of goods, we girls, and we’ve bought it and grabbed it with both hands. The measuring stick that culture has given for beauty is so narrow, and very few can achieve it.

It’s time to stop comparing. It’s time to quit puttin’ a pattern on ourselves that we were never made to match. It’s time to accept and embrace our own shape and design. It’s time to give thanks for the gift.

I still remember the great joy and the peace that flowed like a merry river, washing the sadness away on that day years ago. That, dear sister, is what we can have right here. By receiving this great and wonderful gift from the Father of Lights–who can only and ever choose the best–great joy and peace will come.

From my heart to yours,

Merry Christmas

P.S. – I realize that I’ve been writing on this topic quite a bit this year, but that should tell you the depth of the struggle it’s been, not only for me, but for many, many women. I do not write to hear my head roar; I only write when I feel the Prompting, hear the Voice, have bread in my basket to share. I hope it helps.

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