The windows are open and a sweet spring breeze is making the curtains dance across the living room floor. The puppies have spread their furry bodies as flat as they can against the hardwood to enjoy the coolness and lunch is on the stove in the kitchen. Dane is sitting in his high chair making a mess of the snack I've given him while I finish chopping vegetables to put in the pasta salad. We are singing along to Matthew West Radio on Pandora and soaking up the warm temperatures because, knowing Kentucky weather, they will leave us before too long.
Two years ago I was eagerly counting down the days to my birthday at the end of this month. Not because 24 is a big milestone, but because we had agreed it would be the day we officially started "trying". That word. I didn't realize then how "trying" it would be attempting to conceive our first baby. It tried our patience. Tried my emotions. Tried my body. That word really fits that season of one's life better than any other.
After eight months, a dozen of wasted pregnancy tests, and coming to the end of my rope, I began singing a song over and over again. It become my mantra of sorts. "Everything Falls" by Fee was a song God used to speak into my situation. After losing my parents' home to a fire, the words of that song were a perfect prayer I would pray for them over and and over again as they began rebuilding and when all of the loose ends seemed as though they might begin to unravel. "When my strength is gone, I find YOU mighty and strong. You keep holding, you keep holding on." I needed that reminder-- that He hadn't let go and left us to our own devices. He was holding us tighter in the midst of the chaos, uncertainty, and hormones. Oh, the hormones.
Today, as grilled cheese sandwiches sizzle on the stove, the birds tweet their happiness that spring has returned, and my sweet baby bangs measuring cups against his high chair, the words of that song drift from the stereo in the living room into the kitchen. They are comforting words to me again as we encounter more uncertainty. A reminder that He most definitely keeps holding on and that He makes sense of all the mess.