Last February Hunna and I decided that we felt it was time to begin the journey of adding to our family.
As we saw a future where we lived independently arriving soon and one with him also completing his apprenticeship.
We prayerfully considered our circumstances and began the necessary process of beginning again.
By mid April I was beginning to get excited about the prospect of adding to our brood.
By May I felt that it was truly our month. That was until I unexpectedly got my period two weeks in to my usual cycle. I felt an overwhelming sense of grief and loss. I don't know if I miscarried. I will never know. It is unusual for me to have irregular periods but either way I was devastated another month had gone.
By August comments from people assuming I was morning sick when I often had IBS symptoms felt more like blows to the stomach than jovial banter.
I was confused as it only took one cycle to conceive Boy. I wondered what fate Heavenly Father had for me.
I ached to hold life in my belly again. To feel the first butterflies of kicking. And connect with a new little being.
I blamed Hunna for not wanting a baby enough. Convinced Heavenly Father was punishing me for waiting too long between children, or being a less than fit mother to Boy or even not appreciating him enough.
But all through the year, month after month. I knew. I always knew it hasn't been time. That season is still ahead of us.
When I got sick. Not just a little bit sick but a lot sick. When I needed surgery. When I probably could call that my third near death experience.
I was upset that, on doctors recommendation, it would be at least another three months to allow my body time to heal.
But then, over this past week. I have realised. From the very beginning. My Heavenly Father has not been punishing me. He has blessed me. As he always does. As he always will.
How silly of me to forget the house experience so quickly.
If I had been pregnant or had a new baby. The trial of sickness would've been much greater. Much more of a burden. Much more than I could have handled.
There would've been so many more complications.
How blessed I am that everything happens in the Lords time. Because only he can see when things are best for me. When trials will become blessings.
And even when he sends me trials of pain and scars and recovery. He allows me little rays of hope. Home for Christmas Eve. Home for Christmas morning, I could see the smile on Boys face and the joy he experienced in the flesh.
I could tentatively sit and laugh and eat with my family through the day.
I could heal. I could recover. I could be blessed, even through pain.