Thank you. For love. For prayers. For hope.
And for reminding me.
I received an email today reminding me of this post that I wrote nearly a year ago to the day. I'd forgotten, with time's passing the penning of that dream, but I remember it vividly now.
Tears pooled in my eyes as I re-read the words I had written and remembered that I believe in promise.
It will be cold outside as I walk the halls tomorrow, past the waiting area benches, the pale blue paint and the white framed window where they buzz me in to see my daughter. The place I'd never visited before, but now pass through so often that it fades to the background, familiar.
I'll walk in and a nurse will hand her to me, my baby that looks like a newborn but isn't. And I will wrap her in a blanket to put her to my chest as my husband asks me once again if I think she'll lose any more of her hair. I'll look at her, all tiny and beautiful and ours. And I will praise the Lord.
I titled that post with the verse I felt was a promise that January morning. The same verse that settled in my heart the day we found out that I was pregnant, the one scrawled across dozens of thank you cards and birth announcements.
"He settles the childless woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the Lord."
