I'd like to think that I'm mature enough in my faith to join with Mary in saying, "Be it done unto me." That is, that I would accept the gifts God gives as they come, and not desire any other gift or blessings in life than the ones I have been given. After all, I have been blessed richly with many gifts, including a child-a son! A healthy, well-behaved, intelligent, polite son. He brings joy to me and my husband; he is the delight of his grandparents. He charms the elderly and young alike. I'd like to think I am content with this, my family, and spend my days rejoicing in the blessings of the Lord. Most days, I am content.
Still, so many other days, the longing for another child overwhelms me in a flash, and my joy is turned to mourning. The grief is so deep my stomach caves in on itself, and I am consumed. I yearn to bear life again, to feel the quickening and eventual weight of a child in my womb, and to memorize the features of a newborn child sleeping in my arms.
Perhaps I ought not be taken by surprise at how quickly a pregnancy announcement or newborn's photo can bring on this sudden change; and yet, I am. Just when I think I have learned to be content, I find myself desiring more, weeping over my brokeness, and wondering why.