The Story of Grace

Craig and I married young - or what I now consider to be young. I suppose, intellectually, I knew that 20 (me) and 23 (Craig) was a tad early in years to make such a profound commitment, but I didn't invest much time in considering it beyond that point. But our age did impact one critical decision: because we were young (among other reasons), we chose to wait a while before having children.

We agreed we'd reconsider that choice at the 3-year mark in our marriage. But, when that time came, we were at opposite sides of the junction: I was ready to have children and Craig was not. Whammy. I had just finished my undergraduate degree and thought it was finally emotionally, physically, spiritually, and professionally a prime time for makin' babies. Craig simply wasn't prepared in any of those avenues to make the commitment a child would bring. And boy was I mad. Mad! Yes, it may sound petty, but that's the truth of the matter. How come I had to conceive, carry, and birth the baby, but with his resounding "no," Craig got to decide the issue? I felt like my husband had garnered control of the one aspect of my femininity I deemed most my own: the ability to bear children. Of course, that was not at all Craig's intention and, through prayer and concentration on the big picture, I learned to daily tell God that Craig mattered more to me than any other dream. Any. Other. Dream. And I'd rather have him and a healthy marriage than any plan or purpose I harbored. Of course, that all sounds so mature and spiritually evolved, right? Well, let me tell you: like most final products, the end truth has lots of shine. But the amount of poop it took to get there wasn't pretty. At all.

So life went on. About 8 months passed. We were happy. Content. Then one morning, in classic Craig fashion, he woke up, turned to me, yawned, and said, "I'm ready to have a baby. Do you still want to have one?"

Yet, circumstances delayed us when we learned Craig, who was a lieutenant in the Air Force at the time, had been tagged for a 90 day TDY to Bogota, Columbia. We said goodbye at the Anchorage airport on the Eve of the Millenium (yeah, that was brutal), and committed we'd start trying for a baby upon his return. My nurse practitioner - along with everyone else who suddenly had opinions regarding our fertility - told us we should reasonably expect 6-8 months would pass before we became pregnant...after all, as Deb (my np) explained, "Pregnancy is sticky business. You've gotta give it time and space." Sticky business, indeed. That still cracks me up.

Craig returned home on March 26th amidst the hustle and bustle of mid-terms and taxes and talk of extending his deployment. It is stressful and overwhelming - as any military spouse will tell you - when your trooper comes home because, though you're thrilled for his safe return and overjoyed to be reunited, you also have to readjust to sharing a home, a schedule, an emotional upheaval, and...well...a body. So let's just say nothing about the timing was right to conceive.

I'll spare the details here and suffice to say that, when nature still didn't take its course after three weeks, we took a pregnancy test. Negative. So I called my doctor thinking something was seriously wrong. I still chuckle when I remember her response: "If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's a duck. Come in for a blood test." That night, we were having dinner with close friends, and we'd agreed to meet there. I walked into the house, and everyone was staring at me with these grins to rival the Cheshire Cat. Craig asked, "Have you checked messages on our machine?" Um, no. He told me I should retrieve them and, when I did, Deb's voice was on the line, singsonging, "I know something you don't know."

When I reached her at 7 the next morning, she told me, "Honey, you're 5 weeks pregnant." But how could this be? my uninformed, ain't never had a baby, don't know nothin' mind queried. Craig's only been home three weeks! Deb spun her wheel using the dates I gave her and immediately bubbled into hysterics. What!? What was so funny? "You conceived on March 26th!" Friends in AK still tease us about that. I called Craig at work, stunned to tell him our news. He put the receiver down, and I heard him shout to the entire floor, "I'm a dad!"

Grace was born on December 21st. She was 10 days late. We tried to induce four different ways, none of which were completely effective. Finally, after 36 hours of labor and two more pushing, Gracie decided she wasn't going to camp out in my tummy for the rest of her days, after all, and came into this world at 9:02 pm weighing 8.10 and measuring 21" long. She's our smallest baby, but has the biggest heart. She's sassy and effervescent, and blow-your-mind smart. And she's proof that God's timing is all that matters: it trumps every other agenda, schedule, and plot to circumvent Him it encounters. In short, she came when she was meant to be.

In the 4.5 years we waited to have children, we heard the following question often: "When are you going to have kids already?" To which we'd smile and politely respond, "Not today." When I was finally the one asking that question, Craig's reply was the same. It wasn't time. I may not have liked that answer, but I learned to trust it in the end. I see now that God was speaking to Craig, telling him to lead his wife into the season God had prepared. It wasn't time. It wasn't today. And you can't circumvent God's timing.

But when the right day came, we welcomed our only daughter. We celebrated here then as we celebrate her now, 9 year later. When Craig tells her the story of her birth, he always finishes with, "And I saw you come out, and I held you. You looked right at me. And you took my breath away." Every now and then, I'll peek into her room at bedtime or catch them sitting on a swing outside or see them holding hands as they walk down the street, and I'll hear Craig turn to Grace and say, "You still take my breath away." There are no words to describe her smile in return.

That's my favorite part of the story of Grace.