The Perfect Thunder

Last night, I laid quietly in a hospital bed, your father sitting just as quietly next to me. An itchy gown covered my body and a little belt was strapped to my belly. The room was dull, the nurse was tired and nothing was comfortable.

I laid staring directly at the ticking hands of the clock, waiting for the doctor to come in, for the next contraction to hit and for some answer as to why I was in that bed with such a heavy heart. You were 34 weeks, not yet ready for this big world. I desperately pleaded for God to keep you within me. Just two more weeks, I begged. 

As the clock ticked away, the little belt on my belly reported the most precious sound. Through the silence of the room came the most perfect thunder. Your heart. Fast and strong, mixed with the intermittent kicks and stretches of your little limbs. I closed my eyes and found myself being lulled into comfort by the only sound you currently know how to make. How funny it felt to be cared for and comforted by you, someone so small and in need of so much care yourself. 

In that hospital bed, listening to your heart pierce through every bit of fear I had, I felt helpless; yet blessed beyond measure to be able to know you so intimately. Blessed to know that I have been gifted with a daughter who knows me so intimately and who knows exactly how to love me already. 

At that point, as the clock ticked away, as two new parents sat silently listening to the comforting beat of a little girl's heart, we knew. The Lord had a plan; a perfect plan for that sweet thunderous heart. And no matter when He planned for you to enter this world, we knew it'd be ok, because you were the strongest little girl we knew. Certainly stronger and braver than the two people who created you. 

When the doctor entered the room with the news that we wouldn't be meeting you that night, we sighed with relief. The answer as to why I laid in that hospital bed with a heavy heart had arrived; a simple infection, easily treated, was the culprit. We later left that uncomfortable hospital room, headed for home, with a prescription for antibiotics and hearts full of peace. Never have I been more thankful for such a simple lesson: the Lord is merciful and His will is perfect. 

Last night, I settled quietly into bed, your father quietly laying next to me. Our cozy comforter covered my body and my hand laid upon my belly. The room was dark, we were tired, and everything was perfect. 

We may not have met you on the night of July 14th, but we certainly settled into the understanding of our desperate need for God's grace and our intense love for the thunderous girl we know will one day change the world. 

Goodnight, sweet girl.