faith · family · womens issues

this is my story

This is my song.

Our last doctor’s appointment for Baby Wootton was an interesting one. We went in all cheery and relatively carefree. The doctor took some fairly crazy measurements that seemed highly inaccurate and voodoo like. If he had said, “So, feels like the uterus is about yeah big,” holding out his hands to measure air, that would have seemed about right. But he used a tape measure just to seem more scientific I guess.

And then we talked about the test results. So I’m 39 and of course anyone over 35 is considered at risk to some degree. They take lots of blood and look for signs of possible birth defects, etc. I was prepared for this. I know I’m on the older side. But we got two separate calls from two separate nurses telling us everything came back normal. The doctor asked who called us. I said I don’t remember names. They said it was all fine. He said, rather bluntly, “no it’s not.” and then proceeded to say he was going to step out of the room and give us some time to discuss how we were going to proceed while he went and found whoever it was that called us. And somewhere in there he used the word “terminate” and somewhere else he said  “prepare” for a special needs child.

He left the room. I felt a little like I was that cartoon character who just noticed there was no ground under me.  We didn’t have to talk about termination. There was no question we would never. And I don’t think we *could* talk about preparing for a special needs child right at that moment. I just felt my tears welling up and Rob just held me and we just couldn’t really talk about anything. Rob prayed. He even prayed, if it’s Your will let it be a mistake. But no matter what, we praise You.

This song came to mind. It’s one of the very best and hardest praise songs to sing.

As long as you are glorified by Mark Altrogge

Shall I take from Your hand Your blessings
Yet not welcome any pain?
Shall I thank You for days of sunshine
Yet grumble in days of rain?
Shall I love You in times of plenty
Then leave You in days of drought?
Shall I trust when I reap a harvest
But when winter winds blow, then doubt?

Oh let Your will be done in me
In Your love I will abide
Oh I long for nothing else as long
As You are glorified

Are You good only when I prosper
And true only when I’m filled?
Are You King only when I’m carefree
And God only when I’m well?
You are good when I’m poor and needy.
You are true when I’m parched and dry.
You still reign in the deepest valley.
You’re still God in the darkest night.

So quiet my restless heart,
Quiet my restless heart,
Quiet my restless heart in You.

Oh let Your will be done in me
In Your love I will abide
Oh I long for nothing else as long
As You are glorified

Honestly, my mind was settled. It was hard, but I knew with all my soul, whatever brings the most glory to our God is what must be. And I knew so many of our family and friends were watching us. Not to be self-aggrandizing, but I know we hold out hope in so many different ways for so many people, because of our stories. And we are humbled and blessed and feel honored to be a kind of beacon for God’s people to see that He is, that He is able, and that He takes care of us. He will not stop caring for us. Ever.

So, we took a deep breath as the doctor came back in and we dried our eyes and we watched him sit down with his laptop. He showed us the test results graph that he was looking at, and then he started apologizing and criticizing the test graph that didn’t make sense to him. It took me a a minute to really understand what was going on, but then he said it. He was wrong. He looked at the chart wrong. We could tell he felt awful.

And with that, everything was pronounced as good and he said something like, hope you have a better morning than what I started you off with. I thought what better way to start the day than being tested and found true? In more ways than one. Rob said to him that it was all just another opportunity to trust God. And I thought maybe all this was for the doctor to see grace – how calm we must have appeared, how quick we were to be kind and not freak out. Maybe it was all for the doctor. or maybe it was all for us. probably a little of both.

And my heart still says, in the middle of the night, when I feel strange and I worry about the kiddo and what’s going on in a place I can’t see or really feel. I have to turn to trust – blind, deaf, dumb trust, well maybe not dumb – and I picture myself taking hold of my heart and handing it back over to Jesus. Do what you must. We ask you to be kind and gracious, but how much more kind and gracious can you possibly be? Thank you for every blessing and every pain. Thank you for the darkness that forced me to see light. Thank you for the light that brought me to Rob. And for the light You continue to shed on us now, and in the days ahead. “I long for nothing else as long as You are glorified.”



3 thoughts on “this is my story

  1. I’m glad he was wrong, Robin, but I’m also glad for the opportunity you had to have your faith tested and to find God faithful, true and good. I’ve been down this road, too, with our oldest son who, a year and a half ago committed suicide. How do you praise God in the midst of such darkness? You remember the fact that He has been so amazingly good and faithful all along, and why do I deserve any of it? Because of Jesus, who walked the darkest valleys and suffered the deepest agony for me. May His glory fill the earth, and may we be beacons for Him! God bless you and Rob with constant faith in the One who holds you and your little one in His loving and sovereign hands.

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