I was one month shy of 21 years old when I married in 1985. My husband was almost 25. I didn't feel like I was too young, as I knew from the moment I met him when I was 17 that we would be married. It wasn't anything like sparks flying or fireworks shooting...it was more like a quiet knowledge. It was obvious, like, "The sky is blue, the grass is green, heand I will be married."
We both knew that we wanted children. We even had names picked out. So it was with great rejoicing just a couple of years later when I found out I was pregnant. We had the child's whole future all mapped out in just a few weeks. Plans, dreams, ambitions large and small, from education to family outings...we saw it all...until, in my 10th week, I miscarried.
We were shocked and saddened, but determined that it should not deter us from the family we both so wanted. We did not blame God; we just prayed to Him that, someday, it would happen. Month after month, we got the evidence that it was not time yet.
Months turned into years. Then came the questions:
"Why don't you have any children?"
"Are you waiting to get going on your careers?"
"Have you thought about adoption?"
And, the "helpful" comments:
"You're smart to wait. With age comes wisdom."
"You're smart to wait until you're more financially secure."
"Just relax; maybe you're just too tense."
"You must have fun practicing."
"If you're happy together, you don't need to justify it with children. The world is so overpopulated anyway."
As the years went on, our attitude towards the questions and the comments changed. We started out as resentful. Couldn't they see our pain? Then we became reflective. Maybe they're on to something. Finally, our rather off-beat sense of humor got the better of us. We finally came up with the best answer:
"IF and WHEN God wants us to have children, we will have children. If not, we'll deal. Besides, Abraham and Sarah were HOW OLD???"
We also thought about alternatives. We thought about adoption, and actually talked to a friend of ours who had adopted a delightful boy. We also thought about fertility therapy. However, we both had gotten checked out, and there didn't seem to be a problem, so we decided against that. Besides, neither of us felt led in that direction.
In February of 2002, on my brother's birthday, I had the distinct impression that it was all a moot point. I waited for a week, just to be sure, before I even told my husband. I didn't want to raise his hopes only to be disappointed. However, since he knew me so well and could read me like a book, I decided that the best plan of action was to avoid him. He thought that something was wrong, but every time he tried to talk to me about it, I would find some way to get away from the conversation...and him!
Finally, that Saturday morning, I quietly told him, "As of today, I am officially a week late." The expression on his face made me glad I waited. It was a cross between unbelievable joy, and fear. Joy for the possibility; fear for being wrong...again.
The joy was justified and the fear was banished. However, it was replaced with another fear...what kind of parents would we be? He was 41, I was 37, and for so long it was just the 2 of us. Talk about a learning curve! One friend tried to reassure us by saying, "At least, being older parents, you will have more patience."
My answer was, "Yes, more patience...less stamina!"
That November my husband was 42 years old, I was just one month over 38, we had been married for 17 years, and we became parents to a beautiful daughter. God is so good and generous that, just two years later, we had another daughter! And do you know what? Although I feel like we had been waiting as long as Abraham and Sarah, I don't feel like I'm too old. I feel so very young!
We both knew that we wanted children. We even had names picked out. So it was with great rejoicing just a couple of years later when I found out I was pregnant. We had the child's whole future all mapped out in just a few weeks. Plans, dreams, ambitions large and small, from education to family outings...we saw it all...until, in my 10th week, I miscarried.
We were shocked and saddened, but determined that it should not deter us from the family we both so wanted. We did not blame God; we just prayed to Him that, someday, it would happen. Month after month, we got the evidence that it was not time yet.
Months turned into years. Then came the questions:
"Why don't you have any children?"
"Are you waiting to get going on your careers?"
"Have you thought about adoption?"
And, the "helpful" comments:
"You're smart to wait. With age comes wisdom."
"You're smart to wait until you're more financially secure."
"Just relax; maybe you're just too tense."
"You must have fun practicing."
"If you're happy together, you don't need to justify it with children. The world is so overpopulated anyway."
As the years went on, our attitude towards the questions and the comments changed. We started out as resentful. Couldn't they see our pain? Then we became reflective. Maybe they're on to something. Finally, our rather off-beat sense of humor got the better of us. We finally came up with the best answer:
"IF and WHEN God wants us to have children, we will have children. If not, we'll deal. Besides, Abraham and Sarah were HOW OLD???"
We also thought about alternatives. We thought about adoption, and actually talked to a friend of ours who had adopted a delightful boy. We also thought about fertility therapy. However, we both had gotten checked out, and there didn't seem to be a problem, so we decided against that. Besides, neither of us felt led in that direction.
In February of 2002, on my brother's birthday, I had the distinct impression that it was all a moot point. I waited for a week, just to be sure, before I even told my husband. I didn't want to raise his hopes only to be disappointed. However, since he knew me so well and could read me like a book, I decided that the best plan of action was to avoid him. He thought that something was wrong, but every time he tried to talk to me about it, I would find some way to get away from the conversation...and him!
Finally, that Saturday morning, I quietly told him, "As of today, I am officially a week late." The expression on his face made me glad I waited. It was a cross between unbelievable joy, and fear. Joy for the possibility; fear for being wrong...again.
The joy was justified and the fear was banished. However, it was replaced with another fear...what kind of parents would we be? He was 41, I was 37, and for so long it was just the 2 of us. Talk about a learning curve! One friend tried to reassure us by saying, "At least, being older parents, you will have more patience."
My answer was, "Yes, more patience...less stamina!"
That November my husband was 42 years old, I was just one month over 38, we had been married for 17 years, and we became parents to a beautiful daughter. God is so good and generous that, just two years later, we had another daughter! And do you know what? Although I feel like we had been waiting as long as Abraham and Sarah, I don't feel like I'm too old. I feel so very young!
