Randomly Shawn

Disclaimer: this post acknowledges struggles with infertility, including miscarriage. We know the pain that these topics can bring and want to fully disclose this before you begin the read.

It’s hard to believe that today we are celebrating the one year birthday of an answered prayer that we prayed for over a decade. I’ve never taken the time to tell that story in written form, and today seems like just as good a time as any.

When Angie and I were married in 2005, we knew that we wanted a family. It was important to us to have the opportunity to raise children. When Isaiah came along in 2009, our hearts were filled with joy. His presence brought us a renewed purpose and passion–it also brought fatigue. After a couple years, however, we knew that we’d like to have a second child–a brother or sister for Isaiah. SInce we’d each been blessed with sibling relationships, we knew that we wanted that for Isaiah.

No dice.

After a while, we decided to consult with an infertility clinic. We met with a doctor and Angie began several treatments, including a surgical procedure. After these attempts, and with the support of a medical team, there was still no success. We retreated a bit, pursued the matter in prayer, and decided that our effort was worthwhile–and that we should continue.

After a second surgical procedure and with continued support from the doctors, we received the call that we were waiting for–Angie was pregnant. We were ecstatic. I raced to the florist before coming home and we went out to dinner to celebrate. Finally. Our prayers had been answered.

Not so fast.

When I came home from the office the next day, the flowers were on the deck and gnats were swarming around. I went inside and Angie’s swollen eyes revealed all that I needed to know. She confirmed: “The doctor called. I’m going to lose the baby within the next few days.” We were planning a trip out of town, and we had to find a LabCorp en route so that Angie could get a set of labs to confirm that the pregnancy wasn’t viable. We were crushed.

After that encounter, the doctor’s office went silent. We did, too. I was reminded of what one of the doctors told us: “You already have your miracle baby.” True. I wrestled with feelings of guilt. Frustration. I questioned why this happened. What was God up to? We determined that after the crazy-making efforts that had been pursued in our lives, we wouldn’t pursue a second child any further. Between our work at church, in the community, and at school–our hearts were content and our hands were full.

Have you ever experienced the slow fade of a dream? In the years that followed, we watched our own hopes of a larger family fade into the background of a blessed life. Angie would occasionally be “late” and would take a pregnancy test–but it was always the same answer. Angie began to sell the items that we’d kept in storage. Out went the pack and play, the crib mattress, the clothes, and with it–our hope. She pursued employment and accepted a position working in a school beginning in August of 2019.

Our summer was filled to the brim with excitement of her transition to the world of work, and we looked forward to the schedule and routine that “school” would bring to all of us. We raced through final preparations and weekend getaways and before we knew it, it was the Sunday afternoon before teachers returned. Angie hadn’t been feeling well and mentioned that she was late. We knew the routine. When we were out later that afternoon, we’d pick up a test to confirm that she wasn’t pregnant. We had a routine.

After making our way through an awkward encounter at the store (how does one explain a pregnancy test to a close friend who is holding their lunch meat and wheat thins?), we returned home. I was unpacking groceries and Angie disappeared into the bathroom. We’d done this dance before. It was best done alone, quickly, and quietly.

But God.

Angie let out a scream and I found her on the floor of our bathroom. Tears running down her cheeks as she rocked back and forth. I looked at the digital display. Pregnant.

The day before her first day of work. Days after she sold the last of the dust-covered baby supplies.

Is there anything too hard for God? (Jer. 32:27). Nope, there isn’t.

We sat on the bathroom floor, crying our eyes out. Isaiah came back inside and asked what was wrong. I wish, oh how I wish, you could have seen his face. Tears welled up and started rolling down his cheeks. A sibling at long last.

And, so begins the story of Bennett. The name means “Blessed” and we couldn’t agree more.

Happy first birthday, pal.