God loves them the most...

These thoughts have been brewing in my mind for a few days. Having just celebrated Andrew's 14th birthday, I naturally was reminiscing about the beginning of our journey with children. Ken and I had been married for four years before we were blessed with our Andrew. Two of those years were spent praying, hoping, despairing, hoping, praying, despairing....you get the picture. We wanted a child so badly, but after 2 years of trying to conceive the doctor said I was not going to be able to get pregnant without the help of modern medicine. I specifically remember sitting on the couch in our apartment one night, preparing a lesson for our Sunday School. It was a particularly hard day, and I was in the despair part of the cycle. So I told God I was not even going to pray about having a baby anymore. I was giving up and couldn't handle the up and down emotional roller coaster anymore. I was angry, I admit. Perhaps throwing a grown up version of a temper tantrum. I opened the lesson book that laid in my lap and my tear filled eyes landed on these words:

This time next year you will have a son.

I kid you not. And I felt even angrier than before. "Didn't I just tell You I was not going to hope anymore?" I yelled. I think I even threw the book. That was around Thanksgiving, 1993. It was just a few months later that I found out I was with child. He was born the following fall, just as God had promised. God was very good to us. I know there are many who still go through the pray, hope, despair cycle and may never be blessed with a pregnancy like we were. I don't understand it, but I'm so grateful he saw fit to bless us with not just one miracle, but five.

Now Andrew is 14, and planning on going to Mexico for his first missions trip. As I was praying for him and the trip the other morning, I thanked God for "my" Andrew. I felt a gentle rebuke, even before I finished that sentence. "Your Andrew?" So I tried again, "Our Andrew?" Still not quite right. The truth is, Andrew and the rest of these miracles are not mine and Ken's, they are God's. We are stewards of these little people. I felt convicted of flared tempers and careless words and of discipline that was more angry than loving; convicted of being too busy to listen and too lost in my thoughts to respond with sincerity.

I love Andrew.

I love these kids.

And God loves them even more.