After weeks of waiting, I saw our baby on that black and white screen. No matter how I had tried to keep an open mind, I was still completely shocked when I heard the words, “It’s a girl.”
I smiled, genuinely happy to done with the guessing game, yet squeezing out a few tears to God on the inside. You knew I don’t feel ready to raise a girl.
Regardless of how un-spiritual it might feel to be disappointed, that emotion was definitely in play.
I never dreamed of dressing my girls in pink and frills, possibly because I was born with a firebrand in my hand. Not really, but you get the picture.
Being a girl and learning to walk in my identity never came easily for me. I am clearly female, but to this day, I feel just as comfortable, if not more comfortable around guys than girls. Boys are no piece of cake, but the blueprint seems to be a lot more straight forward, and I prefer that stability.
My husband is my absolute best friend in the world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve grown in leaps with him, but I feel like I’ve only touched the surface of what it means to walk in strength, beauty, and an empowered mind in my unique DNA.
No two women are alike, but each one carries some aspect of God’s heart.
Females often have the reputation for being emotional, unstable, and prone to sly evil apart from God. The journey of going back to design is intense. The fact that there is specific enmity between woman and Satan says something about that design. To be like God is exactly what Lucifer craved. Woman’s beauty, her intuitive nature, and her fertility are a direct reflection of the image of God.
You could say I am moderately terrified to bring a little female God image into the world. I’m not ready. How can I raise a strong woman when I still have so far to go?
The ultrasound technician checked the heart, showed us the kidneys, and snapped around 30 photos of body parts and organs before moving on to the head profile
I was completely thankful to simply have a healthy baby. I know that God planned this specific little human a million years ago, and I want that gift. There’s just a human part of me that hurts a little when my idealistic hopes and plans fall through.
I know that if my life would have turned out how I planned or thought was ideal, I would have missed out on a lot of valuable lessons, adventures, and blessings. I see the pattern of God’s fingerprints on my life in the past. The unexpected twists often felt wrong, but in the end it turned out to be a much better idea than what I thought I wanted. I get the idea that this season of my life is another one of those twisty turns.
God never said our commissions would be attainable or told us how our blessings would be gift wrapped. God’s hobby is showcasing His glory in humble people. His hallmark is manifesting his strength through the weak.
When the technician tried to get a good profile shot, baby’s arm blocked her face most of the time; my husband was sure she got that habit from me because my arm is often above my head when I sleep.
When we saw her sucking her thumb, it was like God holding my hand tight. It was just so cute. That photo is now my phone wallpaper.
It took me a while to process the news and work through my disappointment, but in the days since I found out I’m carrying a future queen, I’ve fallen in love with her. Even though her kicks feel like involuntary muscles spasms and my stomach gets in the way when I bend over, I love having her with me wherever I go. She’s my best girl- growing and kicking, letting me know she’s there.
Pregnancy always brings me back to God, the good, good Father. Every time I see that big belly growing, it’s beautiful because it’s a daily reminder of miracles and Something greater than myself.
I’ve started listening to God whispers for her unique identity and destiny. This baby is not my human; she is God’s unique image. When is God ever like I expected Him to be? Rarely. He’s so much better.
In this similar process, I know the spectacular treasures to be unraveled in this child will make me blush at my humanity and puny expectations.
© Brenda Kanagy