We Have Won the Lottery

We are having another baby. My husband and I hugged tightly and danced around the bathroom when two pink stripes surfaced on the pregnancy test. Although it’s baby number six, it still feels more exciting than if we had won the lottery. Having seen our other newborns grow into interesting, beautiful people that we are honored to care for, we are confident that this alien-shaped fetus in my belly will one day become just as lively and part of our family’s story.

However, the celebration was immediately dampened by a stomach bug for the ages. In symphonic harmony, we all turned green at the same time. Our living room transformed into a kind of war-zone, blankets flung over couches and mattresses pulled in from bedrooms. Micah and I attempted to hold back hair before having to make a quick exit ourselves. This wasn’t a bug that passed after a few visits to the toilet. The numbers were in the high twenties for all involved. The next morning, unable to get out of bed ourselves, we threw dry fruit loops to the kids as if they were a pack of animals. 

However, we recovered and just in time for a required visa run. Still on the mend from our family’s worst all-nighter, we quickly packed, Lysoled our house, and headed to the airport. We left the cool mountain air for the desert of Dubai. In a land of one color, with its tan sand, tan homes, and tan skyscrapers, the people were anything but uniform in language or race. The Urdu-speaking taxi-drivers easily won our hearts, as they never seemed put off by our parade of children or the way their dusty shoes left marks on their leather seats. Talking about his own five children, one especially jolly taxi-driver laughed that people in his country don’t limit the number of kids they will have. He reached over and held my husband’s arm with brotherly gusto, and said that all children are a gift from God. Fresh from a place where we are constant oddballs for our decision to have lots of babies, this man’s words warmed my insides like a cup of tea after dinner. This man shared our joy better than most. All life is a gift from God, I agreed, a smile on my lips.  

However, sometimes the gift feels too weighty. Too costly. Impractical, even. I’m afraid it’s unwise to think we can add another human to our already overwhelming life. In no way have we arrived at some peak in parenting and ministry with acres of margin just begging for one more newborn. Hardly. When I think about the 15-hour plane ride alone in our future with six kids to sooth and rock, I start to sweat. If we learned anything from that stomach bug, it’s that we are easily laid low. 

I can imagine the day the new baby is screaming in a public setting while the five other kids are melting from hunger and wearing uncombed hair and stained t-shirts. At that moment, with all eyeballs on me, I fear I’ll collapse inwardly. I like to impress people and adding another child will not aid in that endeavor. 

I morph into a self-centered monster when I examine and reexamine my worthiness of this new life and fear what others are thinking. A good friend pointed out that this thought process sounded like worldly wisdom instead of godly wisdom (James 3:13-18). She also encouraged me that feeling weak accomplishes some wonderful things (2 Corinthians 4:7). Might there be spiritual benefits from realizing just how needy and dependent I truly am? 

I keep wanting to find an exit sign out of this weakness I’m residing in, when in fact it’s the door to God’s strength. It’s the exact path that leads me to his love and help. He came for the sick like me, not the healthy who think they have no need of a doctor (Mk 2:17). When it’s impossible for me to impress people with a calm and collected family image, all that’s left to boast about is Christ in me, the hope of glory, and the lifter of my head (Col. 1:27, Ps. 3:3).