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One fine fall day in Germany, my husband and I went to the nearby military hospital for a routine ultrasound to check on the growth of our daughter. What started as just another appointment became a turning point in our lives. The doctor said things such as "measurements are concerning," "diagnosis markers," and "probably not fatal but we can't be sure." There was nothing to do but wait; hopefully we'd know more on the day of delivery. We were stationed overseas, far from specialists, family and support groups. I was sent home with strict instructions to relax, try not to worry, and absolutely avoid researching anything on the internet.
For the next six weeks, I tried to breathe and smile and ignore the cloud of dread hanging over us. But fear of the unknown and frustration over my lack of control were part of my daily life. Waiting was so hard. Then, just before Thanksgiving, the surgeon showed me our beautiful, extraordinary daughter. Waves of relief and gratitude rushed over me. There would be many more periods of turmoil and uncertainty over the coming months and years, but in that moment, I was comforted. We would be bringing our baby home with us.
That fragile infant is now a rambunctious first grader, eagerly learning about the world around her. But our world can be chaotic and hostile. I struggle with how to explain to her the reality of natural disasters, injustice, and conflicts between people. Yet I have hope that she and her brother will walk in the ways of Jesus and grow up to be forces for good in the world.
Just as God promised His people that there would come a time when they would have security and freedom, under the vines and fig trees of their own land, God also promises us peace and comfort. During Advent we wait to celebrate the coming of our Savior. But we can take solace in knowing that God is also with us in the waiting.
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