Night shining as day

In the margins of my Bible, next to Psalm 139, there is the following note--For Henry, March 2007. I do so wish I hadn't been upside down when I wrote this and had expanded upon that. But if my memory serves me correctly, I found this scripture particularly comforting for different reasons than you might expect.

You see, this is the classic go to "so you're pregnant let me write you a note and write a bit of scripture on the card" sentiment. Sometimes it even comes already printed on the cover of the card, embossed over a picture of a sunset on the beach, complete with sea gulls. For those of you too lazy to follow the above link, this is the Psalm that includes "You formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." Good stuff for a pregnant lady, right?

And it is. Let me be clear that I am not dogging David's writing of this Psalm. But the fact that it is used so frequently next to those danged Precious Moments babies and half-hearted attempts to be deep, I generally gloss over that portion of the Psalm. From all accounts, I like to think that David would be offended when it is used half-heartedly as well. David was a man of passion, doing all things, both good and bad, whole-heartedly.

What struck me most about this Psalm during Henry's gestation, was the intimacy God shared with his servant, David, and subsequently with Henry and me. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether. A little frightening that God knows ME that well, but as I reflect on it in terms of Henry, it assures me that even Henry's speech delay has not only not gone unnoticed by our Father, but is part of His loving plan. I was also stuck that God's eyes saw my unformed substance. So His plans for me and Henry did not start with our births, or even conceptions, but have been on His mind since before time began. So my going into labor at 23 weeks and almost dying was not an accident. It was God's plan for my pregnancy and God's plan for Henry.

This past weekend Sloan and I went to a memorial service for an infant, the daughter of a college friend who now goes to my church. (I am wishing we were closer now, but perhaps we aren't because, well, let's just say we are both different people than we were at UNC. Certainly there were hints of the man and woman we have evolved into, but oh, the stories we could tell...) But at this service, Psalm 139 was read. And it was discussed how this Psalm in particular was a balm to the child's parents. Maybe it was because I was already on my third tissue, but for the first time I understood all that knitting together mumbo jumbo and why David included it. It wasn't because he was making a case for when life actually begins, to be tacked on a bumper sticker, absentmindedly. But it was a statement of the depths of love and passion God takes with each of us. That His love for each of us goes into the darkest of places--our gestation, our lives, our grief. That in Genesis, with the very words, In the beginning, we were there, in our Father's heart.

And as we approach adoption, I cannot tell you how loudly that little girl whose life was seemingly too short was preaching to me. That even in our infertility, certainly a time when I can say along with David that the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night, it is a blessing to know that even the darkness is not dark to You; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light with You. And because God has had me on His heart from the very beginning, I know He has also had our second child on His heart as well. And as we fill out forms and set appointments, He is still knitting together our child, for us. That from our child's conception, though it is through another couple, God's intention is that he or she would be raised in our family. That he or she would be the one to pester Henry. That he or she would be acquainted with Elizabethtown. That he or she would call me Mommy.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high. I cannot attain it.