I had it all planned out. The crib would go in that corner, and my 4 year-old daughter’s bed along this wall. Miranda would love sharing a room with her new sister or brother when she wasn’t at her dad’s house. I didn’t do any decorating, because I’d need to know if the wallpaper and curtains should be blue or pink. I would make do with what my new husband and I had until that time came.
Two years passed while I prayed and waited.
An increase in our apartment rent spurred us to find a new home. I adored the condo we found for lease. Miranda would get a kick out of climbing the ladder to sleep in the railed loft. A desk and bureau would go under the loft and she would have a space to call her own. She’d really appreciate a personal area now that she was getting older. The crib and other baby things could be arranged just so on the other side of the room. Perfect.
A year and a half passed while I pleaded with God and waited.
A wonderful job opportunity for my husband caused a move out of state. The apartment we picked out was darling and just the right size. Miranda’s room was a bit small for sharing, but I’d worry about that when the baby came. Having the crib in our bedroom might be nice until it was time for the baby to move to a regular bed, then we could get bunk-beds. Miranda would be old enough to sleep in a top-bunk, and she still asked when her new brother or sister was coming.
A year passed while I begged God and waited.
We had become more familiar with our new hometown and realized we had chosen an apartment too close to the city-center and its accompanying crime for comfort. Confident that our family would be expanding soon, and wanting to raise our children in a better neighborhood, we sought out and located a great three-bedroom house for rent in the suburbs. Miranda finally could have her own room, and what would become the nursery was perfect.
A year passed while I bargained with God and waited.
Finally! We crunched the numbers, and made the decision to purchase our own home. We took our time and did our research, looked at scores of houses in the area where we wanted raise our children, and chose what would be our forever home. With four bedrooms, we would have a nursery, Miranda could have her own room, and we’d have a guest room with its own private bath. The yard was beautifully landscaped, and we built a deck off the newly installed French doors in back. We even had our very own swimming pool. I pictured filling the house with children. Everything was perfect.
Seven years passed while I cried out to God and waited.
Our nice neighborhood was threatened with encroaching commercial growth, and we began considering another move. I was heartbroken. We’d had the perfect house in which to raise our children. I had been looking forward to hearing my grandchildren’s laughter in those hallways and that back yard. But I listened to and obeyed my husband’s wise counsel, and we started looking again. Our search brought us to a neighborhood under construction, deeper into the suburbs and further from the city. We picked out a lot and built our new home. It only had three bedrooms, but had a big bonus room we knew Miranda would love to make her own when she came home from college on weekends. The sitting room off the master suite would make a sweet nursery. Our guest room was available for our friends in need of a place to stay, and we welcomed them frequently.
Nine years have passed, and I no longer wait. But I still pray.
I praise God for blessing my husband and me with each other and making us one, and for blessing our lives with our sweet Miranda. He didn’t fill our house with children, but He did fill our hearts with love.
God answered my prayers by showing me how complete our home was along.
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