Thirty-four weeks

I went to the hospital today to do the paperwork for our expected delivery in a few weeks. The last time I entered those doors was for a memorial service for our son that I delivered at 16 weeks. Just walking up to the front of the building was difficult. When I got back to the other building, I went into the bathroom and sobbed. I could have controlled my tears, but didn't. I was crying for the children that I haven't held and for the friend who lost her husband this week. In our finite minds, we often try to figure out how we could have caused a result other than the tragic one that we are facing. Yet, "His ways are not our ways, nor His thoughts our thoughts," and His ways are good. Even when they involve suffering. Especially when they involve suffering because then we are driven to the ends of ourselves and to the Lover of our souls. My fear is that I haven't allowed these fiery times to purify my soul as He desired. That somehow, I have wasted the dark night and missed out on the brightness that the day could have held. Again, I come and wait; wait for the Spirit's whispers that reassure me that He is working and that His way is best. That though imperfect, I am still His blood-bought child.