The skin of my belly is taut and smooth, bearing the red lines of its stretching, and I can’t see how it could stretch more. I have to stand up slowly and calculate my motions to put least stress on a stressed hip tendon. Inside me, a little boy stretches and pushes, running out of room.
However we measure, and however long it takes, I know these are the last days of this pregnancy — I’m eager for THIS to be the last day — but there is evening and there is morning, the 278th day, and we wait.
Writing to the Galatians, Paul says that “when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son” (Gal. 4:4), and I think of all the long days between the promises and their fulfillment in that birth — not just Mary’s months of pregnancy, but the four hundred silent years between Malachi and Matthew, the thousands of waiting years that followed Genesis 3.
He came. He conquered. And now we wait for His return, a waiting in which Paul tells us that creation itself joins, “groaning together in the pains of childbirth” as we wait for an end of our bondage to corruption, our release into the glory of the children of God (Rom. 8:20-23).
This is only my third pregnancy, but I’m pretty certain of the baby who must be born soon. I know the signs, have heard the beating heart, studied the ultrasound images and my own stretched self. Hosea prophesied that the Lord’s “going out is as sure as the dawn” (Hos. 6:3). And if you’ve lived long enough to learn to read you know that dawn always comes — more certain, more inevitable than a baby’s birth, the light returns again and again and again.
My baby will be small and weak, bound to sin, bringing me years of worry and work for his welfare. But we will celebrate his arrival with so much joy, in awe of this astounding gift of life.
Christ will return a mighty conqueror, to trample sin underfoot and usher us into joy everlasting, life eternal. How shall we celebrate THAT arrival?
So we wait, full to bursting, for the time to be full again, for Christ to burst upon our taut, aching days with glory beyond imagining.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!
This took me several times the allotted five minutes, but after weeks of writing nothing, I’m linking up with Five Minute Friday to acknowledge the prompt that finally helped me put some thoughts onto a page. The “full” button above will carry you to the FMF page to read more about it.
©Stacy Crouch 2019