The End and The Beginning...

Have you ever sat down and really thought about your journey? Have you ever been on the cusp of a new chapter, and paused for a "Selah?" Have you had one of those moments, so clearly marked, where you knew you'd better make an altar, because life as you knew it would never be the same?
I'm there.
Right now.
As I write this, I'm torn between moments of joy, moments of fear, moments of incredible gratefulness, and moments of detachment. There's a scene in one of the Harry Potter movies, where Hermione is trying to explain to Harry all of the emotions Cho must be feeling, in the wake of Cedric Diggory's death; Ron exclaims that if he had to feel all of those emotions, that his head would blow up (or something like that). I know that part of this is just being a pregnant female; most of this, though, is just the realization of where things have been...and the realization of where they must be going.
We are guaranteed nothing.
I looked at my ever-expanding belly this afternoon, and heard the whisper in my ear:
He's coming.
He's coming.
It seems almost Narnian--that rush, that sensation, that winter has passed, and spring is coming. Aslan is coming--do you remember, the first time you read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe? Did you feel the anticipation in knowing that the Great Lion is coming to overturn an eternity of melancholy winter (and never Christmas)?
Do you remember the first time that you learned that Jesus would be returning? Have you hung onto that feeling, or have you grown used to the concept?
He's coming.
The Jews, for thousands of years:
He's coming.
They became so immune to the rush, that they missed Him entirely.
The Christians, for thousands of years:
He's coming.
We've become so immune, that we forget Him entirely.
The mother, who spends months in waiting, hoping, wishing, praying:
He's coming.
She becomes so immune to the medical reality, that she misses the miracle entirely.
I'm not likening the birth of my son to the return of Christ--don't get it twisted. I am, however, understanding that even in my situation, I have compartmentalized the reality that I'm about to face.
As Christians, we do the same thing: In song, in church practices, and in words, we say that we are eagerly anticipating the return of Jesus.
In our day-to-day life, though, we have forgotten the joy of anticipating that yes,
He
Is
Coming.
We've become mundane.
And He will sneak up like a Thief in the Night.
He is Coming.
Those 3 words stopped me in my tracks this afternoon. They were almost audible; the tears were immediate. As I'm sitting here, I am faced with a great deal of fear. There's a great deal of hope that I have not allowed myself to embrace; even though on the outside, our nursery is prepared, in my heart, I have not allowed myself to face those first 30 days.I've thought about the first birthday, finding a good school, lining up childcare...
It wasn't until yesterday that I faced the reality of something as simple as giving a baby a bath.
He's coming.
Over two years ago, I had an encounter with God that I've held on to; I saw something that let me know that this dream of having a baby would be a reality. It sparked a fire, to find a team of healthcare providers who would do more than say "yes" or "no;" I wanted a team of healthcare providers that would find out WHY. I wanted to know what was wrong with me, why was I defective?
Why was I only hearing "no?"
My teachers always taught me to show my work--to not simply give an answer, but to explain why. It took 5 years to find doctors that could do that. And even though our current result is not quite what we thought it would be, the fact of the matter is that without those tests, we wouldn't have made it this far. God is faithful--He told me to pursue, He brought David and I into unity, and He's making this happen.
I trust Him.
He's coming.
This afternoon, I envisioned David and I standing outside of a locked city. Except this time, we had the keys.
We faced the doors, knowing that upon entering, we were leaving the past behind, never to return--nothing would ever be the same again.
We have no idea what is on the other side of that door...but we know there is no turning back.
When He comes, He only beckons us forward.
As we have this moment, as we stand outside of these doors, we have our "Selah"  moment, and it is overwhelming:
1 year of paralyzing grief.
2 years of heartbreak....of seeing a fledgling marriage tested by things more destructible than fire...
3 years of finding ourselves again.
4 years of facing a possibility of barrenness.
5 years of fighting with physicians, of fighting with myself, and with my self-image.
6 years of almost giving up...of giving it one more try...
Years--almost 20% of my life--of thinking that God found us unworthy, that He was punishing us--of guilt and shame--of sorrow unlike anything most people will ever know...
Years of praying, seeking, waiting...
Years of the prayers of Hannah, where even your closest friends think you're crazy for continuing on...
I look back, and if you would have told me in 2008 that I'd be in this position, I would have lived up to my middle name: Sarah.
I would have laughed.
David and I have lived a lot, in 7 years of marriage. I've wondered if we could seriously make it through; more than once, I've told him to let me go, and to find someone worthy. He stayed.
Thank God.
I waited a long time to get married...He was worth waiting for.
I remember when God told me about him...I was 14. That day, I heard it for the first time:
He's coming.
God told the truth; He sent me a helpmate.
He sent me a soulmate.
We've walked on a journey through laughter and sorrow, through a wilderness and through deserts. We have a long way to go, but we're going together--we stand outside of this part of our lives together.
We share this moment of reflection together.
He's coming.
It's the End of the deepest of sorrows...the end of where that Shadow of Death can touch. It's the end of this valley (although, as life is made up of mountains and valleys, we know there are more to face), and the beginning of a new journey, of a new climb.
It's the delicious anticipation of a new chapter to write together, and of a new facet in our relationship with the Lord.
There is fear...there are questions...there are things that, in my super-organized mind, I cannot believe there are no definite answers to.  There is anger at a lack of information, and confusion at an overwhelming amount of unproven facts. There is a prayer for clarity...for peace...for healing...for direction...for protection, above all...
But above all...
Spring is coming...
The lilacs are in bloom...
And hope is on the horizon...
It's a new beginning...
And He is coming...
Selah.