The Shape of Grace
We’d argued on our drive to the hospital.
I’d soon be lying belly-up on an exam table covered with a scratchy disposable sheet and trying not to squirm as the skin on my stretched-out belly was covered with clear cold goo. We were just moments from our first glimpse of the baby tucked beneath my heart.
But despite our anticipation, my husband and I couldn’t agree on one thing: Should we find out the sex of our baby or not?
My husband was voting yes. I insisted no.
Two years before, we’d chosen to go for the moment-of-arrival surprise with our firstborn, and I couldn’t imagine why my man wanted to spoil the fun with our second.
I had loved the thrill of hearing the doctor say, “You have a boy!” after my son had slipped with a cry from womb to world in the early morning hours of a hot August day.
And since I was the one whose sweat and labored breathing would push baby number two from watery darkness to light, I figured I deserved a weighted vote.
So when the silvery-haired tech asked if we’d like to know the gender of the baby, I gave my husband the evil eye and put clear words to my preference.
My mate didn’t dispute my final call, but he did leave the ultrasound room with measurably less excitement than his victorious wife.
In fact, for the remaining duration of that pregnancy, Rob seemed oddly detached from the miracle morphing my belly into the shape of a giant basketball.
Consumed with medical rotations and endless hours of hospital work, my man moved through his days like a robot, rarely acknowledging the impending arrival of our second child.
Though his excitement during my first pregnancy had been palpable, his emotions seemed frozen the second time around.
He didn’t cuddle in close at night, his hands perched on my protruding stomach in hopes of feeling the thrill of those little feet kicking happy beneath my skin.
He didn’t place wet lips to my bulge and whisper secret daddy messages to the tiny one inside.
He didn’t dream aloud with me about becoming a family of four, or laugh with me as we imagined how our strong-willed firstborn would respond to his imminent role of big brother.
He didn’t place wet lips to my bulge and whisper secret daddy messages to the tiny one inside.
He didn’t dream aloud with me about becoming a family of four, or laugh with me as we imagined how our strong-willed firstborn would respond to his imminent role of big brother.
As the weeks wore on, I grew hurt and confused. Why didn’t my husband recognize the gift growing right beneath his nose; right beneath his wife’s aching heart?
How hard could it be to celebrate the miracle of another child when he didn’t even have to experience it through the burn of indigestion or the bone-weary sting of exhaustion.
How hard could it be to celebrate the miracle of another child when he didn’t even have to experience it through the burn of indigestion or the bone-weary sting of exhaustion.
Then, just weeks from due date, my doctor recommended an unplanned ultrasound to check on the baby’s questionable size.
By that point, I was desperate for a way to draw my husband into the excitement.
My obdurate insistence on a surprise in the delivery room no longer seemed as important as my deep desire to somehow pull my man into our present miracle.
Rob was stuck at work on that late summer’s afternoon when, for the second time, I viewed our second child on a grainy black and white screen.
By that point, I was desperate for a way to draw my husband into the excitement.
My obdurate insistence on a surprise in the delivery room no longer seemed as important as my deep desire to somehow pull my man into our present miracle.
Rob was stuck at work on that late summer’s afternoon when, for the second time, I viewed our second child on a grainy black and white screen.
As I lay there marveling at the shadowy reminder of the life within me, I suddenly had an idea. I asked the attending technician to scrawl the gender of our child on a small yellow post-it note that I’d pulled from my purse. Then I asked her to please slip the paper into an envelope so I wouldn’t see what she’d written.
That evening over dinner, I handed my husband the plain white envelope and explained what it contained. At first he just stared at the envelope and looked at me with quiet confusion. But as he began to understand what I was offering, a slow smile spread across his face, and the apathy began to seep from my man’s weary gaze. Quickly excusing himself from the table, he reached for the envelope, headed to the bedroom, and soon came back with a sparkle dancing in those deep green orbs.
For the remainder of the pregnancy, my husband was a new man. He couldn’t keep his hands off my bulging belly, couldn’t stop prodding the toes just beneath my stretched-out skin, and couldn’t stop smiling as we dreamed about the child that would soon fill our empty crib.
When Elizabeth Grace arrived three weeks later, her Daddy’s smile ignited the room.
As our first day in the hospital drew to a close, I savored the sight of my husband tenderly rocking his new daughter to sleep in the dark wooden chair beside my bed.
And I asked him about the change that had taken place in those weeks just before our baby girl’s birth.
“What happened to finally get you excited about this baby’s arrival?” I asked, quietly.
As our first day in the hospital drew to a close, I savored the sight of my husband tenderly rocking his new daughter to sleep in the dark wooden chair beside my bed.
And I asked him about the change that had taken place in those weeks just before our baby girl’s birth.
“What happened to finally get you excited about this baby’s arrival?” I asked, quietly.
My husband smiled and said, “I guess it was that little slip of paper.”
He looked at me almost sheepishly and admitted, “Once I knew we were having a little girl, I began to call her by name.”
He glanced down at the tiny pink bundle in his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that’s what finally made her seem real to me.”
He looked at me almost sheepishly and admitted, “Once I knew we were having a little girl, I began to call her by name.”
He glanced down at the tiny pink bundle in his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that’s what finally made her seem real to me.”
In her 1000 Gifts Devotional book, Ann Voskamp muses, “Maybe I don’t know they are gifts, really, until I write them down and see what they look like.”
I might not have understood her logic if it hadn’t been for a yellow post-it note and a transformed husband over twelve years ago.
Naming a blessing doesn’t change the gift; it just puts skin on it.
Spoken aloud or scribbled on a page, our gifts become real when we give them a name.
And then we are able to see clearly the amazing shape of grace.
Still counting the many shapes of grace….
1875. Building snowmen in the kitchen on yet another snow day off from school.
1876. Hannah curled up reading Junie B to her brother and sister… all three laughing together in the big leather chair.
1877. Joshua snuggled in beside me in bed at 2 AM- “I knew you’d be lonely without Daddy here, so I came to keep you company…”
1878. Cinnamon rolls for breakfast.
1879. A mom who helps me with the kids so I can be “more than just a mom” some days.
1880. Filling a car ride with 1000 words- the gift of a good friend!
1881. The privilege of inviting a room full of women to fall in love with Jesus.
1882. Christ showing up at our women’s retreat— wooing, healing, loving.
1876. Hannah curled up reading Junie B to her brother and sister… all three laughing together in the big leather chair.
1877. Joshua snuggled in beside me in bed at 2 AM- “I knew you’d be lonely without Daddy here, so I came to keep you company…”
1878. Cinnamon rolls for breakfast.
1879. A mom who helps me with the kids so I can be “more than just a mom” some days.
1880. Filling a car ride with 1000 words- the gift of a good friend!
1881. The privilege of inviting a room full of women to fall in love with Jesus.
1882. Christ showing up at our women’s retreat— wooing, healing, loving.
1883. The beauty of women seeking Him.
1884. The gift of long lingering worship on a Friday night.
1885. A sleep-over with a new dear friend.
1886. Kids who can create their own fun on a long winter’s day…. building towers with plastic cups!
1887. The sight of my boys after a week in Honduras, their joy spilling over onto all of us!
1888. The sound of my husband’s voice- “we’re back in the U.S.”
1889. Sipping coffee with Rob after 8 days of being apart.
1890. A fresh infusion of hope in my prayer life! Circling His promises.
Happily linking with Ann for multitude mondays, laura for playdates with God, Jen for soli deo gloria, The Better Mom, The Mom Initiative.
How I love this story. Naming a blessing puts skin on the gift. So profound, Alicia. Thank you.
What a precious story!
Love the story. And the plastic cup tower. 🙂
Sweet, sweet story! Naming does seem to make a difference, doesn’t it? Love your parallel between your story and 1000 Gifts!
I haven’t visited in awhile, but your stories always encourage me and touch my heart! I love this story of a gift not noticed or seen without giving it skin! More blessings and seeing of gifts to you sweet woman of Christ!
This is so interesting. Sometimes our husbands can be so confusing, but sometimes, even though we don’t understand, we can just indulge them…and watch them metaphorphize (I didn’t spell that right) in front of us.
What a insightful story. There is something about dads and their girls that always gets me.
Fondly,
Glenda
precious – just precious – thank you for sharing with us!
There’s something about calling a gift by its name that makes it ever-so-much more real. I’m so glad you gave your husband the gift of ‘girl’ so she could become real to him. This is beautifully written!
I’m a new follower via SDG!
Blessings to you ~ Mary
Wonderful writing, and I love her name.
Alicia,
What a neat twist to the concept of naming gifts and counting them– and what insight into your man’s heart and mind. Thanks for sharing this.
Nice to meet you. I’m hopping over from Ann’s link up.
Jennifer Dougan
http://www.jenniferdougan.com
Loved this and had to laugh we argued too but our was on the way to the delivery room, we found out with our last baby , we didn’t call her by name because we still didn’t know what we wanted to name her. But it felt she more apart of the family before she came. Loved this post!
Your writing is beautiful. What a precious story! I’m on gift #220!
Marty@Marty’s Musings
Love this! What a beautiful way with words! 🙂
I especially liked this post. Thank you for sharing. I linked right after you over at The Mom’s Initiative.
What a beautiful story! Love this!