Updated: Jul 7
“I’m happy with our house. It’s small, but we have a new roof and a new A/C unit. Our yard is generous and our mortgage is low. Low enough, it enables me to stay home,” she said.
“There’s something to be said for being content,” I said.
My friend and I were enjoying a few minutes of uninterrupted conversation while the kids played. It wasn’t long before one of them yelled “watch this momma.” Between feeding them lunch, attending to scrapes and bruises, and guiding them on sharing – we don’t get a lot of continual conversation.
Her husband wanted to buy a bigger house and they had casually looked around. The market in the area is hot meaning the prices are on the high side. Their original plan of renting their current house out and buying a bigger house got circumvented when two children came along in the last five years.
She was good with exactly what they had. And you could genuinely tell she was content.
It had been a week of contentment for me. Having taken the week off from work and writing – we did a lot of swimming, a couple of play dates, and visited a new ice cream shop for their story time. We watched movies and read books. And ate way too much.
Having no agenda, made for a content heart and a bigger waistband.
It reminded me of the complete contentment I experienced once I laid my agenda down and fully trusted in God’s agenda.
For over two years, I relentlessly researched and visited countless doctors in an effort to heal me. I had always wanted two children and well I wasn’t giving up. I needed to find the cure in order to have another child.
There was a two year stretch where I had no symptoms. I was back to my old self, just having to take heavy doses of aminos and vitamins prescribed by doctors in Chicago. We started talking about having another child. One week later, I woke up in the hospital again.
I was devastated.
Back to square one – I researched more and more right down a rabbit hole. I had an MRI of my brain, an EEG test and multiple cardiology tests. Nothing. I wanted an answer so badly.
“Freedom” and “Healing" were the words I prayed over and over. This time, I was in the fight for the long haul. There was no way I would give up – so I kept searching for answers. I was exhausted both physically and mentally.
Until one night I went to sleep…
Only to wake up in the hospital again. It was a different hospital this time with new doctors, nurses and caretakers.
The doctor didn’t ask me to reverberate my story. He simply asked how I was feeling and told me about this new prescription plan. “This should take care of it,” he said. I didn’t hear a word he said after that. At this point, I didn’t care anymore.
Taking my paper, I headed to my room – defeated.
I did my time, five days. I met some amazing women, who fought real demons. Their stories changed me. I worked hard to focus on all of things I did have, instead of what I thought I needed.
The medicine worked with no side effects. I gave up the fight trying to become prescription free. I accepted the hand I was dealt.
Contentment filled my heart, as I accepted His plan. Many times, I said “I was fine with it.” You know how you think saying something out loud makes it official. That’s what I did over and over. “Your will, I accept your will.”
But saying it out loud doesn’t mean you’ve actually accepted it.
However, this time was it for me. There was a pressure released from my chest. I didn’t need to proclaim anything out loud. I knew. He knew.
I happily started to plan a vacation now that we had a potty-trained three-year-old. There was true excitement and joy when I found out my best friend across the street became pregnant with her second child. And even more joyful anticipation for another good friend trying for her second baby.
Happily searching for shower ideas -- I looked forward to holding new babies and not enduring sleepless nights.
Life was good. Really good.
Until one day…
I unwrapped a wedding anniversary present a month late. I cried and laughed. And then cried some more. I had quit fighting on my own and given it up. That’s when He answered my prayers.
He gave me the redo I had prayed for so many, so many times.
Glancing at the date on the calendar, it was exactly three years to the day since I went to the hospital for the first time. Three very long years.
And well, life got better. A whole lot better.
However, two years later, I’m still waiting on a vacation.