As we come inside the house, Josh puts down the car seat and unbuckles it, and my dad comes toward us, his arms outstretched.
“Congratulations!” he exclaims.
I smile; I hear nothing but joy in his voice.
Josh lifts Faith out of her seat, and my dad takes her in his arms, gazing down at her in wonder.
“What a little peanut,” he says. “What a perfect little peanut.” And I know he means it utterly.
There are, of course, lots of things to navigate. Conversations to have. People to tell. Emmy comes by with enough food to feed an army for a month. She hugs me without saying anything, andI cry into her shoulder for a few minutes simply because I know I can, and as thankful as I am, the tears, the grief, are still there.
Other people come by, too—Joelle, with a basket full of baby toys and a turkey for the freezer.
“I’m sorry I was strange about it all before,” she tells me. She smiles sadly. “We’ve been trying for ten years. It took me by surprise.”
“I should have told you before,” I reply. “I’m sorry.”
“She’s beautiful, Abby,” she says sincerely. “You’re so blessed.”
And Idofeel blessed, even if that blessing is mixed with fear and grief. Somehow, that makes my gratitude all the sweeter.
Two days after we bring Faith home, Pastor Todd comes by with a basket of hand-knit baby items made by members of the church, another casserole, a plate full of cookies, and a bottle of wine.
“Congratulations,” he says sincerely as Josh takes all the gifts off him.
I’m sitting on the sofa, holding Faith, feeling brittle. I feel like there’s a good chance that Pastor Todd is going to say something to make me sob, and I haven’t cried once today. I’d like to keep that going.
He sits down on the sofa across from me with a smile. “All babies are miracles, aren’t they?” he says.
I nod jerkily. My throat is already starting to feel tight.
“Including little Faith.”
I look down at her, my throat now too thick for words. I just nod again, and Josh, having left to put away the gifts, comes back into the living room.
“That doesn’t mean,” Pastor Todd continues, “that you’re not allowed to feel sad or afraid.”
Josh sits down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. “We’ve definitely felt both of those,” he says.
Since we’ve brought Faith home, Josh has gone into capable mode. He’s researched the latest therapies and interventions for children with Down Syndrome. He’s educated himself on it, researched statistics, and even made spreadsheets. He was an accountant, after all. It’s in his blood. And he’s gotten on board with Faith and her condition with unsurprising alacrity. Josh has always been able to adjust to things with swift ease. I’m the one who struggles to get on board, our homesteading adventure case in point.
But I don’t want to struggle with mydaughter. I love her so much already, yet I can’t deny that I still feel sad. It helps that Pastor Todd has said that’s okay because I’ve been feeling guilty for not being happier.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Pastor Todd said, “but Emmy Wilson told me you had the verse from Psalm 46 by your sink.”
I smile uncertainly. “‘Be still and know that I am God’,” I confirm.
He nods. “God told the Israelites to be still when they were going into battle—the exact time you’d think being still was just about the worst idea, ever.”
I keep my smile, only faintly; I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
“I’m not telling you to be still in that you shouldn’t do anything,” he continues. “Of course, you need to give her the best care possible, including all the medical interventions or treatments you, as her parents, feel necessary. But the stillness in that verse is talking about inside stillness. Stilling all the fears and worries and what-ifs. That kind of stillness.”
I gulp. Nod. I can’t manage anything more.
“The Bible tells us that God has numbered the hairs on our heads. The hairs on Faith’s head. His fingerprints are on every part of her. Every chromosome, even the extra one. I know that can be hard to believe, much less understand, but this is in Hiscontrol. Like I said, that doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about it, but you can also be comforted that He planned this. He’dgotthis.”
By this time, Josh and I are both having to wipe our eyes. Pastor Todd grins and holds out his arms. “Now, can I have a cuddle with that precious little girl?”
