children of the {barren}

“Sing, barren woman, who has never had a baby.
Fill the air with song, you who’ve never experienced childbirth!
You’re ending up with far more children
than all those childbearing women.” God says so!

Isaiah 54:1 The Message

On Tuesday I was faced with a bit of irony: I was late to my Infertility Support Group because I had too many children. Four of them, running around my feet in the barn. Little bits of dancing sparkles that said things like:

“Uhm, Tashe, why does that cow have chocolate milk?” as they pointed to the gutter where the milk puddled that was stripped from a cow with mastitis.  (Who would have thought that manure and milk would equal chocolate milk in a child’s mind?)

I’m still laughing over that one.

Precious moments to remember and cherish. Like the darling who was tired and wanted so desperately to be held, sitting sweetly on a bucket while I changed milkers.

All little gifts from God. Treasures for me to enjoy. Arms that wrap around my neck. Babies that cuddle in my lap.

“Why do you call us sugar-plums?” Giselle asked several years ago.

“Because you’re round and sweet and covered with sugar,” I responded, picking her up and covering her face in kisses.

She pushed back a little and looked at me as she giggled, “Oh. That’s okay then.”

This morning around ten o’clock my house, again, filled with little ragamuffins. At one point, as I was teaching the three year old how to fold a pair of jeans and pulling apart fighting toddlers, I looked at my husband who was cuddling the baby and said, “This is what our life would have been like if we had a baby the first year we were married, twins the second  and another baby this year.”

He stood up, walked over to me and looked down at the two-year-olds who were now playing quietly with a pile of my scarves. “And then where would these precious ones be? In a daycare?”

We were interrupted by the three-year-old’s squeal, “Look, Uncle Ice Cream! I folded your pants!” Her blue eyes danced at her accomplishment.

My husband soon left for work and I made lunch and wrote I John on a lamp shade (thanks, pinterest) and sang and read books and did another load of laundry. Then I tucked them all into beds for nap time and couldn’t help but whisper prayers of thanks.

Thanks to the God who has blessed me and blessed me and blessed me.

The One who gives me children that are mine to raise. Even if they are only mine for an afternoon, I still get moments and hours and days. A chance to influence and teach and pour into a new generation. The desire of my heart fulfilled.

And I’m thankful.

“Tashe, can I name this baby doll Annabelle?” Elyse asks.

“Sure, baby,” I smile over my computer screen, “now snuggle with Annabelle and rest quiet until nap time is done.”

“Tashe?”

“Yes?”

“Annabelle says she loves you.”

It is like God looked down and said, “Hmmm…this one needs a handful of precious pearls to comfort her.” 

And here I am. Comforted by the God who sees me.