...And Then There Were Three

“Just as you do not know the path of the wind and how bones are formed in the womb of the pregnant woman, so you do not know the work of God who works all things” (Ecclesiastes 11:5).

I love donuts. My wife, less so. Indeed, her giving me a hard time about junk food has been a long-running gag in our marriage.

So you can only imagine my delight—and suspicion?—when she came home from work toting a box of donuts from Tim Hortons (if the reference is lost on my American friends, think Dunkin’ Donuts only slightly better quality—slightly).

As is our custom when either Elaina or I arrive home from work, the two of us loitered in the kitchen for a short time as we caught up on the events of our day. Admittedly, my attention darted somewhat between our conversation and the box of donuts sitting unopened on our kitchen counter.

“Why did you get these again?” I asked as she disappeared into the adjoining room. My reason for asking this question was threefold. First, it was so unlike my wife to bring home junk food without a definite reason (that’s what I’m known for). Second, we had our weekly Bible study later that evening—but last I checked, we weren’t on snack for that week and a mere half dozen donuts were surely not enough for our group. And thirdly, most importantly, I simply wanted to eat a donut.

Past experiences, however, have since given me pause before simply digging into snacks without asking what, or who, they are for. I understand this is a common flaw among husbands.

As Elaina made some muffled reply to my question from the other room, I opened the box that rested on the counter. I don’t quite remember exactly what happened next, but I do know that any excitement I had for donuts quickly deepened into a joy far deeper and more rich. In that moment, fleeting as it was, a warmth was kindled within my heart that I have no doubt will endure for the rest of my days:

And then there were three... Baby Budimlic on the way!

And then there were three.

As the joy settled, I turned around to Elaina who stood in the kitchen—“Are you surprised?” she asked, smiling. Surprised? Yes. Overjoyed? Absolutely.

However, despite Elaina and I sitting on this news for a few weeks now, there is a very real sense in which it still doesn’t feel real. In the midst of this great joy there remains an uncertain, unknown quality about it. A foreignness to this particular joy. As overwhelming as this news is in the best possible way,—the gift of a new life, a gift from the hands of God Himself—it is all yet to truly sink in. Everything has changed; but for the time being, most of life remains unchanged.

And at the same time, becoming parents, becoming a father—though we are both in the very infancy of this new journey—is already the most natural joy in all the world. I am still overwhelmed at the sheer goodness of it all. Overwhelmed at the sheer goodness of our God from whom all blessings flow:

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17).

The best way I’ve come to describe my heart over the past few weeks is to picture it—my heart, that is—as a lake. Now, imagine as though the good news of a child on the way were a small stone being skipped upon that same lake. In this picture, the Lord is the One skipping the stone, the stone itself is our little one, my heart the lake, and the joy being the ripples caused by the stone. And as the initial freshness of the excitement begins to ebb—as though it were widening wrinkles on a calm, watery surface moving outwards—there is a deeper, richer, realer joy that takes hold as the little stone—our little one—begins to sink beneath the surface of the lake, nestling themselves deeper and deeper into the vast waters of mine and Elaina’s heart.

And speaking of hearts, Elaina recently had her first ultrasound. Seeing our child for the first time—and watching the rapid beating of their little heart—has left an indelible mark on my soul. How it is that someone with a heart so small could so quickly and effortlessly fill the entirety of our own hearts?

Though I could go on and on, I think I’ll keep this short because, quite frankly, I am still in a state of joyful shock! However, isn’t that how these sorts of things so often go? The deeper the joy, the fewer the words. Indeed, this is one of those moments in a long series of moments that have migrated far beyond the use of words entirely.

Well, moved beyond my words, that is. As I’ve been pondering this news for the past few weeks, turning it over and again in my heart, the words of Psalm 139 have become a well-worn path that I have walked upon many times. And so, I will leave you with His words rather than my own—to God be all the glory!

“For you formed my inward parts;

you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;

in your book were written, every one of them,

the days that were formed for me,

when as yet there was none of them.”

—Psalm 139:13-16

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Photo by Rohit Varma, Unsplash