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My friend Gwen says that everything is created twice: once in someone’s mind and then actually and physically created. I was thinking about this the other day as I listened to a radio station where the DJ read a verse that mentioned “the God who conceived you” and I cried. 

To think He would think and dream of me. To know that before my children had their hard beginnings, He dreamt of them. Because the world needed them. The world was missing them and it was missing me. The weight of that is almost too much to bear.

My kids come from hard places, both adopted domestically as infants. Their little brains have been marked by trauma and rejection since birth. And to think that the Savior of the Universe saw them and saw me and thought we were a perfect fit. To think that He dreamt of my family is too much for me to bear at times.

This morning as I was reading the story of Sarah and her longing for a child. It’s an ache I know all too well. And it’s an ache that does not grow fainter with time. (That’s a lie from the pit of hell.) I was reading her story and thinking about Mother’s Day and thinking about the passing of the years for her.

What must that have been like? She had no social media or even books to pass the time. She had no distractions except the everyday mundane of life—washing Abraham’s robes, sweeping dust out of tents, gardening, cooking and then doing it all over again still without the naseau of morning sickness or without the kicking of little feet on her uterus. Sarah had blood and the moon and the twinkling stars. The same ones the Lord had used as an object lesson to show her husband how many offspring he would have. Those beautiful stars probably taunted her. I wonder if she hated looking at the promise every single night. 

That verse from the radio though “the God who conceived you”—the God who conceived Sarah. Before Sarah took her first infertile breath, the God who literally spoke creation into existence, the one who breathed light and life—He dreamt of her. And He thought the world needed her.

What do you even do with that? In the everyday, in the muck and mire of waiting and hoping and washing robes and sweeping dust. What do you even do with that? 

What do you do with a promise so big while living with empty arms and going to sleep each night on tear-stained pillows? I have no easy answer except to look up. The stars He created. The sunset He timed perfectly. The moon He set there. He holds it all and He holds you. And me. And our prayers and our longings do not disappoint him. And they are not too much for him to bear.

Sarah’s life is testament to that. She received her promise. She received the fulfillment of her desire and her story is hope for all of us. And hope itself is enough. Hope is not wasted. It’s NEVER wasted. So keep on hoping and keep on dreaming and hold tight to the one who is big enough to hold all of your hopes and dreams. Hold tight to Him and to the promise that He sees you. He dreamt of you. And He thought the world needed you.

Originally published on the author’s blog

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So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Kerry Ann Todd

I'm an adoptive mom, infertility survivor and lover of Jesus. I live in Maryland with my husband and my two children. I love writing words and telling this amazing story of my life for His glory.

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