Ask, Seek, Knock

By the end of the summer of 2020, after months of being confined to my home, removed from the relationships I live in every single day, I began to feel an ache around many of my long distance friendships. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what I was feeling. Sitting on the edge of my husband’s side of the bed with my elbows perched on my knees, I did my best to explain. “I think you should go see Emilie,” he said.

My friend Emilie, my soul sister—she’s a wildflower married to a bolt of lightning. I’ve never spent any time in their presence that hasn’t resulted in the veil of heaven being pulled back a little more.

My trip fell in September, and I chose to stay for a week, sharing the rhythms of their life, working half days remotely and soaking up the quietness and beauty of a life cultivated by Emilie. I used the office where her husband did his writing at the time, a rustic shed in the backyard with a space heater to take the edge off of the early winter weather. 

As the days passed, I found myself longing for two things I witnessed in their life: a community of believers that actually functioned like a family every day of the week, and a sweet little family of their own flesh and blood. I took it all as a sign of what the Lord does and what he wants to do in my life, too.

On Sunday, we went to a neighbor’s house for church. In a circle in the living room, we sang together, listened to God’s voice, and interceded for one another about the things going on in our lives. I didn’t say anything about infertility or how I looked forward to gathering again with our own little corner of the church. But God saw me.

As things were wrapping up, a few of us gathered around to pray for someone who had suffered a concussion that week. We laid hands on him and asked for healing. When I opened my eyes, a young man I’d not been introduced to looked at me, saying, “To you, ‘Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For every one who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.’—and also, what Eli said to Hannah in 1 Samuel 1, ‘Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.’”

When we got back to their house, I read 1 Samuel 1. I didn’t recall having read it before. Hannah had been praying for a child. In fact, she’d been asking, seeking, and knocking so desperately that Eli the priest rebuked her for her apparent drunkenness. She wasn’t drunk, though, but desperately offering herself and any future child to the Lord.

Immediately upon hearing the blessing from the priest, Hannah was no longer troubled. She “went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad.” The next morning, they rose early and worshiped. “And in due time Hannah conceived and bore a son, and she called his name Samuel, for she said, ‘I have asked for him from the Lord.’”

The words, “in due time” leapt off the page at me. It seemed God was saying yes to my desire to have a family—a yes to both longings: a child of my body, and a life filled more and more with the discipleship of spiritual children. Although it was a yes, I felt in my heart that this “due time” could be any amount of time. It could be a really long time, but I had been charged in the meantime to ask, seek, and knock every day until then—and every day after.

As I have asked, sought, and knocked, He has continued to provide direction, new things to focus on, and new ways to grow. I believe that every moment our Father withholds a desire of my heart is a day in which he is pursuing me to satisfy an even deeper one for a more pure relationship with Him.

Psalm 1 promises that one who meditates on God’s law day and night will become “like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither.” In following the call to seek Him, I’ve been planted by streams of water. My roots are getting deeper, my leaves are deep green and supple, and I will yield fruit “in due time.”

The Author of Life

One of the first negative emotions I ran into once we decided it was time to get pregnant was anxiousness. Not anxiety, per se. It was the sense that we should have already started this journey by now, and it was officially “go time.” Time had gotten away from us, and we were behind schedule.

Since college, I had always thought I’d be a young mother. I cultivated career skills that would be flexible enough for a stay-at-home mom life. I wanted to give them my time and my prime-of-life energy.

When I got married at 24, it seemed wise to take a couple of years to ourselves before intentionally starting a family. I thought using birth control was just what people did. I reasoned—and even expected—that if God wanted us to have kids at that point, He would have blown right past our defenses. He certainly could have, but my part mattered, too. I hadn’t given him full control. While I was waiting for God to override my choice, or to tell me when it was time to start, while I was waiting for my husband to get the itch to be a father, time got away from me. Suddenly, I was 29 and it hit me, what on earth were we waiting for?

There’s supposedly a 20% chance that a fertile couple trying to get pregnant will conceive in any given month. Once five months had gone by, I was getting antsy, so I brought those feelings to the Lord. It didn’t look like I was going to be a particularly young parent after all. My life wasn’t looking like the life of someone who valued family. I felt behind, and I confessed those feelings to God.

As I surrendered my sense of being in a hurry, the truth was plain. Although I felt like I was falling behind, I was created with a particular purpose, to live out a particular story that is only my own. From the beginning of time, God knew I would make all the choices I have made, and that our bodies would be what they are. I remain quite secure in the story he’s writing for me, perfectly on track. Perhaps, that story involves having children naturally, in due time. Perhaps, it involves something crazy like a baby left on our doorstep. Perhaps it involves becoming foster parents to many children over many years. Perhaps I will be very old when I conceive for the first time, like in the scriptures. Perhaps I will wait all my life, simply seeking the face of God, I will testify to his goodness in it, and the spiritual fruit will be worth the cost. (So far, it already is.)

The Author of Life is the author of my life. He has the power to create a new life, and He has the power to delay that request and just keep working on me. He will redeem every moment, nothing is wasted. The longer I wait, the more of Himself He offers, and the more genuine treasure I find.

The Author of Life also knows that a child isn’t just a child. Each of us exists because it was the right moment—the right sperm and the right egg arrived on the scene for just such a time. There are real future people He’s provided to live at precise moments in history. I’m one of them. Trusting the Master Storyteller, I submit myself completely, and I continue to seek Him to make me the best I can be for His glory and service.

Perpetua & Felicity

Piled together on one third of our slouchy couch, with our white shepherd Marlowe occupying the other two thirds, we were having one of those nights where it wasn’t quite bedtime and we weren’t quite sure what to do with ourselves. Glancing at the stack of books on our mantle, I thought, I’ll read aloud from Stories of the Saints. What a wholesome way to end an evening. I opened to a page near the front of the book, “Perpetua and Felicity.”

Perpetua lived in Carthage around the end of the second century. She believed in Jesus and called herself a Christian. Her family begged her to keep her faith a secret, but she insisted on being baptized. Her servant Felicity also believed and was baptized. 

It was not legal to be a Christian, so they were imprisoned for their faith. Perpetua was a new mother, and her child was taken from her except to be nursed. Felicity was pregnant at the time and eventually gave birth in prison. 

When Perpetua asked the Lord for a vision to understand her situation, she was given a dream. In the dream, there was a bronze ladder surrounded by weapons. To climb it without being torn to pieces, she had to look straight up and not to the right or to the left. Below the ladder was a serpent. Perpetua stepped on the head of the serpent, climbed the ladder, and found herself reaching the top, where she was clothed in white, and drank the sweetest milk. When she awoke with the sweet taste still on her lips, she knew with certainty it was the Lord’s will that she die.

Everyone begged Perpetua and Felicity to renounce their faith and be free to raise their children—even their guards and executioners. (No one took joy in killing a young mother—not even in a time when feeding Christians to wild animals was considered entertainment.) But Perpetua and Felicity kept their eyes on the Lord and held fast to their conviction. 

As I read the story aloud, my husband fell asleep, and tears dripped down my face one after another for the next 30 minutes, as the Lord sent the truth of his kingdom—what it costs and what it’s worth—even deeper into my heart. 

I love to be inspired by the stories of the saints. So many of us are focused on trying to have a good life here and now while keeping God in view. Yet, the highest calling we could aspire to as Christians is that of a martyr. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” These stories are always challenging to my worldliness, but never quite like this one.

Perpetua and Felicity had something I value deeply and ask God for daily—a family on this earth. It was right there in front of them, and they never got to experience it. Instead, they waited to be slaughtered while their babies were cared for by others, knowing they would never have the opportunity to raise them. 

Perpetua and Felicity knew a truth that is difficult to fathom. The kingdom of heaven is much, much better than anything this world has to offer. As highly as Christians value their families, it doesn’t hold a candle to the coming kingdom. Every day that I have waited for a family of my own, I’ve laid down a little of my hope in the world and gained a greater hope in Jesus’ kingdom. Whatever I long for here is but a shadow of all that is promised if I surrender it all.

Perpetua and Felicity made a much greater and more final sacrifice, and they did it all at once. The kingdom of heaven is so good it will redeem a child losing his mother and a mother missing her child’s life. Because Perpetua and Felicity were called to leave their babies behind in death, untold thousands (and more likely millions—including their own, sweet babies) have joined their spiritual family and will be united with them in a kingdom of goodness so pure we can only imagine it.

In years of waiting, my heart has changed a lot. I hope the fruit is a growing heavenly family. I’ll have to wait and see.