At the very end of the conversation she and Brian told me, "You're going to be an aunt!" I don't remember exactly what I said - not much, but I do know that as soon as we hung up, I broke down.
I'd never cried that much in my life.
I spent the whole weekend wandering through my apartment, sobbing out loud. I knew the neighbors could hear me but I didn't care. The tears just wouldn't stop.
It was good news, and all I could think was this -
Everything always happens when I'm gone. I was in Missouri when they started dating, still in Missouri when they got engaged, and now I'm an ocean away and they tell me I'm going to be an aunt.
I'm so sick of it. So done with it.
Why do I have to miss out on every single thing?
You're breaking my heart, God.
It isn't fair.
It can't be true.
This must be a bad dream. I'll wake up.
But it wasn't a dream.
- - -
Sarah went into labor one day in late October. Things weren't progressing as quickly or as well as they should have, so I left the language center - and internet connection - that evening knowing that he would be born sometime during the night, but I wouldn't hear about it until the next morning.
It was awful.
- - -
Eight months later, I landed in California and the whole family met me at the airport - little Kai in his stroller, all sleepy from the late hour.
A tiny human, my own flesh and blood, that I was just meeting for the first time.
- - -
During the six months I lived with my parents after returning from Senegal, we watched Kai while both Sarah and Brian were at work.
Brian would drop him off in the wee morning hours - our house dark and quiet, like houses should be at 4:00am.
Sometimes he'd wake up crying, and I'd scoop him out of the car seat before he woke anyone else up. I'd lay back down in bed, pulling the quilt up over both of us, his little head resting on my chest.
- - -
He'd snore, sometimes, in his little car seat while I drank coffee and worked at my desk. He was so precious sleeping. I just wanted to sit there soundlessly and watch him, but at the same time I couldn't wait for him to wake up so I could see his smile and sing to him and play with him.
- - -
His eyes would open and he'd stick his fist out in the air, waiting for a fist bump. He was always giving fist bumps - to Mommy and Daddy, to his aunties, to the barista at Starbucks, to his reflection in the mirror.
- - -
He eventually got hair and his eyes stayed that striking blue and he learned to talk and he got a little sister. I'm not quite so far away this time, but not close enough to see him very often. So we Skype when we can. He alternates between shy giggles behind pillows and over-the-top silliness.
He has the most hilarious imagination and he will talk your ear off.
Trains and cars and anything with wheels are his favorite.
He makes goofy faces and has all the boundless energy of a little boy.
- - -
Sometimes God's gifts don't come the way we want them to. They don't look how we expect them to look or the timing seems all wrong. Sometimes they hurt.
But every single gift He gives is good, even the ones that catch us off guard.
How would our lives look without Malachi's - his cheesy grin, his dimples, his ability to make us laugh so much? It's an odd (and perhaps pointless) question, because clearly the Lord knew Kai's life was the perfect gift for our family.
I don't pretend to always understand why He does things the way He does, but I am more and more utterly convinced of this: He is good, and I can trust whatever He gives me.
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