Our little apartment is pretty quiet this morning. There is no fanfare, no breakfast in bed, and no presents waiting on the table. At first glance, we are just another married couple getting ready for church on a Sunday morning. But we are more than that. There is a father here, just not according to the world’s definition of fatherhood.
You see, my sweet husband was only a father for six and a half short weeks nearly two years ago. But that little pea-sized baby made him the happiest father around for that short time. He loved that baby. He prayed for that baby. And he even rearranged his life in preparation for that baby.
There should be a nearly fourteen month old running around our living room rather than the painful silence that reminds us of what could have been. But we wait and pray, still begging God to be pleased to give us another on this side of heaven.
In the days surrounding Mother’s Day we talk a lot in evangelical circles about how to mourn with the hurting and be sensitive to the infertile on an otherwise joyous day. Bereaved fathers, wannabe fathers, and infertile fathers are sometimes overlooked. But they are there. And many are hurting just as much as their wives are; they just deal with it differently sometimes. For some, few times exacerbate their painful longings like a day devoted to the one thing they desperately want but can’t seem to have. Remember them. Pray for them. Honor them for their trust in God in spite of uncertain circumstances. It will mean a lot to them.
So we will celebrate my husband today. Not in the way we would have if we had a bubbly toddler in our home, but we will celebrate nonetheless. He is a father, and a good one. And he will be a good father to every subsequent child the Lord sees fit to give us. We long for that day. Until then, we give thanks that God gave us that little one two years ago and long for the day when we see him again.