Throughout my pregnancy with my first-born, I often found myself marveling over the fact that my body seemed like a perfectly programmed machine that simply knew what it was meant to do. All these pieces came together and worked and chugged and by the end of it, out would come this perfect little human. And all the while, I had no conscious knowledge of all that was required for the desire outcome. It was all my body. It knew exactly what to do. As soon as an embryo was developed and securely in place, my body went to work – it formed a placenta and a cord through which my baby would be nourished for months, amniotic fluid was created to envelope my baby in a warm cushion. Eventually milk began to produce and flow. Without any particular effort on my part at all. The cognizant portion of my brain was not in use for any of the necessary processes to create human life.

And I was in awe at what my body could do without my knowing a lick of the biology behind it. What a beautiful creation of God.

After the the third successful completion of such a process, I began to feel my body, in particular, was made for this. I know so many women struggle with the feeling that their body has betrayed them, for somewhere it has failed to pick up this most basic of information – this process for developing life. Mine was a gift and I wanted to handle it well. This was the first inkling of what was to become our surrogacy journey – this recognition that my body seemed to have the mechanics of life built right in.

So, when we implanted the first embryo formed of another couple’s DNA, with the end goal to place the resulting child into said couple’s arms nine months later, I was nervous, of course, because who knew how well the implantation would go in the first place, but when the heart began to beat, I figured it was smooth sailing from there. My body knew how to do this. My body could make a baby in my sleep.

And then my body failed me.

The little heart in my womb stopped its beating and my well-programmed machine had malfunctioned. And now my own heart within me was broken.

Yet, in His infinite wisdom, God used that moment to teach me an important lesson that I need to be carrying with me as we continue along this journey to which He has called us.

It was never up to me. It was never up to my body. Yes, my body is a key instrument in this process. But it is an instrument, to be used by the Divine Creator. During that first pregnancy, the one that ended in miscarriage, though I had known God was a part of the entire process to get to that point, I think I’d almost gotten lazy and figured He’d done His part – the baby was in there – and now it was just up to me and my body to finish the rest.

Now I know. He has taught me so much. Every single life is a pure miracle. It’s not the product of a machine. There is a biology to it and natural processes are at work that were put in place by our Creator, and, yes, that is beautiful. But life is a gift. And it cannot happen apart from His hand. No matter how much I will my own body to do this well the second time around, it is no more in my hands now than it was when four little ones came from this womb, or when one little one left too early.

God has been and will always be in control.

And when a child is finally placed in the arms of these waiting parents, it will not be because I am anything special, but because God, in His great grace, has allowed me to be a part of His miracle.

At the beginning of this journey, I took to wearing a necklace I had received a number of years ago at a ladies event at church. It reads, “Worth it All.” Though the words are based on lyrics to a beautiful song indicating Jesus, of course, to be worth everything we endure on this earth, I began, also, to see it as a message about this baby that I believe will come to be. This little one will be worth all that we’ve gone through. Around the time we lost the first little life, I added in a small pocketwatch necklace I’d recently purchased. I initially did so merely for the appearance of it, but after a few more doctor visits, I looked down at one point and remembered, this little pocketwatch, I discovered the day after buying it, isn’t at all accurate. After being set twice in two days, I realized it would never run on the correct time. And, yet, now I see that maybe it was always meant to mean more than something by which to track the hour. This little one, as the one necklace states, will be Worth it All, and, as the other reminds me, it won’t necessarily come on our time, but on His time alone.

Thus, as I prepare for each appointment, I adorn myself with these reminders – always keeping in mind that all of this continues to be in His hands.

We will continue to wait, because He is never late. And His miracles are always perfect.