Assignments

I am sitting in the low spot in our sofa, where the two cushions meet in the center. The low spot appeared sometime between the end of bed-rest and the beginning of mid-night feedings and remains in spite of cushion flipping. It is the least of the abuse that our furniture will sustain over the next several years, and for right now the most convenient of defects. The depression caused by the weight of me and my lap-top has allowed a convenient collecting place for our cylindrically wrapped pod babies. Ian's cheek is pressed up against my corduroy pants and his face frozen there in a content baby look. One which will surely leave his face striped when he decides to move. Jeremy's cheek is pressed up against Ian's shoulder and ear so he can hear his contented squeaks. All of this takes place in about 10 inches from my right hand pants pocket. Though I know they are hungry, they both have a wonderful feature which allows them to forget all of their worries so long as they are being held. In this case, so long as they are piled up against each other in a cozy depression on an entry level sofa with memory foam.

After a month on the outside, they collectively weigh more than a big single baby. While that is not a measure that anyone else is paying any attention to, we are. We have to keep reminding ourselves that our babies are small. When I see a big 10 pound baby with their great big round head, I have a moment of wondering "what is wrong with that baby." I remind myself that it takes both of ours to make that weight. Now at over 6 pounds and almost 5 pounds, the boys are feeling a little less floppy, a little more chubby but still small enough to hold against my chest with one arm.

That is all we ever prayed for. On January 5th I got to hold both my boys at once. Each facing each other, happy and squeaky, against my chest. A moment every bit as fulfilling as the day they were born. All at once the twins were reunited, the family of four became four in reality, and we marveled with deep and continuing gratitude that both are here. Here at all, here with us, here and healthy, here because, for whatever reason, they were assigned to us. Of all the months of praying for this outcome I remember the prayer that we prayed on the day that we were diagnosed with TTTS. Ben prayed that if God would spare these boys, that we would give him all the credit. A prayer that is proving far more difficult than I might have imagined. And not because it is hard to assign God as being responsible for our miraculous outcome.

While I hold my two healthy boys against my chest, I often think of the events of the last several weeks. Our friends who's son was born 2 days before Ian and Jeremy at 28 weeks lost him 4 days later. Two weeks later another friend of nearly 20 years didn't hear a heartbeat at 19 weeks and his wife delivered their son who was named after him, but never breathed. They named their sons for people they loved, prayed for them every bit as much, were supported every bit as much. In almost every way they were demographically the same as us. Yet I am holding my two sons. Can I make sense of this? Every attempt is trite at best. If I start trying it is not going to fit in the narrow column of this blog spot. A season for everything?... Regardless I hold God responsible for everything good. We can work out the details later.

For now, we are constantly aware that we were entitled to none of our blessing. That our sons are not deserved, earned, or bought by any formula of anything that we did. They are assigned and barely ours on loan.

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