I see the pregnancy tests on the end of an aisle out of the corner of my eye. I’m just here for eyedrops, I think to myself, just eyedrops. But as the line inches forward and social distancing gives me a few extra minutes to stand within arms’ reach of the pink boxes, curiosity - or maybe it’s premonition - gets the best of me. I throw one in my basket, behind the back of my seven year old, who will surely have a dozen justifiable questions about this little box if she sees it.

I just need to rule it out, so I can stop imagining things. Nine dollars is a small price to pay to have my sanity back.

I purchased the little box undetected, but I did not get my sanity back. 

Baby #6 will be here in February.

//

There’s a well known story about Jesus in the gospels, when he takes five loaves of bread and two fishes and miraculously multiplies this meager serving of food to feed thousands of people. The awe of this event causes the people to call him a prophet and a king, and beg him to overthrow the oppressive Roman rulers of their time. If he can make food just appear, surely he is capable of all kinds of miracles, and these people were there for it. I get that. I would be, too.

But I can’t help but sit with a small detail of this story that comes a bit earlier in the day. Jesus and his disciples had gone up on the mountain to sit down for a bit. From their vantage point, it wasn’t difficult to see the huge crowd following them. Jesus sat there unbothered. The disciples on the other hand, they saw reality. It was Passover, one of the most sacred holidays of the Jewish people, and there were thousands of them making the long trek toward their small crew to learn more about this mysterious Jesus figure. 

So when Jesus asks his disciples where they might be able to buy food on the top of a mountain, you and I can certainly understand the skepticism of their response. Are you serious, Jesus? They had to be thinking, You did notice we are not exactly near a market, yes?   

Andrew, one of the disciples, finally voices what feels obvious: “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are they for so many?”

What are they for so many? Like, come on Jesus. You aren’t really thinking about feeding this crowd, are you? This is enough for one, maybe two people. It’s certainly not enough for what you are thinking of doing. We have to face reality here. 

At least, that’s what I would be thinking. 

So I get Andrew on this question. I really do. I’ve asked it of myself a hundred times in the last three months, since that small premonition in the line at the drug store became a stark reality. Who am I for so many? I am already giving all of myself, every minute of every day.

I don’t have enough for what you are asking us to do, Lord. 

//

I took the pregnancy test late in the afternoon, but I had already planned a fun evening with my oldest daughter that I wanted to be so present for, and because we would be gone for the night, I waited until the next morning when we got home to tell my husband. We pulled up to the house just after breakfast, and Alex already had the other kids loaded in the stroller to head down to the park. When we got there, our big three ran off to their favorite spots, and we stayed back pushing the littles in the swings. 

I had been sitting on news that I had to tell him for 18 hours. That’s the longest I have ever held this secret from him. I wanted to tell him. He’s an incredible dad, and one of the most selfless men alive. But this would be our 6th child. All of them under eight years old. We never planned on more than four. Did I mention we were already giving all of ourselves, every single day? Special needs, two busy toddlers, a curious seven-year-old with incessant (but very good) questions about life, and a four-year-old still learning to write his letters and control his anger - it takes all we have. 

The smallest, apprehensive fear of how is he really going to feel about this? caused me just the slightest bit of trepidation, but because I could not do 18 hours and one more minute of secret-keeping, I decided to jump in with no introduction.  

“Babe, I took a pregnancy test last night.”

“What?!” he responded, wide-eyed and confused, but rightfully, more concerned with the result than my motive. “Are you pregnant?”

I smiled/grimaced/braced myself and said, “I am, Babe. It was positive.” 

He laughed - laughed - which was the best thing he could have done in that moment - and then wrapped me up in a hug. Despite my anxiety, my heart knew he would react this way. The worry was more about our coming reality than my husband’s attitude toward it. We both know what a miracle this is, and it’s one we never have taken for granted. 

“Wow! Ok. Well, not sure what you’re doing here God, but…” he stopped for a second, looked down at me and said, “are you doing ok?”

“I think so. I have... complicated feelings, babe.” I got quiet for a minute, still unable to name it all, sitting with the very real tension of gratitude and overwhelm, sorting through what I thought I was allowed to feel.

“Ha!” he chuckled back. “I think you’re allowed to have complicated feelings right now.”

“Thank you for saying that,” I said through an insecure smile. I’m sure I mumbled a few other unremarkable things, but mostly I remember us being ok, just not saying much; pushing our two toddlers on the swings to the background of giggles and squeals and requests for help reaching the monkey bars from our older three.

“It’s going to be ok,” Alex pipped in. “One day at a time, that’s all we can do.”

//

I wonder what the disciples really thought after Jesus fed all those people in such an improbable manner, as they cleaned up after the crowd and had twelve baskets of food left over. 

Were they shocked, but not surprised? 

Were they shocked because they saw a miracle, something they could never manufacture on their own. They did not believe it was possible to meet the physical needs of so many people, and who could blame them - it did not look possible. Until it happened. 

But were they not surprised because it was Jesus, after all, the man they left everything to follow because they believed that in Him, they would find everything they were looking for; they would find life. This was not the first time they had seen something miraculous, they could not have been too surprised Jesus made it happen again.

I think that’s where my heart is, somewhere on that vacillating line between shocked and not surprised, if it’s possible for a heart to live in that paradox. 

//

We know now that two fish and five loaves of bread was indeed enough to feed more than five thousand people on that Passover holiday all those centuries ago. It was sufficient “for so many.” 

Will I be? 

The news of a 6th baby shocked me, because my husband got a vasectomy a year ago, I only have one fallopian tube, and we still got pregnant anyway (while I was breastfeeding!). I'm shocked that we now own a 12-passenger van, as if I'm running a summer camp or working for the HVAC repair company. Nothing practical in me says this pregnancy is possible, or that my capability is enough. 

But I'm not surprised either, because there is a sovereign God behind every detail of life, and statistics have never been in the way with him. It is Jesus, after all, who feeds the masses with only enough for two, and comes back to get us every time we wander away thinking that He just isn’t facing reality when he puts good work before us, forgetting how safe we are with him - a God of unexplainable miracles.

Who am I for so many? I don’t know the answer. But every day I think I'm not capable of raising six children, I’ll take comfort in knowing someone much greater than me says otherwise.