The life is known: baby brother, boy #3. The name is close to being known. The items have all been retrieved from storage. He moves and kicks, perhaps even practicing prenatal yoga. And yet now is still the waiting time. 13 more weeks. It is too early for him to burst forth, breathe this common air, and join this human pilgrimage . His presence may be growing more pronounced every day, but we are still living in the pregnant pause.
The life is known: a return to Louisville for the next chapter. The jobs are secured. Our home will return to our possession next summer. Our minds leap and jump and stretch. We imagine the ways our life will return to “normal” and the ways it will feel as an all new beginning. The year cannot be rushed nor the days counted down. The days prescribed have too much to teach us. We are living in the pregnant pause.
It is our sabbath year. It is our year set aside to show reverence and respect towards the God whose plans are unknown but whose heart we hope to trust.
The pregnant pause requires me to receive time and cease any work to gain its approval. The pregnant pause requires me to enter the land God is giving us so that we might find complete rest in God’s provision.
On some days, I feel care-free and light.
On some days, I feel anxious and isolated.
On some days, I feel hesitantly excited.
Life in the pregnant pause is vulnerable. It is as if the transformation is happening to us rather than by us. Foresight of future logistics can fool us into the illusion of certainty. The pregnant pause seeks to safeguard us from naive hope. Transformation demands a fierce patience and a vulnerable availability.
I consider the ancient lessons learned in the wilderness, the central importance of knowing what it is to be a stranger in the land, and the sacred scars received through exile. On the anxious days, I remind myself that threshold moments are crucial moments upon which all of God’s Larger Project depends.
In the pregnant pause, I know not fully who I am or who I will be. I know only whose I am. I know that I am child of a God who is unpredictably active but predictably steadfast. I know that the God who created me is still creating me.
These days are clay in the hands of the Potter – the One who will bring forth new life from these worn vessels. I pause and give thanks for not only the new life to come, but also for the transformation that can happen only through life in the pregnant pause.