When Kathy was pregnant with our first child, I was attentive. I remember fielding hundreds of possible names, rubbing tired feet and tender back, and during this time I discovered the love
language of washing dishes. But my role did not encompass a new
life growing within me. I did not feel the physical changes that occurred daily in Kathy’s life. I did not sacrifice favorite foods to fight back the siege of nausea and heartburn. Much about being pregnant seems reserved for the expectant mom. But for this one thing: both mom and dad wait the same nine months.
Kathy and I shared in the expectation equally, waiting together. More and more of my name suggestions appeared on the “possibles” list. I attended each doctor’s appointment and listened to the baby’s heartbeat; our hands clasped, staring into each other’s eyes as the pregnancy became more real. There were days when we pondered how our life would be forever changed. There were days when we wondered if Baby would ever arrive. Kathy assured me we had two more weeks. “Go,” she insisted. Relenting, I leaned forward, kissed her fore- head, and left for work at a local retail store. The first day of the week was always busy. So busy that I swept away thoughts of my impending fatherhood.
The shop’s phone rang and I was surprised to hear Kathy’s voice. A quick word to the owner and I sped away, back to our small apartment on campus. I do not remember much until I screeched to a stop, jumped out of the car, and burst into the apartment. There she was—brushing her hair with calm, long strokes while my anxiety meter was spinning out of control. “How far apart are the contractions?” I asked, focused on the second hand of my watch.
Kathy’s sense of expectancy had shifted to a determined certainty and a keen awareness of the new life coming. She was having a baby. My feelings on the other hand exploded. I had heard of couples not making it to the hospital and dads delivering babies in the back seats of family cars. We needed to go— the sooner, the better. The waiting was over.
Deep in the past, written in Holy scripture, the message of a coming Messiah emerges. There are those who look up to the heavens as expectations capture imaginations. Enthusiasm rises only to fall as years pass and there is no Deliverer. Some wane, but there are those who hope, expecting the Savior’s impending arrival.
One might think the life 84-year-old Anna lived would have stripped all hope from her. Widowed as a young woman and denied the family she may have longed for, she turned her life’s energy to serving in the Temple, fasting and praying—alone and lost in her daily rituals. But in her heart there was an expectation.
Anna was there as Mary and Joseph entered the Temple. She watched as Simeon took the baby Jesus into his arms. She listened as he professed that salvation had come. Jesus was the One. Her heart fluttered as she walked toward Him, giving thanks for beholding the Messiah. Her salvation was here. She never stopped expecting, knowing the day would come—and it did. Anna “spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem” (Mark 2:22-39).
God’s promises are fulfilled. Their reality is inevitable. He never fails. What remains are only the expectations and the waiting for His fullness of time. When we drove up to the hospital, my anxiety disappeared, possible calamities diverted, replaced now with a hope meter spinning out of control. What Kathy and I had been waiting for was here. Kyle was born and we were now parents for the rest of our lives. What are you expecting? Waiting can take its toll, but expectations are rewarded. Take courage. Believe. Hope
in the unseen and rejoice.
Written by Jim Edminson, Editor of Charity & Children