met Travis on my first day of work at the Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Student Center. I was a recent college graduate, and he was a super senior who did maintenance at St. Francis in exchange for room and board. He was strong, tan, and handsome. He was also still in love with his ex-girlfriend, so we spent our day cleaning, rearranging furniture, and talking about her.
Over the next two years, our friendship grew. Every day we saw each other, worked together, and chatted. Meanwhile, he got back together with his girlfriend, who became his fiancée, and I went on dates with various men, none of whom met Travis’s approval. But as my best friends left for convents, I relied on my friendship with Travis more and more. He was kind and gentle and not afraid of hard work. He treated me and every woman with respect, and he made me laugh. It wasn’t long before I realized that he was one of my best friends and one of the people I respected most in life.
As our friendship deepened, Travis felt a growing tug toward the priesthood. In the spring of my second year at St. Francis, he ended his engagement so he could more seriously discern life as a religious or diocesan priest. I was nothing but proud of him, and cheered him on.
For weeks, Travis daily went to the chapel and asked God, “What do you want me to do with my life?” While he was asking about routes to the priesthood, the day came when God clearly answered. But instead of a collar, God showed him me. I knew nothing of this answered prayer, but it wasn’t long after that I realized I was in love with Travis. Over the two years our friendship had grown in love, respect, and admiration, and once we individually realized what had happened, we came together to discuss it. Two weeks later we had a wedding date selected; four weeks after that there was a ring on my finger, and wedding plans moved ahead. Six months later, we were married.
We honeymooned in Scotland, where I quoted Braveheart in a ridiculously bad accent while Travis drove us through the gorgeous countryside. Once we returned home, we went to the movies, drove Travis’s 1969 Chevelle with the windows down to and from the ice cream shop, and rode our bikes on country roads. Soon we bought a fixer-upper and began daily trips to various home improvement stores.
Five months after our wedding, I took a pregnancy test. Positive. We were thrilled and scared and all the feelings that come to first-time parents. But within the week the small baby had died, and I spent my first Mother’s Day miscarrying. In my grief I read every baby book I could get my hands on. My obstetrician’s bedside manner was lacking as I cried over the lost pregnancy, so I found myself more and more drawn to books about homebirth. The authors, midwives, and homebirth community seemed to respect life, pregnancy, babies, women’s bodies, and motherhood in a way that I had not encountered at my ob/gyn’s office. They validated my grief and the love I felt for the child I had lost. So, when I found myself pregnant again, Travis and I met with a homebirth midwife. By the end of our interview, we knew we wanted her to be the one to deliver the baby, and that we would do so from the comfort of our own home.
My pregnancy with Lydia and her homebirth were perfect, and when I found myself pregnant with Bennet, we continued with the same midwife. Travis and I enjoyed being home, eating birthday cake and watching the Jason Bourne movies together while snuggling with our babies.
Chapter 3
Gifts from God
Before I knew I was pregnant with my fourth child, I sat with my spiritual director, Father Joseph Donton, and confided in him that I never wanted to be pregnant again. After two full-term babies and one miscarriage in just three years of marriage, I was done with being open to life. Leaning back in his chair, he asked me, “If you found out today that you were pregnant, what would you say?”
I looked him in the eye and snarled, “Oh, shit!”
He laughed at my honesty and told me that we needed to work on that attitude.
Just a week later, my daughter, not yet two, played in the living room, running circles around my three-month-old son. Bennet cooed and laughed; Lydia ran and danced and sang, occasionally kissing him. It was how they usually played, when Lydia wasn’t ignoring him completely.
In the next room, I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at the pregnancy test I held in my hand. I looked out the window and looked back at the test. It was positive, and while I wasn’t surprised, I was definitely … surprised. My husband, Travis, and I were so tired and so busy adjusting to life as a family of four that we didn’t feel called to do anything other than get out of bed every morning, let alone have another baby.
We were already living paycheck to paycheck. We were already getting by on less sleep than we would have liked. We were already cramming car seats into the back of a tiny two-door Chevy.
I looked out the window again and gave up. “Okay, God. I believe this baby is a gift. I believe you want this baby to exist. You’re going to have to provide.” I didn’t say “or else,” but it was implied. I wasn’t making a statement of faith; I was letting him know that I was holding him accountable.
But provide he did.
For starters, my pregnancy was super easy. There was barely any morning sickness. Mild gestational diabetes was controlled through diet; and in every other way, the baby and I were completely healthy. And the icing on the cake: I was able to nap almost every day.
Then one afternoon a gas card arrived in the mail from an anonymous sender. Soon after, someone offered to buy us a new sofa so we could get rid of the hand-me-down sinking pit that sat in our living room. Next, a friend of the family sent us a new laptop, knowing that Travis had returned to school for his master’s degree. Right after that, our midwife explained that we did not owe her $500 as we believed, but that the previous birth had been covered in full by insurance. And then there was the cash.
One month after my visit with Father Donton, I returned and told him that I had, in fact, been pregnant during our previous meeting. Remembering our last conversation, he laughed and asked me what I had said when I found out. I told him that Travis and I knew that God wanted the baby to exist, and that we were excited to find out why. I told him that we were trusting God to provide for us, and that so far he had been very generous. Father cocked his head a bit and looked at me from the other side of his desk. “It’s interesting that you say that, because I have something I need to give you,” he said. “Wait here a moment.”
He left the room, returning a few minutes later with a white envelope in hand. “A member of the congregation gave me a large sum of money,” he said. “He and his wife wanted to help someone in need, but they didn’t know who that would be. They figured that people come to church and ask for help, and that I would know when to give it out. So I’m giving half of it to you. I think the Holy Spirit wants you to have it.”
I stood there, with wide eyes and gaping mouth. I stammered out a “Thank you” as he handed me the envelope.
We confirmed our next meeting and said goodbye, and I headed to my car. After I slid behind the wheel, I peeked into the envelope. Ben Franklin was looking at me with his droopy eyes as I counted five crisp bills.
I was amazed. Five hundred dollars is a lot of money to most people, but to my family it is a lot of money. I drove home, shaking my head in grateful wonder. As I approached my house, I pulled up to the mailbox. I parked, sifted through the mail, and opened the one bill in the stack. Our biannual car insurance payment was due, and we owed $482. I broke into a huge, goofy grin. Not only did we have enough money to cover what is usually a difficult bill for us to pay, but we also had enough money left over to go out for ice cream! I was blown away by God’s obvious provision and generosity.
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