Three Before Thirty

This post was originally written several years ago and has been lightly edited for clarity and relevance. It reflects my thoughts and experiences from that season of life.

This story begins with a young girl daydreaming and a naïve prayer to the Lord. It was a simple petition on behalf of my future self. I asked if I could have three children before I turned thirty. When I look back at my teenage self now, I can’t help but giggle. What did I know about motherhood? And why on earth did I think I needed three children before thirty?

I married a wonderful man, my first love, my first kiss, and the man God chose for me to spend my life with. We were married for four years before the surprise blessing of our firstborn. Having a baby wasn’t part of our plan just yet, but God had other ideas. Our sweet baby boy arrived healthy and strong.

When our son was about two, we began planning for another child. This time, it wasn’t easy. I wasn’t prepared for the difficulty we would face trying to get pregnant again. How could it happen so easily and unexpectedly the first time? Month after month of disappointment wore me down. I became consumed by the process! Tracking temperatures, reading books, watching cycles, adjusting my diet, trying everything short of hanging upside down from the ceiling.

Why was this so hard? Frank Sinatra’s words echoed in my mind: “I did it my way.”

I wasn’t trusting God or His timing. I never asked Him if it was time for another baby; I assumed it was. I begged Him instead, and heaven holds plenty of my tears as proof. Eventually, my prayers were answered. I became pregnant.

The joy was overwhelming and heartbreakingly brief. A few months later, on our wedding anniversary, that tiny life I had longed for returned to the Lord. We were devastated. The ache of losing that baby has never fully left me. My husband spoke words that have comforted me ever since: “Won’t it be wonderful when we get to heaven and our little girl or boy walks up to us?” That hope still steadies my heart.

I wrestled with guilt.

A guilt for begging for something we may not have been ready for, guilt for stepping outside of what I believed was God’s plan, and confusion that He gave me the desire of my heart anyway. In the midst of grieving, God gently reminded me of that prayer from high school. My tears turned into laughter. I saw the innocence of that request and assumed it was simply a tender memory meant to comfort me. I had no idea God was still at work.

Nearly a year later, the day before Easter, I took another pregnancy test. It was positive. By then, God had taught me so much, yet fear lingered. By the ninth week, I was terribly sick. I was convinced history was repeating itself, and my heart could not bear another loss.

During a doctor’s visit meant to determine the cause of my illness, she decided to do an early ultrasound to offer reassurance. I lay there, nervous but hopeful, watching the screen. Soon, we heard the heartbeat. Relief washed over me. Everything looked perfect… until we both noticed something else. A tiny blip on the monitor.

My heart raced. The doctor tried to calm me as she continued the scan. After what felt like forever, she looked at me and asked, “Are you ready?”

Ready for what?

Then she said words that didn’t immediately register, “You have two babies in there.”

I asked her to repeat herself. “One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.”

Tears came instantly and didn’t stop. It hit me all at once— what God had done. Even my doctor cried with me. Twins did not run in my family. (They do now.)

God did it His way.

Exactly thirty-seven days before my thirtieth birthday, I held three beautiful, healthy children. Three before thirty. God answered the prayer of a silly, hopeful teenage girl.

There are still times when I pray for things I don’t understand. Times when I pray through tears, begging God to hear me. His answers are often creative, sometimes unexpected, but they are always faithful.

“Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know.”
—Jeremiah 33:3