Tears slipped down my cheek as I cuddled our one-day-old third-born child—a handsome baby boy.
I couldn't believe that I was finally holding my baby, but that's not why I was crying. I was frustrated that one of my birth preferences had not been followed. Most things on my list of birth preferences were important contributions to the health and well being of my baby and me. But my tears were over a truly inconsequential preference. I had even cheerfully told the supportive medical staff that it wasn't important and it didn't matter. Nonetheless, my tears were in fact bitter tears, because my idea of the "perfect birth" was "ruined."
In a moment when my heart should have swelled with unobstructed joy that our child was born, I sulked. In a moment when my eyes should have looked to heaven in wonder that God would be so gracious to me, I wept angrily. My will had not been done, and that bugged me.
"It didn't happen like I …," I started to say. Then I recognized the gentle tugging ...1