No Such Thing as Unplanned

If ever a pregnancy were inconvenient, surely this would have been it. At twenty-six, the woman already had four children—two girls, two boys—ranging from age three through eight. She thought she’d hung her last diaper on the clothesline.

Their little three-bedroom home had been fashioned from two former granaries, with no running water and no basement. Her husband had recently incurred a life-altering physical disability. His reduced earning capacity had prompted her to launch a long-dreamed-of career of her own in order to help provide for their growing family. This meant first finishing three years of high school via correspondence, followed by a year of university to gain a teaching certificate. It would require great courage and determination, but they would make it work.

Not a great time to discover you’re pregnant. One could certainly understand and empathize if this surprise interruption brought with it something less than instantaneous joy.

By the time that child arrived, however, these parents had come to terms with the idea. They’d involved the other children in preparing for the new baby. The mother had charged ahead with her education, taking her textbooks with her to the hospital when it came time to deliver so she could study for exams between feedings while she recovered. Two years later, she found herself the only student living in the dorm during the week and returning to her family of five children on weekends.

That fifth baby, that unforeseen little interruption, was me.

Me in 1959

I tease my mother that all her studying while she carried me made me smart. But for all my so-called smarts, it took me over fifty years to piece together the notion that my parents may not have had every reason to feel completely delighted when they learned I was on the way. It wasn’t until an older relative shared with me a story that started me thinking. Maybe I was not exactly “planned.”

This speaks volumes about my parents. That I never felt unwanted or unloved tells me I am one of the truly blessed. One of the “lucky ones,” if you believe in luck.

Now, I can look back over sixty years of life and name eight other people who would not exist today if I had never been born—my children and theirs. On my shelf I see three books that never would have been written, not including those still waiting to be published. More stories, articles, plays, and columns than I can count. No one else would have put those exact words together in that exact way.

I am left with the conviction that I was, indeed, planned. Perhaps not by my parents, but by someone. Someone who knew more than they did.

Do you ever feel unplanned, unwanted? I’m willing to go out on a limb and say it’s safe to assume that a great many of us were not necessarily “planned.” Maybe you were not as blessed as I. Maybe your parents made it painfully evident by calling you “the accident” or the “oopsie baby.” I don’t know who needs to read these words today, but if this describes you, can I make one thing perfectly clear? You are not here by accident. You may be unsure, unworthy, unfaithful, unwise, uneasy, unqualified, unemotional, unavailable, or unfit. But you can never be unloved, unwanted, or unplanned by the God who made you.

In the words of musician Matthew West: I don’t believe in accidents. Miracles, they don’t just happen by chance. As long as my God holds the world in his hands, I know that there is no such thing as unplanned.