When Life Doesn’t Follow the Script
We gave up trying to have our own children. We became convinced that it would never happen. Then, Michelle came out of the bedroom.
"Derrick, I need you to go to the store."
"Sure, what do you need?" I asked.
She was panicking. Moments before, she used the last vestige of our abandoned plans - a pregnancy test that came back positive. I couldn't stop smiling. A smile that probably made me look a bit crazy was now glued to my face as I walked the aisle trying to find a pregnancy test.
We hadn't planned for Charlotte, but we dreamed of her before she took her first breath. We prepared a place for her, rearranged our lives, and carved out space in our hearts that had always been meant for her. We imagined that first moment holding her for months of eager anticipation - Michelle and I together, holding our surprise gift from God and reveling in the beauty of new life.
Life rarely follows the script we write.
A routine check-up interrupted our plans, turning our quiet baby-moon at a bed-and-breakfast into a journey of uncertainty. We stocked up on stroopwafles, thinking about rest and comfort. We faced the best, worst news a day later: It was time. Ready or not, Charlotte had to come.
Michelle pressed her doctor, "Can we wait a few more days - for our baby moon?" The doctor's words hit like thunder, "I'm worried about either you or Charlotte dying."
Three days later, under the cold hum of the operating room, the script changed again. Instead of placing our newborn daughter in Michelle's arms, our baby was rushed to a table. Doctors surrounded her, working frantically while my wife lay unconscious beside me. Charlotte wasn't breathing. I stood, frozen, watching helplessly as they pressed her chest as they connected tubes and wires to her fragile body.
I stood in the NICU alone and overwhelmed.
And there she was.
My little girl.
I loved her before she could love me back. I had set my affections on her before she ever knew my name. I dreamed of her before she opened her eyes. Before she could reach for me, I had already reached for her. I would fight for her, live for her, work for her, and love her forever.
And isn't that where the gospel begins?
We often start the gospel story with ourselves—our sins, our needs, our salvation. The word "gospel" means good news. It doesn't start with bad news. It begins with something far greater.
Before we ever reached for God, He was. Before humanity ever fell, He had already charted the course to our redemption. We shouldn't limit the gospel to the work God has performed. We recognize the good news about who He is.
Genesis 1:1 declares the authority of the Bible's divine author. God was before all things, and this truth shapes everything that follows. Since the gospel is rooted in God's nature, His holiness, sovereignty, and love are the foundation upon which redemption stands.
The gospel begins with God; it is more than a story of rescue—it is a story of revelation. Salvation is more than being saved; it is being restored to the One who created us. This good news moves us to know God, glorify Him, and live in the reality of who He is.
