Cook Until Ready
By: Brian Ross Los Angeles, CA
“Well, they cooked a long time.” That’s what I often quip when someone compliments one of our three daughters, now ages 14,16 and 18. Technically, of course, it’s not true. But emotionally it certainly is. That 18-year-old took over eleven years before we were finally able to welcome her to the world. She wasn’t our first pregnancy, though. She was preceded by numerous others that we kept losing, somewhere between four and seventeen weeks. Doctors, both western and eastern, told us that miscarriage was the least understood area of infertility, but there was nothing “wrong” with us, so just hang in there, and one of them would “stick”. That was encouraging, but not easy. We tried every legitimate therapy but still kept losing those glorious, tiny little heartbeats while our friends and family were happily progenating. That was the bad news. The good news was, that gave us lots of time to practice. We became “Uncle” and “Aunt” to many of those kids, and remain so to this day. We got to see parenting strategies work and fail. We saw families blossom and families wither. Neither of us recalls being jealous. It was more mystification – we were good people, we thought, trying to live good lives and do things right. If God’s promise to Abraham was that the Jewish People would be as numerous “k’cochvei haShamayim”, as the stars of the heavens, then where was our little piece of that? As we look back, we now see with clarity that we became much better parents that we would ever have been back then. A good friend once told me that God has only three answers: “Yes,” “Not now,” or “I have something better in mind.” God has a plan, and for whatever His reasons, it just wasn’t our time. And when it finally, finally was our time, and that little heartbeat passed six weeks and seventeen and twenty-five and then emerged… we named her Cohava: star.