"It's just not fair," I cried out to no one in particular. My rocking chair creaked in agreement as I simultaneously rocked and protested. I didn't have the courage to speak the words directly to God, although the awareness that He heard me anyway nagged at my pouting heart.

Burning tears rolled down my cheeks and dripped onto my very pregnant front. I was two thousand miles from any family, pregnant with our third child, and we were a struggling one-income family. We had recently sold a nice home and, in our move, had settled for an older but clean rental house with an extra bedroom for a nursery.

We hoped for a girl because we had two sons. White eyelet curtains and a beautiful white Jenny Lind baby bed were already placed in the room. All that was lacking was the piece of furniture that was the cause of my tears - a white, wooden changing table.