To understand why Steve and I were so confident in a message from God that was in direct opposition to our baby’s doctor, you must know where we had been. Steve had endured a painful divorce that drove him to his knees and closer to God. I was a wild child with a wilder past who finally accepted the call of Jesus at nearly thirty-years of age. Though our pasts were different, we had one thing in common. We had discovered a life-altering faith that would never allow us to be the same again. It was our faith in God that bonded us and within eight months of meeting we knew we had discovered a love of a lifetime. Everything we had ever wanted and joy we had never imagined we found in each other.
I had two sons, Colton and Dalton, from a previous marriage, which Steve would later adopt. He had two sons, Nathan and Jacob, from his previous marriage. Despite all the odds agains us our life just worked. Our family blended as if they had been born to be together despite outside influences that tried to tear us apart. We could not have been happier. Our lives were perfect. We were serving God faithfully; we were living a romance novel sort of love and our kids were happy and connected. So, when a surprise pregnancy arrived we thought it was a perfect addition. We were wrong.
Due to complications during pregnancy from a blood disorder I have, I was already in the hospital. I was resting comfortably in my hospital room. Steve left to go take care of our boys. Suddenly I had a cramping in my abdoment that felt more like I needed to go to the restroom than anything else. Able to walk on my own I unplugged my IV and made my way to the bathroom. Halfway there a mass slid to the the floor with a sickening thud. I let out a blood curling scream and yanked the emergency cord which brought a multitude of nurses to my side.
There was not one of them who wasn’t certain I had just miscarried. Tenderly they got me back to bed and told me to call Steve. I was so hysterical Steve couldn’t understand anything I was saying. He only knew I needed him and rushed to my side.
I was a complete werick. “He said it would be okay!” I screamed repeatedly as I thrashed in my bed.
“Who?” A nurse finally asked.
“God!” Well, you could have heard a pin drop at that proclamation. All movement in the room ceased. It was as if every previously confident nurse had lost her way. No one knew what to do with me as I kept screaming my statment of faith over and over.
Someone eventually stepped into the hall to call my doctor and literally ran into a female minister of the hospital. The minister was immediately hustled into my room in an attempt to calm me down. The nurses worried over my mental state. After all, not all patients proclaim to converse with the Almighty. They were certain I had just miscarried my child yet I was ranting about God saying the baby was okay. They were counting on this female minister to talk me off the proverbial ledge.
Instead, the minister became so convinced by my faithful shouting she launched into prayer. Suddenly, she was thanking God for saving my baby. Now, no one really knew what to do. My doctor arrived into the chaos to do an ultrasound and prove that I had lost my baby. However, to the shock of everyone, the baby’s heartbeat filled the room. Whatever had slid mercilessly to the floor was not my baby. I was still pregnant.
By the time Steve arrived mourning had turned to joy and shocked gasps had become the talk of the floor. Suddenly, complete strangers appeared in my doorway just to say they had heard of my faith and how God saved my baby. It was more than a bit surreal.
The next morning I was still the talk of the labor and delivery unit. The day shift came in to celebrate with me, I received gifts and was very overwhelmed by the attention. My doctor rolled in the ultrasound machine once again. This time it was a prcaution as I was about to undergo a blood transfusion. There were three or four nurses in the room and the female minister from the night before. We were all still talking about what a miracle God gave us when I noticed my doctor’s face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked but hated myself for it. I already knew.
My doctor, close to tears answered, “the baby’s heart isn’t beating.” And just like that my miracle turned to tragedy. My precious little baby, who I was certain was a little girl, was gone.
Where did I go wrong? Why had God said the baby would be okay knowing she would die? It was the first test of my faith and the questions kept me up all night. I sat staring at the wall asking the same thing relentlessly. Finally, somwhere just before dawn, God answered me. “I said it would be all right. You assumed ‘it’ was the baby.”
Was that true I ran it over in my mind. Not once did I hear God say to my heart the baby would be okay. He only said “it would bne okay.” Obviously, “it” now meant my situation no the baby. Talk about a wake up call. It was the firt time I realized I could hear from God and still get it wrong. It was a powerful, painful lesson that is very much a part of my faith today. And what makes me always get clarification before I start putting words in God’s mouth.