I called my mother and told her I felt like there was this
huge wall between God and me and that I couldn’t even muster the words to pray.
Her response was so simple yet so profound: “Well then Baby, lean on the wall.”
How true is that! So right then and there, I told God I would have faith as
long as I could. So began my pleas. I begged Him to take this cup. To use the
same power He used to raise Christ from the dead to clear up all of these
markers. But I also asked Him to prepare my heart for His will. If He wants me
to bury another child then I He would need to give me the strength to do so. If
He wants me to have a special needs child then I’d need the wisdom to be his
mama. No chromosomal issue was going to change my love for my baby in the
least. I wanted Henry no matter his issues and this son of mine is no
different. This boy is God’s chosen child for Andrew and me. We were in deep
prayer for him even before he was conceived. We have lavished prayer all over him
every day, and I believe that God is going to give us the exact child He wants
us to have. And I decided that I was going to love the mess out of him as long
as I could. Without fear. As hard as I could.
I left for Memphis a couple days after the bad news. I left
to go to Beth Moore of all places. And while I was praying boldly and fervently
for my son, a spiritual event was the last place I wanted to be. I just didn’t
want to be there, praising a God who might wound me again. Unfortunately, I had
also gotten to a place where I just didn’t believe in the power of prayer. I
still very much believed in God’s Sovereignty and His perfect plan, but I
assumed He wanted me to learn through suffering again. I also felt like the
more I prayed, the more I was disappointed. After all, God took Henry while I
prayed. What was the point? Hasn’t all this already been decided anyway? What’s
the point of praying if He’s already made up His mind? This is dangerous
thinking, my friends. Oppression straight from Satan. And I slowly got to this
point. But there I was, walking around defeated, every day. Waiting for the
other shoe to drop. Waiting for God to wound me. Forgetting that He also
blesses.
The first morning I woke in Memphis, God had me up at 4:30.
I mean, I sat up wide awake. I downloaded some psalms and started reading
through the Bible. I hate to admit it, but I’m not one to open The Word and
just feel refreshed. I’m not intellectual, so I usually need a book or study to
guide me. Not this morning. I turned to James. James 5:16 in particular.
"Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that
you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and
effective." I do believe God has a plan. And I believe everything is decided,
but that morning God showed me that His Word says over and over to get together
with one another and pray. Matthew 18:19-20 “Again, truly I tell you that if
two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them
by my Father in heaven. For where two or three gather in my name, there am I
with them.” So I decided to take God up on His word. I emailed some of the
godliest people I knew and asked them to pray the 2 prayers on my heart: 1.
That God shows off His glory and that all the markers disappear. Or start to
disappear. Or even that they are all isolated issues that mean nothing of
significance. 2. That if this is my cup, I can handle it. That He prepares my
heart for what's to come. Because I knew that in that moment, I couldn’t have
dealt with it. I also asked them to fast on the day of my appointment. I called
on family and prayer groups and ladies at Beth Moore to put their hands on my
belly and pray boldly for my son. My mother’s friends, my cousin’s friends,
they were all hitting their knees… literally. This was a pivotal moment for me,
to witness the way the body came together. Some of my prayer warriors know me
well, but some of these ladies and men didn’t know me at all. In fact, I
happened to sit in the very seat at Beth Moore where I received a letter from
the prayer leader of Beth Moore’s ministry in Memphis. I emailed her and she
“happened” to have lost a son. She knew the gravity of what I was feeling with
Henry, along with the fear of my third son. She had hundreds of women
throughout Memphis praying for me. I was LAVISHED in prayer.
Wednesday arrived and Andrew and I drove to the doctor. I
love my husband for many reasons, but one of the reasons is that he steadies
me. I used to get upset that he wasn’t as emotional as me. That he doesn’t want
to talk about his deep feelings and that he rarely gets worked up, but I’ve come
to realize that this is the exact reason why we work. We can’t both be losing
it! We talked and listened to hymns the entire 2 hours we drove to the high
risk doctor. We talked about how we would love any child we receive, for as long
as we had them. Most of our son’s markers pointed to Down Syndrome so we were
prepared for that. We actually wanted that because that would give him a life
with us.
When we arrived, the tech did an in-depth ultrasound, along
with an echo of his heart and various other tests. Having been Lois Lane and
researched the mess out of any issue they may find, I was able to read some of her
notes for the doctor. The measurements looked good, as before, but I couldn’t
tell if there were more markers. A really neat thing did show up on ultrasound.
When she went to look at his hands, she couldn’t get him to unclasp them. They
were in prayer position. She had to poke and prod them loose! The doctor
arrived, he came in and looked at each organ. The three markers my son had 12
days ago were a choroid plexus cyst (on his brain), an EIF (which is basically
a calcium deposit on the heart), and a pleural effusion (fluid around the heart).
In all my readings, these markers are benign in themselves but the more you
have, the more this indicates a trisomy diagnosis. I also read that if they go
away, it’s in the 3rd trimester so I was prepared to see them. My
hope was that they would find no more markers or that they had shrunk in size.
I won’t go into the details of his exam because what happened next is too good
to hold any longer. ALL 3 MARKERS HAD DISAPPEARED! In just 12 days! That, my
friends, is a medical miracle. The doctor tried to explain this away with
science, saying ultrasounds are radio waves and often mistakes are seen, but I
interrupted him by saying, “Or this was a miracle from God!” I even called my cardiologist
brother who says that you don’t see that many mistakes and have all of them go
away like that. You just don’t! We got to the parking lot and I screamed. I was
just so shocked! God didn’t just give me good news, He showed off in that exam
room. And I promised God that I was going to shout His glory from the rooftops
and that’s what I intend to do.
This entire ordeal reveled so much ugly junk in my life. Here
I was thinking I had it together, but inside I was a hot mess. First it showed me
my extreme lack of belief. And what little value I placed on prayer. Since
losing Henry, my prayer life and unbelief have been horrible. I’ve felt it to
be pointless, despite all the Scripture stating otherwise. I reasoned that if
God heard my prayers, He would have never taken Henry. Of course this isn’t
true. No one prayed more earnestly in the garden than Jesus. And His Father said
no. But He asked, and He believed. I also learned what a brat I am. I recently
read a great analogy. When you prick your finger, blood flows. Well this writer
asked the challenging question: what flows when God pricks you? She used the
story of Job as an example. Job had the perfect life, yet he was pricked and
still remained faithful. Worship is actually what overflowed from his heart. I
wish I could say the same for myself. When God pricked me with the loss of
Henry, anger and unbelief began to flow. I’ve been struggling with these
emotions ever since. Eight months later, he pricked me again and out flowed
entitlement. God took Henry so I was entitled to a healthy child. In fact, I
felt entitled to little hardship for the rest of my life. How bratty is that?
And the thing is, God answered this request of mine knowing what an ugly heart
I have. What kind of Savior is that who would love someone and bless someone so
unlovely? This entire event has been life changing for me. It has shown me that
we have to be bold about prayer. We have got to get together with each other
and pray boldly for one another. One of the problems is that no one likes to
share their weaknesses. Me included! God had to get me to such a desperate
place that I had to share with others. How sad to think that anyone is carrying
a heavy burden alone. Unbelieving every step of the way. That’s pride. That’s
Satan. And it’s got to stop! God says no. He does for reasons beyond our comprehension. I know that more than anybody. But I can't not ask Him for a miracle because I fear He won't come through for me. He performs miracles. And He blesses beyond measure! He does, He does, He does, and I am the least deserving of anyone to be on the receiving end of His many blessings. But you have to ask. Not because He won't do it anyway, but because that's what Jesus taught us . God is good. God was good when He chose me. He was good when He took Henry. He was good when He removed all my boy's markers. And He would have been good had He not. God is good all the time.
