In this season of Thanksgiving, I felt it was finally time to
share the story of my greatest blessing this year. I have thought long and hard about whether or
not I should share this story with the masses, but for some reason, fairly
early on in my pregnancy, I felt strongly it needed to be shared. This is a very tender and personal story and
I hope you as the reader will treat it as such and that perhaps it is just what
one of you may need to hear. This is a
story of miracles and a story of God’s awareness of each of us. It’s a story of
the power He and His Son have to heal and make right the things that seem to go
wrong in this journey we call mortality in ways we can't explain. It is proof that God still talks to men and
women today and that He is in the smallest of details and loves us more than we
can imagine.
It’s a story of hope – and
we could all use a bit more of that in our lives.
Heavy darkness.
That's the best way I can put into
words my feelings that late spring and early summer of 2010. I had never
experienced anything like it on that level before. It rang from deep betrayal.
Betrayal of something I hold dearer then almost anything else in this life,
second only to fidelity in my marriage.
There were days I could hardly get out of bed. It seemed that in those first few seconds of
waking in the morning, before my brain was totally awake, were my only rest
from the quickly descending gloom. I did
all I could to solve/fix the problem but kept meeting opposition again and
again. Not until after a particularly
difficult last-ditch effort did I find myself hearing a quiet whispering say,
“You’re done. You’ve done all you
could.”
Still in despair and in desperation
I looked for others to fill the void, but there was no one. I needed other women. To be surrounded by
them. To have them need me. I needed them to fulfill my own needs. So I did the
only thing I could think of at the time and started a running group.
If I remember correctly, there were
about 16 women who decided to take my lead and begin training for the Kansas
City half marathon to be run that fall. By the time we finally ran it, there
were 5 of us.
We were up early those mornings.
Trying to beat the relentless heat of the Missouri summer. It was hard and not
always fun, but it provided exactly what I needed, therapy and new friends.
If you want to find true friends, do
something hard with them. Do something few are willing to do. Travel the road
less traveled with them. It will prove them. It will prove you.
While the new friendships helped,
the heavy darkness was still close and at times enveloping, although lifting on
occasion and giving me hope. I clung to my new “therapists” (even though they
were innocent in this role). They were my constant sanity; they gave me reason
to keep going. After Kansas City we pushed onto training for a marathon. I was
grateful. It would keep my friends close for a few more months, while I was
still fragile.
And then I heard the voice.
*************************************
It was November and the weather had
started to get cold. The voice didn't come as a booming declaration from heaven
declaring God's will for me. It was more of a strong impression, but it was
clear. "It's time to have a baby."
I ignored it. November? A due date
of August? Who in their right mind wants to go through the hellish heat of a
Missouri summer pregnant, 9 months pregnant? Not me. That was for sure.
You should know I'm big on timing,
God' timing that is, especially when it comes to having babies. So I tried to
negotiate and rationalize with the voice. "Surely you mean a due date of
November, right? I mean, that would be perfect. I wouldn't be hugely pregnant
through the summer, I'd have the baby around Thanksgiving when being tucked
away in ones cozy home is exactly what I love to do that time of year, AND I
could still train with my friends for the marathon. I would still be
needed."
It was settled. I would wait. I saw
nothing wrong with the revised plan and so the nag of that voice slowly ebbed
away as I clocked 100's of miles on the YMCA treadmill during one of the
coldest and snowiest of winters to date of our time living in Missouri, all
with my faithful friends by my side. I was happy. I was happy with my new plan.
That was the mistake. It was my
plan, not God's, and He would prove it in the years to come.
The Faithful 5
Me, Sharla H., Becky M., Erin R., and Jennie Y.
No comments:
Post a Comment