My friend was studying to be a nurse. She kept reminding me that she will actually be an ultrasound technician. Oh, I think that would be so hard. I mean it would certainly be fun when the young mommy came in with a super healthy baby in her tummy. But when the woman with the baby that has a low heart beat comes for a routine check. That was me. I was that woman. Laying on the table. I don’t think I could be the one to have to tell a woman, “You will have to wait until the doctor comes to see you.”
“Why can’t I see the screen? Can you not just tell me if my baby is okay?” I cried out to the nurse.
“You will have to wait until the doctor comes to see you.”
And then she left. She left. I am alone. My mother is not with me. She didn’t even know I was pregnant. It is not what you think. I am not unwed. I am not scared what she will say. The truth is I really wanted to tell my parents at Christmas time with a little ornament that shared our excitement of our third child . What a wonderful way to capture the dreams for tomorrow along with the scent of warm, syrup covered waffles made by my Daddy and the traditional loud playing of Pretty Woman from an under the counter CD payer in the kitchen. My husband is not with me. It was a routine check up. Why should he take off of work for this?
I wait laying on the table covered by a tissue paper concealing my body. Parts that are meant for beauty and wonder, but parts that can bring pain. But a pain that you want to feel, for that means life is coming. But what if that life does not come?
Dear God, are you here?
You say there are no mistakes. You have a perfect plan. It is sometimes hard to see where a stillborn child fits into a perfect plan. I know that was never the original intention. Adam and his stupid sin. Eve and her stupid apple. The sin that everybody is born with. There is no perfect child. No perfect mother. We are all stuck in the midst of the yuck and desire for worldly things at every turn. Only you can save us. Dear God, will you save my baby?
“He is really small,” my doctor said. He has been with me through my first two. I trusted him with my life, my children’s lives. He was well educated with a great bedside manner. The kind of doctor that looks deep into your eyes and you just.feel.safe. Also, two legs in a stirrup brings a little bit of transparency and trust into any situation.
“Go home. Rest. Come back in two weeks and we will see what…see if…we will check you out then.”
So, at that moment, I gave up control. I gave up my will, for only His would win out. And we prayed. We prayed for a miracle. Our two little ones at home prayed, not knowing why Mommy sometimes cried when they prayed that "Baby would be born healthy."
And we prayed some more.
And in God's gracious overflow of undeserving blessing, our little baby, Baby BugBoy, had a strong heartbeat two weeks later. He would make it.
And he did! He is a bright eyed, bug whispering, hilarious little boy. But looking back, I can see now how I only gave up when I had no other choice. There was nothing more I could do.
But God gave when he had a choice. Not gave up. . . gave. Jesus allowed himself to be beaten, spit at, whipped, when at any given moment, he could have broken through the chains, the shouts of hate, and the pain.
At any given moment, He could have called down legions of angels to take out the soldiers, the crowd, the demons.
But He gave up his spirit for us.
And His love poured out to us on that cross.
And His victory was felt on that third day when he rose again.
For then, the heartbeat was heard again.
What are you willing to give up for Jesus during this season of Lent? Giving up pop seems small compared to the sacrifice He made. But if giving up pop makes me stop and think about Him and His sacrifice every time I crave a caffeine high from my daily Pepsi, then pop it is. And that will be a wonderful gift to give to my Jesus. For each time, I will praise Him, thank Him, and be reminded once again of His wonderful story of love for me.
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