This is a story of thanksgiving.
In July of last year at a huge conference a friend of mine prayed a prayer of faith that one day we would have a baby. We had been married for 10 years and had tried with no success before. 4 weeks later I peed on a stick and got 2 pink lines.
A year ago this week my body began trying to miscarry the baby. I was 4 months pregnant at the time, still in Australia with our tickets purchased to come home in December to have the baby the following spring. I didn't know what was happening and nearly convinced myself that it must be fine and normal. Something was wrong, I just knew it in my spirit, I called the Dr. They got me in right away and let me listen to her heartbeat. What a relief. She sent me on my way with orders to take it easy and keep watch. So I did. I got a call from her a couple hours later saying I needed to come for an ultrasound. As the ultrasound tech did her job, I could see the concern on her face. She left the room quickly and returned with a man in a lab coat. They asked me if there was someone they could call for me. I didn't understand. "Is there someone nearby we can call to come and be with you?" she said. I told her my husband was just right up the road and that I would be glad to go get him. We only had one car, Miss Bianca. She said emphatically "No no honey, you need to lie flat." She proceeded to explain to me why. That my body with its misshapen uterus was trying to let the baby out. It hit me like a ton of bricks. It was sinking in. This baby that was a gift might be taken away.
Brooks came as quick as he could and the decision was made to take me by ambulance to the hospital. There was a lot of wheeling and covering with blankets and changing of gurneys, paperwork, name tags, wrist bands for allergies and the like. Bypassing all the desks I was taken straight to the labor ward and laid on a bed that was tilted with my head down to the ground. Literally keeping this baby in by gravity. The surgeon whom I had never met came in and gave me an IV and some important medicines. He was polish and barely understandable. The decision was made to have surgery first thing the next morning, a Saturday. That night alone in the dark room, amped on meds, having just received word of how much money we were going to have to front and the looming question of our baby's survival - I wept - so very alone in one moment and in the next so comforted and held by God. "Hold me" being the only words I could muster. Only Him and His truth to trust and cling to.
First thing the next morning I was taken to surgery with my Polish doctor, 1 asian anesthesiologist, and 2 Aussie nurses. It was full on surrender. These people I could barely understand were about to put me out and do stuff to my body. I just had to trust and pray.
I came out of the surgery fine. Lots of pain but everything went well, the baby was healthy. Brooks was right by my side helping me through all the way. Now I had a week and a half to recover and get packed to make the long journey home. Letting me fly home became the big question. I got the answer I wanted.
On December first we flew over the Pacific, the Rocky Mountains and plains of Kansas as I sang "America the Beautiful." My patriotic heart was bursting with pride and joy. The first sight of our parents and those first hugs in the airport are ones not easily forgettable.
The remainder of the pregnancy was taking it easy, laying or sitting around to keep from having too many contractions. Keep that baby in there. Cook a little bit longer.
She came on April 14th of this year as another bit of a surprise. She is a "dandy" as her Grandma rightly puts it.
In a couple of weeks we will gather around our tables and eat great food together to give thanks. This year I know that...
God is good. He is faithful. He saw me through. He held me.
I couldn't see how but I trusted that He could see something else and I am thankful.
"Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."
pieces of Psalm 46