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I have a great memory. It got me good grades in school when I didn't try very hard, and it helped me perform at jobs in which I was clueless. People are amazed at the stuff I can remember.
But my memory tricks me in malicious ways where my faith is concerned: it forgets the good times God gives me almost as soon as they happen, and it can't locate any of His promises in the hard times He allows to
come my way.
When I first realized this, I began keeping a journal. And it has proved to be a far more honest friend than my memory. In illustration, here are some actual excerpts (edited for grammar and
space) that record an answer to prayer I hope I never forget:
9-29-79. My body has been sending me signals that I might be pregnant. Steve and I have been wanting this for so long, but it's too early to tell for sure. I've had many false alarms
before--but nothing so definite as this.
Tonight I read my Bible. I know that God does not intend for me to use it as some kind of divining rod, but, I asked Him to speak to me through it. Then I just praised Him silently a
few minutes, and I flipped open randomly to Isaiah 8:1--"Again the Lord sent me a message: 'Make a large signboard and write on it the birth announcement of the son I am going to give you. Use capital
letters!'"Living Bible
I am reluctant to jump on this, for I have misinterpreted things before. But it will be interesting to see. Anyway, whether I am pregnant or not, I thank Him, because He knows my needs and wants
better than I do. I do thank You. . . .
8-9-80. [My cousin] talks about how great having a baby is, and says, "You should try it!" Right! I would if I could. But I refuse to go to a doctor to try to get pregnant. I know too much about
how that goes. And I am really tired of people saying, "You should try it!" Why do they say that? A couple has no children. There are two possibilities: (a) they don't want to yet, or (b) they can't. Either way, the
comment is inappropriate. It will only antagonize (a)s and hurt (b)s. . . .
9-8-81. Well, what do you know. I was pregnant. And now I have a beautiful six-month-old baby girl. (I got pregnant about the time Rita and Diane started praying for us, asking God on our behalf for a baby.) I quit my job to be with her, but I still do freelance work. . . .
11-29-84. Yesterday I read about the Shunammite woman (2 Kings 4)--how, because of her kindness to Elisha, God reached into her heart and gave her what she wanted more than anything in the
world--a son--though she never dared to ask for it.
Reading that made me burst into tears and cover my face before a God so good, to fill our lives with such goodness when we don't deserve it. I am speechless with humility before His extravagant
kindness. Yesterday I found out I am pregnant--and I thought Stephanie would be our only one. But the Lord has visited us again, and around July 7 Stef will have a little brother or sister. . . .
6-1-85. What an incredible, miraculous week. First, I finished getting the manuscript of HEW [His Excellent Word, later published as Liberation of Lystra] ready to mail
to the publisher on Sunday night, May 26. At 2:00 the next morning, I awoke feeling something was not right. Afraid something was wrong with the baby, I got up and prayed earnestly for the life of my baby. But I
didn't have any peace until I finally said, "Okay, Lord, the only reason I'm carrying this child is because You gave him to us. So whether he lives or dies, this baby is Yours." Then I went back to bed. At 4:00 I
awoke again, and realized I was having contractions. At 6:00 I showered and by 7:15 we were at the hospital.
Dr. Cuesta gave me morphine to try to stop my labor, but it didn't work. So they wheeled me to ultrasound and determined the baby was about 36 weeks--a boy. They decided to let labor progress,
which it did, very rapidly. Around 11:00 Dr. Cuesta came in to check me, and found me 9 cm. dilated. He broke my water but had no time to do anything else. They did not even have time to set up the delivery room.
They wheeled me in there, yelling at me not to push.
On the table, three good pushes and he was out. But he was black. He'd aspirated some meconium and was not breathing. The pediatrician had not gotten there yet. [It was Memorial Day at a small
county hospital--everyone was at the lake.] Dr. Cuesta was the only doctor in the room. He managed to clear one of the baby's lungs to get oxygen to him, but he still wasn't breathing. Then another family practice
doctor was found to help. He got the baby's lungs clear enough to get him crying a little.
All this while, Steve was beside me breathing prayers. Our baby boy was dying in the delivery room and we were helpless. No wonder I had felt pressed to get up at 2:00 AM to pray--at this moment
I was in an absolute stupor.
And pain. They didn't have time to give me any medication, not even for the episiotomy. Steve said that when Dr. Cuesta broke my water and saw the meconium, he knew the baby was in distress. If
the baby weren't already pushing against the cervix, the doctor would have done an emergency Caesarean. Steve also said that if I hadn't endured that pain, the baby would not have made it. There was just no time.
He had another crisis later that night when he stopped breathing. It looked like for a while that we would have to transport him to Oklahoma City. But he held his own. It was almost
funny--whenever I wanted to take him out to feed him, I had to maneuver around wires and tubes, and someone had to stand over me holding the oxygen hose to his face.
Today, six days later, he is off everything but twice daily antibiotic shots. He looks a much different baby--his color is good, he's active and eats good. He acts like a baby who is grateful to
be alive.
His name is Glenn Arthur--after Steve's first father and grandfather. I am overwhelmed to be blessed with a healthy baby after all the early trauma. In all this, I have felt so surrounded by
divine love, cradled in arms that have rocked me as gently as I rock Glenn. I cannot explain it, or understand it, but to go through all that and come away with this child overwhelms me. . . .
6-9-85. Glenn has been home almost a week now, is breast feeding and doing famously. He is very small--4 lbs., 15 oz. at the doctor's last weighing. But he is healthy.
Something jogged in my memory about a promise from Scripture I once read. I looked back in my early journal and found it--Sept. 29, 1979. At the time I was reluctant to fasten on this as a
promise, and I think I was right to feel cautious. But apparently the Lord meant it for me as well, because here he is.
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