I’d like to believe that in the hardest of times I choose to cling to faith and believe the promises I am often preaching to myself. Guess when the rubber meets the road, that’s when you see what’s really in there.

This entire pregnancy I have been doing battle with my thoughts… choking back fear, trying to rest in knowing that God created this to be just what He wanted, and that we won’t be disappointed.  Some days I have been overwhelmed when the “what if’s” creep in, but overall with the constant support and reassurance of my wingman and dearest friends, I have been able to watch days blossom into months with growing reassurance that our unborn son will be sustained with life and good health.

Until there was a chance he wouldn’t.

I have been guarded with my words to the kids.  Knowing too well how fleeting life is, when they have expressed their fears I have been careful not to make promises I know are not up to me.  Instead I have told them to keep praying, that we will be strong enough to make it through whatever happens, and that Jesus is taking care of our babies… whether on earth or in Heaven.

When I told the kids I had to go to the hospital, Baylie said, “I hope Poppyseed doesn’t die too.”  She spoke what my heart was screaming, but I couldn’t stand the cloud of fear in her eyes, and before I had a second to think of something to say to smooth the line between hope and reality, I had already blurted out “He is not going to die.  He will be fine.”

In the crush of contractions, the peril of bleeding, Mark and I did our best to point out the positive…. Baby’s heartbeat is steady, he is getting the steroids for his lungs, the magnesium to prevent brain bleeds… soon the IV’s will stop the contractions.  History won’t repeat itself.  I held myself together… until the nurse confirmed my water had broken.  That was it.  All the panic and fear and struggle to be able to control life and death came screeching to the forefront of my thoughts. 

“I can’t do this again. I won’t survive another loss.  I told Baylie he would be fine.”  The thought of betraying my daughter’s hope, of hearing her say “but you said this wouldn’t happen,” was enough to crush any semblance of faith I was still clinging to.  Anger raged, mostly at myself for being selfish enough to put everyone I loved through this again.  Dispair choked out the hope I had been painting, and most startling, faith dissolved into an ungraspable mist to reveal the truth that had been cementing itself all along… It’s a lot easier to believe when everything is fine.

In spite of myself, the sun came up again.  A nauseating blend of medications has pushed us back from the edge of danger, and the tiny little legs and arms continue to jostle and roll within my swollen belly.  Hope has taken root again, and faith dares to smooth the disrupted waters.

Will it be strong enough… next time?
Please leave me a comment; it lets me know you’re listening!

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