The continual dripping from the sink in the doctor’s office matched my wondering mind drip for thought. Was there a chance that a change had occurred and my baby’s heart started beating over the past week?
“Lord, this is a hard prayer to pray. You are God all by yourself. And although you choose to incorporate man in your workings, there are some decisions you take from my hands. As much as I want this precious one to be ok and as much as I want to hear the heartbeat, take this bundle home with you if life will be anything less than full. I know you will take great care of this one, too. In your precious name, I pray – Amen.”
I could hear footsteps bustling by, busy attending to each patient in the doctor’s office that morning. No expecting mother goes to an ultrasound appointment with the thought of not hearing a heartbeat. Yet, that is where I found myself. I heard silence instead of the busy beats of a fiery little heart. Concern raced upon the technician’s face before she calmly excused herself to get the doctor.
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The wait seemed like an eternity before the footsteps stopped at my door. I could hear the whispers and then a heavy sigh as the door opened, and in walked the doctor.
“This is one part of being a doctor that I could do without,” She sympathized, “We can’t find a heartbeat. Waiting a week gave us hope that perhaps we missed it, but there is no heartbeat.”
With every ounce of courage I could muster, I stated, “Oh, but there is a heartbeat. It’s just not here.”
I could see her choke-back emotion as she smiled and said, “Now you’re going to make me cry.”
“This part is never easy. Every mother knows immediately when her baby is coming, and it is a wonderful surprise all over again.” She empathetically stated. To which I faithfully replied, “There is a lullaby in Heaven today.”
I felt like I was facing a sea of fog and couldn’t find my bearings. How many times must I say goodbye before I get to say hello? Where was the sweet voice of the Holy Spirit, the friend that is closer than a brother; I couldn’t hear him. I was lost in the clouds of unanswered questions, sadness, and anger.
I climbed the stairs to the place where I sit each morning, opening my Bible in a silent study. I knew Jesus understood my silence and even had compassion for my pain; His shoulders were big enough to carry my hurt.
My father called me early one morning. I didn’t have much to say. I was even without jokes which is very unusual for me. He gently said, “At the beginning of the book of Job, you will notice he had seven sons and three daughters. At the end of Job, God doubles everything he lost, except his children. He once again has seven sons and three daughters. You see, Sis, his children were never lost. They only had a change of address. Rest assured; your babies are not lost; they are waiting on their mother.”
It rained the morning we left for the hospital; such is a standard assurance from God for the Howards; it’s His seal for us.
With a few tears, as I lay in the hospital bed, I looked over at Chuck and said, “Ok then. Take me home. My fight isn’t here. Jesus already paid for this one.”
“Eleazar arose and attacked the Philistines until his hand was weary and his hand stuck to his sword…,” 2 Samuel 23:10. A friend of mine told me, “Fight until they have to pry the sword from your hands.” I held tightly to her wisdom as I faced my battle. I desire that the sword be found within my grasp for my children.
“Sis, If you can’t reach the stars, aim for the moon.”
-Mom
The sun was shining brightly as we pulled into the drive. Both girls were playing in the yard, waving and screaming, “MOMMY!” The smile on my face was evidence that all would be ok.
That afternoon Chuck was finishing cleaning up a tree he had cut down a few weeks before. He brought a chair so I could sit and watch. The girls ran around playing, then enjoyed a ride over to the burn pile- Charlotte, hanging out the truck window saying, “Hey!” and Eva, in the back, holding our golden retriever puppy, Peanut, who was licking all over her face. My heart was overflowing with the goodness of God upon my life. I was so thankful for the blessings He had given me right in front of my eyes.
We can’t stop dreaming because life throws us curveballs, and we can’t quit when adversity strikes. Secretly, I wanted to. Everyone occasionally finds themselves in the dirt, but we cannot stay there. It is in the scars that people find connection, not definition. My scars do not define me; they only teach me. People do not want to hear your “breakthrough” until they have heard your “been through.”
Sometimes I like to let my imagination run wild as I envision the great reunion in Heaven we will have someday. Gabriel will be standing at the Pearly Gates, and the call will resound, “Howard, party of seven!” A bit puzzled, the four of us begin walking down the streets of gold and taking in the splendor of the Crystal Sea. Undoubtedly, Eva will be calmly walking by my side and Charlotte will be flipped over her daddy’s shoulder for security reasons. Through the masses of people, my eyes catch sight of Jesus casting a smile as he walks our way. As the crowd begins to separate, I see what made Him smile so; three little ones holding tightly to His hands. The Great Teacher reaches to wipe my tears and says, “I have something that belongs to you. These three have been waiting for their family. I AM pleased to welcome the Howard family home – party of seven.”
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