My 2nd child, Jessica Rachel, is 19 yrs old today.
Happy Birthday, Jessie!
A month after my 3rd miscarriage, I had a foreboding that the fertility specialist I was seeing was going to tell me he'd tried everything and we'd reached the end of the road. I went into that appointment praying yet trying to ready myself to follow God's will. Imagine my surprise when I found out I was pregnant - again. And so the waiting began - again. During the next 2 months I was wary of every movement I made even though I knew a spontaneous abortion or miscarriage would happen regardless if the egg wasn't viable. We were thrilled when we entered the 2nd trimester and started to hope - again.
Our joy was short-lived however, when I started spotting around 14 wks. It was the first time I understood what the word ‘keening’ meant. Frantic. Frustrated. Fatalistic. I remember going into the kitchen and cleaning out a cupboard (I abhor cleaning) before going back to the bathroom to check. Another round of keening ensued. Hubby came home and took me in for an ultrasound. Because I was already high risk, I was placed on bed rest. (I remember lying in a chaise lounge directing hubby how to plant the flower garden.)
Because of the tests, we knew I couldn't carry the baby to term so the birth date was a guessing game. Throughout those long, quiet days, I felt God's presence as he waited with me.
Five wks before my due date, I started contractions. We lived an hour from the city of Ottawa and a January blizzard had just started. My water broke just minutes later as I stood on my grandmother’s hand–braided rug ready to head out into the night. The highway was slippery and cars were driving slow but hubby stayed in the 'fast' lane and safely drove us to the hospital. Within hrs, I was being wheeled down to the delivery/operating room. Our daughter, Crystal, had attended all the pre-natal classes and the hospital tour so she was allowed to accompany us. Hubby squeezed my right hand, his face white, Crystal reminded me to breathe while holding the left. The nurse told me to wait for the doctor because the baby was a preemie. But when I felt that age-old urge, I pushed. (I found out with my 3rd baby that pushing out a preemie is a no-no.)
But out slid Jessie. Five and a half pounds of red, squalling baby girl. So eager to enter this world and so angry when she arrived. She spent a week in NICU because she was pre-term, and she battled jaundice like a trooper. I remember taking her out of her isolette, being careful not to twist or pull her IV cord. Bigger than our first baby, Jessie was still so small. I'd hold her while we bonded and taught each other how to nurse. And as I looked down at her, Sunday School choruses like Jesus Loves Me and There's Something About That Name slipped from my lips. His Spirit reasurred me. And in return, I worshipped Him, quietly, softly, in my little corner of the NICU while holding His child. Awed, I renewed my personal relationship with Him and promised to bring up Jessie in His word.
It was a miracle she was conceived. A miracle she hung on in the womb. A miracle she arrived safely. And a miracle she was able to go home after a week. God's little miracle.
Her dad, my hubby, became a Christian a few years after Jessie's birth and we have raised Jessie to know God.
This past Sept, Jessie enrolled in the Edge program at Rocky Mountain Bible College in Calgary, Alberta. She’s part of their renowned choir and is the college’s Assistant Admissions Officer. She's doesn't know what God has planned for her but she knows it will involve serving Him.
If there is anything you take away from this post, I pray it is this:
God loves you so much, He blesses you even when you are neglecting Him.