ISisters, there are people praying for you in your suffering. Probably more than you know. I have tried to write this post several times before today to no avail, because each time I do, I am overcome with emotion and I cannot finish it. But today someone need to hear this.
As Mary treasured the events surrounding the birth of her son and pondered them in her heart, so do all mothers.
And even nine months later, there are moments for me that shine through the rest like precious jewels–the ones I ponder. The feeling of her warm, wet weight in my chest for the first time, the sound of her tiny cry, running through the aches of postpartum recovery to embrace my own mother as she entered my hospital room, the vivid fire of the autumn foliage on our way home from the hospital and gazing at my sleeping husband cuddling our newborn on the recliner once there.
And the gifts! Oh the gifts! A My mother had brought with her a suitcase full of gifts, including an entire layette set for the baby, as well as assorted gifts from our friends and family! We laughed because she only brought three outfits for herself and forgot a coat entirely, despite it being early November. There were bibs, cups, blankets (oh the blankets) and other assorted baby paraphernalia and my mother pulled each gift out, explaining who they were from. And then she pulled out a small package wrapped in newspaper. As I pulled back the layers, I realized the newspaper was written in Sanskrit but I hardly registered this as odd in my sleep-deprived, hormone-addled brain. Inside were three bangles, one large and two small.
My mother went on to explain that these bangles had been carried in yet another suitcase when their friend, a pastor in India, had come to visit them for some additional training in the US. She told me that she had been asked to pass along the bracelets, and a message saying that he and his churches had been praying for me the whole time.
She didn’t have to explain much more before I was a sloppy mess because I felt the impact of her statement and was immediately humbled. Firstly, because the pastor had multiple churches and each congregation was large so I knew I couldn’t begin to know the ammount of people that had been praying for me, a stranger, yet their sister in Christ. Secondly, I know how precious children are after you have lost one, and India’s infant mortality rate was roughly 40/1000 live births last year, whereas in the US it is 6/1000. Their prayers were heartfelt, real and empathetic.
These bangles represent the beautiful words that were said on my behalf in my darkest time and as I look at the tiny rhinestones in them, I am grateful. One day I will tell my Little Miss about all the people who were praying for her before she was even born.
Infertility can feel lonely, but you are never alone. You ladies already know I pray for you every night, but we have no idea how far those requests go. This is the power of prayer, and the beauty of being a member in the body of Christ. If you are feeling ignored by God, know that there are more prayers than you can ever fathom going up to God on your behalf–prayers for comfort, prayers for support, prayers for clarity in your next steps of the long, dark road ahead, and of course, prayers for your babies. Blessings to all of you this morning, and all the love my heart can possibly hold for you.