Need a Favor…

“I only talk to God when I need a favor. And I only pray when I ain’t got a prayer. So, tell me who the hell am I to expect a savior, if I only talk to God when I need a favor? But, God, I need a favor…”

~Jelly Roll

I really do try to be grateful for the good, and remember to thank God for it. I’m not always the best kind of Christian. I know I curse. I find plenty of ways to sin. I do have a deep love for Christ, though. There’s been plenty of times where He’s shown His love for me.

I was pregnant, with a baby boy, after my first born, but before I had my daughter. For awhile, I thought one child was enough. I had this little buddy, who was always with me. Then, I found out I was, unexpectedly, pregnant again. I started planning and buying things. We started work on a nursery, for him. When I was 12 weeks along, I went in for an appointment, and they couldn’t find his heartbeat. I went in for a sonogram. They told me he had died. I was sent home. Told I’d miscarry him in the following days. Only, I didn’t. I still felt pregnant. A week later, I felt my baby move. I felt my babies pretty early, in pregnancy. I had no bleeding or cramping at all. I went back to the doctor. They did blood work and another sonogram. Miraculously, he was still there. Strong heartbeat. That’s when I found out he was a boy. At fifteen weeks pregnant, I was on the phone with a friend of mine, from church. They’d been praying so hard for us. I was explaining that God had performed this miracle, and our baby was good. Suddenly, I felt this “pop”, inside, and started to gush blood down my legs. For some reason, I kept quiet, and just politely ended the phone call. I ran into the bathroom. I didn’t know what to do? It was a Saturday. We rushed to the hospital, only to be told, once again, that he had died. I couldn’t accept it. Even with all the bleeding. It couldn’t be! Why would God do this to me???

They assured me, my baby was gone. I insisted we wait and see. They gave me a few days, and did more blood work and sonograms. He was definitely gone, this time. It still makes me cry, after these years, remembering that ache I felt in my heart and soul. I had genuine anger at God. We had celebrated and thanked God for answering all the prayers! How could He?!

I had to go into surgery, because he was too big for my body to miscarry on its own. It was so incredibly hard to allow doctors to remove the life that once moved and grew inside of me. After testing, we discovered his placenta had not attached well, and it had slowly pulled away, taking the very thing that was sustaining life, from him. Although there was nothing I could’ve done, and I do know that, I still have so much guilt about it.

Days later, I was sitting on my couch. I was a mess of tears and anger. I grabbed my Bible, and opened it to a random page. The verse I came upon, was Ecclesiastes 3

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

I was overcome with this realization, that God had answered a prayer of mine. When they’d first told me my baby had died, I hadn’t gotten any sonogram images of my baby. I kept praying and crying that I hadn’t even gotten to see my baby. I had nothing to remember him by. I believe God gave me the opportunity to hear his heart beating, and to get the sonogram pictures that I still hold so dear. That was a gift. A blessing. I felt God’s love and comfort just envelope me, as I came to understand this. The sadness remained, but the anger was gone.

That night, I had the most amazing dream. We were sitting at a picnic table. My husband, our living child, and myself. This blonde haired little boy ran to me and called me “mama”. I knew he was my son. I called him “Blake”. This is what we decided to name that baby, after that dream. His name was Blake. I hadn’t ever even considered that, as a baby name, but this was so assuredly known, in my dream.

God is very real, for me. As real as the ground we stand on. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve never been angry with Him again. I no longer question Him. Sometimes, I ask Him to show me why. I don’t always understand why things happen the way they do. He always shows me, though. Sometimes it’s immediate. Sometimes, it takes awhile. I always understand why, eventually.

We need to celebrate our lives. Be grateful that you woke up, this morning. Be glad you have a job to do. Be thankful your belly is full, you have people who love you, you have a bed to climb into, when you need rest. It’s those things we so often take for granted. He performs miracles, everyday. We just have to open our eyes to see them.