My God of Second Chances (Part 5)

    Time went on.  We split up, we vowed to work things out, we got back together.  It was a couple of years of turmoil and ups and downs.  Another baby came, unexpectedly.  At six months pregnant with our second child, I walked away from the marriage for good.  The details that led to my walking away are not important.


     At 26 weeks gestation I went in to labor with my son.  I didn't believe I was really having contractions, but my mom insisted we go to the hospital and, sure enough, I was starting to dilate and having regular contractions.  After 3 shots of medication the contractions would not stop, so they put me on a medication called magnesium sulfate that relaxed all the  muscles in my body, put me in an ambulance and shipped me to Tulsa, where, if he was born, he would have a better chance of surviving.

    Now, I've prayed pretty much my whole life.  But, never was there a more urgent prayer than the prayer I prayed in that ambulance.  I prayed and prayed the whole way to the hospital.  I'm quite sure my stress and anxiety was what caused the labor to come on, as they could not find any infection or any other evident cause for the onset of my labor.  I spent a couple of days in the hospital and then was sent home on bed rest with medication.  And, by home, I mean I went to my mom's and dad's house with my daughter.  Suddenly I was a single, pregnant mother, on bed rest, unable to work, and living back at my parent's house.  I was totally dependent on them.  And, I thank God, to this day, for their unconditional love and support.

     I have proof that God answers prayers.  He is a little boy that goes by, "Bubba."  He was definitely not born at 26 weeks.  I stayed on bed rest and medication until 36 weeks.  At one of my weekly OB appointments, the Doctor told me that he had actually moved back up out of the birth canal.  At 38 weeks I could barely walk and the next week they finally induced my labor and I gave birth to a big baby boy that weighed in at a whopping 11 lbs. 2 oz!

     I brought my baby boy home and it was so different from my first experience.  I did not bring him home to a house with a mom and a dad.  I brought him home to the one bedroom that we were living in at my Mom and Dad's house.  I had made up my mind that I was not going to become dependent on anyone to help me with my two children.  I knew I would eventually be out on my own and I would have to be able to take care of everything myself.  One of the first  nights after I left the hospital I was rocking my son and my 3 year old daughter was laying in bed.  Suddenly she started to sob and I said, "Sissy!  What's wrong?"  I'll never forget her sweet little voice: "Nobody won't lay with me."  My precious little angel had, in just a few months time, moved out of her house, left her Daddy, gained a little brother and lost at least half of the attention her mom had always paid her.  She had never put herself to sleep.  I had rocked her or laid in bed with her every night of her life.

     I began to sob, too.  Had I made a huge mistake?  Should I have just stayed in the situation I was in?  How could I possibly justify the hurt this little girl was feeling?  I had prayed my heart out before I left my husband.  I had asked for guidance and I thought for sure I had done everything I could to make our marriage work and that I was doing the right thing.  My mom came in to check on me and she said, "Oh, baby, what's wrong?"  What a sight we must have been.  ALL of us crying.  She told me I was going to have to let them know when I needed help.  That was not easy for me, though, with all my pride.

     One of the hardest things I ever did, regarding overcoming my pride, was dedicating my son when he was 2 weeks old.  Our church had a ceremony to dedicate all the babies that have been born in that year.  They held it 2 weeks after Bubba was born and I felt led to stand up and dedicate him.  It was not easy, though.  Because, there, in front of the entire congregation, I stood by myself.  I stood there among couples, lovingly holding their child together.  This was a large church and not that many people knew my story.  To many people I was just some young girl, who got pregnant out of wedlock.  And, I had been that girl!  But, I didn't want anyone to know.  However, I stood there, fighting the tears that were welling behind my eyes, stinging and blurring my vision.  I held that beautiful gift from God in my arms and I dedicated him back to God.  I promised to raise him in a Christian home and I knew that God would reward me for my obedience.

     And, besides, that... I had NEVER been alone.  At that moment, Jesus stood with me in front of that church.  I'm willing to bet that his only issue with pride was that he was proud of his child at that very moment.  He had been there all along.  He had been there even when I ran from him.  He had been there when I cried myself to sleep.  He promised to never leave me or forsake me, and he had not.  I had just chosen not to acknowledge him.  I decided that had not worked out well for me, though, and the changes began.  But, not without hardships along the way...

(To be Cont)