Ella

1
The Beginning of the End
It happened on Friday, February 15, 2008. I woke up at 10:00 p.m. soaking wet! I could tell that it wasn’t sweat because it wasn’t all over. It wasn’t urine, or at least I hoped it wasn’t; how embarrassing to try and explain to my husband, Calvin, that I had wet the bed! Just to make sure, I smelled it, but there was no odor. Could I have wet the bed as an adult? What other possibility was there? I was pregnant, but wasn’t due until July 17! Could my water have broken five months early? Was it possible? There was no blood. Just water. I got out of bed, grabbed my cell phone from the floor and quietly walked into the bathroom that was connected to our bedroom. After inspecting my wet clothing more closely and realizing that I was still “leaking,” I suspected that it was indeed my water that had broken. I moved farther through my bathroom and into our adjacent closet, closed the door, and began changing out of my wet night clothes.
I debated whether or not to wake up Cal, but my mind “logically” told me that there was nothing we could do if it was my water that had broken, so I let him sleep. I decided that I would wake him up if I needed to go to the doctor.
After I changed and applied a pad (because I was still leaking fluid), I called my doctor’s after-hours number just to find out if there was anything in particular I should be doing. With amniotic fluid streaming steadily out of my body, I knew that my baby would die, but I wasn’t sure what the standard procedure was in these situations. Since I was 18 weeks pregnant , farther along than when most miscarriages take place, I wasn’t sure if there was anything special that needed to be done.
I dialed the after-hours number only to get an answering service that told me to wait for the doctor to call within 20 minutes. I waited in my closet, the one place that would keep me from disturbing Cal or Ariana, my one-and-a-half-year-old daughter who was asleep in her bedroom. With my back against the inside of our closet door, I slowly lowered myself down to the floor as my mind began to race and analyze what had just happened.
About six months prior to this, I had experienced a miscarriage. One of the hardest parts about it had been going through those first several weeks of pregnancy only to end up with no baby. Morning sickness has always been very present with each of my pregnancies, so to go through eight weeks of pure exhaustion, throwing up and in a zombie-like state, only to end up with no reward and a bruised heart, had seemed like a grand waste of time. The miscarriage took its toll on me, but the emotional effects had not been unbearable because I had my sweet Ariana to love on and snuggle.
Now, as I sat on my closet floor, waiting for the call from my doctor, thoughts of my miscarriage attacked my heart like a swarm of ants on a tasty picnic. My mind automatically started blaming God. I started screaming in my head, “God, why would you let this happen again? Only this time, I’ve felt my baby move! This time, my belly is starting to show, this time we waited to tell everyone that we were pregnant until the second trimester safety zone, and now . . . now . . . I don’t know. If you don’t want me to have any more kids, why do you let me get pregnant? Should I just stop trying? I’m not one of those ladies who can emotionally or physically handle being pregnant several times and having them all result in miscarriage. I’m just not. I just can’t. What are your plans for me Lord?” Emotions of anger, bitterness, and deep unexplainable sorrow surged through my veins as I silently cried out to the Lord.
“ Have Peace.” I felt the words resound in my heart. Was it God? Was He talking to me? Suddenly my mind stilled and I listened. “Have Peace,” He said again. It was God! No, He wasn’t speaking audibly, but it was a sensation that I cannot explain. I knew that it was Him talking to me—I wasn’t sure how, but He was! It was as if His amazing love was wrapping tightly around me and assuring me that it was all going to be OK. His peace rushed in and filled my heart, leaving no corner untouched. God’s undeniable presence filled my closet and He began to work in me.
I was suddenly reminded of a time in my life, only one year prior, when I had been struggling with the idea of being a mother after Ariana was born. Before her birth, I had worked for my dad in his glass shop as a receptionist and had constantly been in contact with people. My love for the Lord had always been strong, and I considered myself more outgoing about sharing the love of Jesus with others than most young people my age; my job was my area of impact.
One summer, there was a girl who worked in the snow-cone shack on the edge of my dad’s company lot. Her name was Jessie. After talking with her almost every day, a friendship sprouted. Occasionally, I shared with her about Jesus and how much He loved her. One day, after inviting her to my youth group, she agreed to come with me. Jessie’s first visit to our youth group was a huge success and she started becoming more involved. When she had been attending church with me for a few months, we both went on the senior high winter retreat with my youth group, where Jessie accepted Christ as her personal Savior and allowed Him to change her life. It was situations and opportunities like this that gave purpose to my life, and so I thought that being a stay-at-home mom was taking away my opportunity to share Jesus Christ with others. Don’t get me wrong. I loved staying at home with my little Ariana. She was my little mini-me, we were attached all the time, but staying at home gave me a sense of frustration because I did not feel like I was ministering as I had before.
It was during that time that I frequently prayed that God would send people for me to talk with, to share His love with, and to pray with whenever I was out and about. I remembered praying that God would cause me to bump into people who needed His love, and if I wasn’t out of the house for a day or two, I’d pray that He’d send a sales person or a neighbor to my house so that I could minister even as a stay-at-home mom.
God caused me to remember this prayer and the desire of my heart to tell others about Him as I sat waiting for the phone call from my doctor. Alone within the four walls of my closet, I felt God speak to my heart again, but this time it was a question:“Jen, are you still willing to minister in any situation that comes your way?” It came abruptly. I hadn’t been ready for the question. I knew exactly what He was asking. God wanted to know if I was willing to be used in this devastating situation with the possibility of another miscarriage! The question represented a choice for me to let go of my situation and give it to God or to hold on and cling to my own devices to get me through. Letting go would free myself from self-pity and bitterness, but it also would leave me vulnerable to whatever God had for me. Had God allowed this situation to happen to answer my prayers to witness to people?
I knew my baby was going to die. That much was certain.