Fortunately, God’s power doesn’t depend on our strength of faith. He said it would be OK. And it was OK. After laying in that bed for what I’m sure my husband thought was even longer than I did, my placenta moved up. This had every sign of being a normal pregnancy. Well, as normal a pregnancy as a 38-year-old woman with a history of miscarriages could be. I was released from bed rest.
The rest of the pregnancy was blissfully uneventful. I had morning any-time-of-day sickness throughout much of the pregnancy. Cooked chicken could really set me off. It smelled so - chickeny. The sight of a 7 months pregnant woman heaving over a toilet is not a pretty thing, but it was still kind of cool. I was pregnant!
The baby kicked. The boy talked to my tummy, so his new baby would know his voice. Doctor’s appointments went well. People would stop my in the halls of church and say they loved to see me because I was a walking answer to prayer.
But I was still not convinced. I still harbored in the back of my mind that something could go wrong. People wanted to give me showers and I said, “Wait until after the baby is born.” I am ashamed now at my mistrust, my fear, my lack of faith. I felt like I was holding my breath. I couldn’t exhale until I held that baby in my arms and knew it was OK.
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