The curse had come, a pronouncement of great pain as her body labored to break open for the entrance of a new little human, the curse that extended to all of Eve’s daughters.
Another curse followed, that of painful toil in working the earth, a strain promised in the overseeing occupation of Adam and his sons.
Advent: Waiting for the arrival. Waiting for the coming.
In one week, all of my people were in advent and in labor.
They were waiting for the coming of a breakthrough.
I shouldn’t fail to mention that what actually wakes me in the night – before the restless pondering that precedes my fervent prayers, it’s a volcanic stirring in my body causing me to violently throw off the covers, flip my hair off of my neck, and hang my foot over the edge of the bed.
The curse that wasn’t pronounced after the great apple-tasting, but I’m certain was wrapped up in it, a female affliction popularly known as a hot flash.
It is oppression, people, you need to know this.
Amidst pools of sweat, my mind begins to trek.
My man, Dale is in an extremely difficult time in his job as Construction Superintendent, with the impending finish-date of the hotel, he needs supplies to arrive on time, the sub contractors to be at the job site on the right day, to fulfill their mission in a timely manner, because one cannot lay flooring if the sheetrock isn’t sanded. [And a myriad of other such scenearios] His challenges are not only below him, but above, with needing to secure final drawings from architects and decisions from the owner, the pressure is palpable and he has been putting in seven day weeks to keep things rolling. So much falls on him.
I hear of his challenges, see the weight of his work, and in the night, the trek into worry ultimately turns to prayer.
My daughter and her husband have been struggling to catch a break after a lull in employment nearly a year ago. Their rent is high and even as I have scouted out other options for them myself, I find nothing that would suit them with a lower cost. It’s been a constant fight in prayer for their provision. And I’ve been there, we’ve been there, and the pain of our own season of lack is still fresh, though it was so many years ago.
I hear her challenges, see the weight of her ache, and in the night, the trek into worry ultimately turns to prayer.
My son and his wife, after losing two babies within six months of each other last year, became pregnant again. We praised God. At around 20 weeks, she received a diagnosis of placenta previa. The doctor said she would certainly experience bleeding – which was more of a scare after having endured the loss of Theodore – and would have to schedule a c-section two weeks before the due date of November 22, unless the placenta grew away from the opening of the cervix. There was a slight chance of that, which removes the danger of hemorrhaging. We prayed fervently, and the placenta did indeed move! We praised God!
As her due date approached the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, along with their doctor, they decided to schedule an induction. I’ve heard stories of the pain of induction. I heard the stories, I envisioned the strain of the extra pain, and in the night, the trek into worry ultimately turned to prayer.
“Even the miracles of God, so sudden-seeming, have been nurtured in love through the ages to the moment of their appearing. But it may be only in the appearing that God’s careful tending of this thing is made clear to us.”
“Who knows when Zechariah and Elizabeth prayed the prayer the angel mentions? [Luke 1:13] Surely it was long ago, before they had grown old. . . . By now they had probably forgotten the prayer itself.” ~Walter Wangerin Jr.
He hears my prayers.
My husband took today off. He turned his phone off so he can be a human being instead of a human doing. If you know him, this is indeed a breakthrough of sorts.
The provision keeps coming in for our daughter and her husband, they have breakfast on the table today, and my prayers continue for them to find breathing room.
The IV was started at 2:30pm on Monday, the 21st, and baby Ona Mae was born by 9:45pm. A short seven hours and fifteen minutes.
In my mind, this was a miracle – especially after hearing so many stories.
And maybe that is precisely WHY I heard the stories. So my mind would trek to worry and turn to prayer . . . and the Lord would show Himself strong and good and faithful in the answers.
I love the Lord, for he heard my voice;
he heard my cry for mercy.
Because he turned his ear to me,
I will call on him as long as I live.
The cords of death entangled me,
the anguish of the grave came over me;
I was overcome by distress and sorrow.
Then I called on the name of the Lord:
“Lord, save me!”
The Lord is gracious and righteous;
our God is full of compassion.
The Lord protects the unwary;
when I was brought low, he saved me.
Return to your rest, my soul,
for the Lord has been good to you.
Never resent the worry, it indicates that you care. But don’t stay there.
In recognizing your powerlessness to do a single thing to turn the tide, turn your heart to fervent, faithful prayer and you will find you have all the power you need.
The fervent prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective. James 5:16