Whew! Life has been so busy of late. I finally got over my cold and finished my days at a local elementary school as visiting author. I hope to share a little about this later when I have time to catch up. This week I'm in Atlanta for vendor events in Fulton County Schools.
In the meantime, a friend I was very close to during the season of my journey with Allison recently sent me her thoughts. I appreciate her willingness to be my guest blogger for the day and get me started back on the track to blogging again! Helen's piece in this story illustrate just how much our stories are not all our own.
While we were living in Columbus, Georgia in the 1980s, we were in a close knit church of about 150 who loved to share life together, serving each other in love. Cliff was the pastor and I was friends with his wife Doraine.
One day I was over at their house helping her with some housework because she was about 6 months pregnant and struggling with this pregnancy. I just wanted to lend a helping hand to lighten her workload for that day. I remember I was in the living room dusting a table when I looked across the room at her. Her tummy was round and she had that pregnant glow we both had experienced already. All of a sudden I “heard” the words “This baby will not see the light of day!” The words were so powerful, so clear, so direct yet so devastating. I didn’t know what to do with them. I rebuked the thought. I pondered them for the rest of the time I was there, but was eager to leave and process them. I hurried home and told Bill about what I’d heard and ask him what I was to do with that word. After praying, we decided that we were not being asked to do anything so we just held it and prayed for her pregnancy.
Doraine’s pregnancy progressed up until term and Bill and I were rejoicing, still confused about what I’d heard. Then one afternoon we got a call that Cliff and Doraine were on their way to the hospital to deliver their stillborn daughter. I went into our room and cried for hours, confused, sad and wondering if there was something I could have done that would have prevented this terrible loss. After a time had passed and I found the courage, I went to them and told them of the word I had received and asked them to help me understand what happened. After praying about it, they reassured me that her death had nothing to do with me. I was learning to hear God’s voice in unnerving news as well as good news.
They went on to share that they spent some time holding their little Allison after she was stillborn and felt God had spoken to them as well that He could do more through her death than her life. At first that was confusing to them, but as time passed, an impacting ministry developed for families who had lost babies like Allison and their pain and grief was slowly converted into power in others lives.
Through receiving an alarming forecast from the Holy Spirit, I came to understand that my Father needs me to trust Him in all things, whether it fits my idea of how things should be or not. He wants to share His will with me and disclose his purposes according to his plan, not mine in his way and in his timing. He wants me to develop a trust big enough that I can embrace whatever he chooses to give me a glimpse of. Father, may I hear your voice and simply respond.