beauty from ashes

I’m not entirely sure where this story begins. 
It could have its origins this Christmas, or 12 years ago….or 2 years ago in Tennessee.
My guess is, this story began long before I was ever aware. 
I simply became aware of the unfolding story on December 21, 2020 - days before a long and weary year would come to an end, the day the Bethlehem Star appeared in the sky, and moments before the world began to celebrate the arrival of a Savior and King. 

The morning of December 21st, as our son lay asleep in our bed, I would see a sign I never thought I’d see again….the double lines of a positive pregnancy test. In disbelief, and with a bit of distrust, I told Gabe to go look at what I saw. It was as clear as day. We were pregnant.  As we rushed Hudson off to school, we began to process what seemed impossible, and I called the doctor who had seen us through so much loss, anxious to be seen. 

The administrator who answered the phone heard my request to be seen by the Doctor, and all the medical history that made this seem impossible. In 30 seconds I relived our 8 years of struggle through infertility, the loss of three precious pregnancies, the unresolved issues in my immune system, our move to adoption - and the 10 years that had passed since with the unknowing receptionist. 12 years since our last positive pregnancy test. 12 years since our last loss. 12 years since we closed the door on having biological children. And 12 years since we stepped through the door of adoption to heal so much hurt. 

And God did just that.
I experienced my first miracle, and healing, in the gift of our son through adoption. 
I have no doubt that God worked together the fragile pieces of our hurting hearts with the fear and uncertainty of others, to place the perfect child in our arms, and to answer my prayer for joy again. Our son has given us joy unimaginable, blessing upon blessing. As our son generously loved us he healed my heart from any previous pain. So much so, that we never questioned our place as a family of three. Over my years of infertility and loss, I simply asked God for one child. One was all I needed. And God gave us the most wonderful answer to that prayer in the most unexpected way, in the miracle of adoption. 

My issues of infertility and loss were never resolved. 
As I grappled with issues of healing and unanswered prayer, it became clear to me that God had done the healing work in my life that he promises, not in a physical way, but maybe in a more important one. He had healed my heart and soul. Eventually, the loss of our babies didn’t sting so badly as I embraced the promise of a coming reunion. I desired nothing more than what I already had. And I could joyfully share my struggle with others to help them find hope and healing themselves. 
My body was broken, but I was whole. 

God continued to unfold healing in my life as I discovered and pursued the Holy Spirit in new ways. In the fall of 2017, I attended the New Room Conference in Franklin, Tennessee. With the gentle guidance of Bishop Sandy Millar, I began to see the Holy Spirit with new eyes. I opened my eyes to see the Holy Spirit work around me with a fresh perspective, and began to actively participate in his desire to work in my life in everyday circumstances. I surrendered to the Holy Spirit in ways I had held tightly before. I experienced the indwelling of the Holy Spirit with new, tangible experiences. And I participated in vulnerable, trusting prayer that stretched me to see God differently. 

One evening at the conference, Bishop Millar invited people to pray for healing. In one specific call, he asked for people to come forward who were experiencing infertility or struggling to have a family. Gabe and I happily stayed in our seats, long past the pain of infertility, until Sandy asked for those who had found healing through adoption to join him too. In an act of trust, and with a good dose of indifference, we approached the altar for prayer. In the most calm and straightforward manner, Sandy and his wife prayed for the healing of my womb. We returned to our seats thankful for the experience, but fairly certain our course was set as a family of three. 

God wasn’t done stretching my experience with the Holy Spirit, learning to lean in, trust, ask, and imagine God’s desire to do more in me than I could anticipate. At the same conference, one year later, I continued to press into the work of the Holy Spirit, test it, and aim to listen more than I had before. As the conference explored healing again, we were encouraged to ask for things we had never asked for before. As an act of trust and surrender, we were invited to believe that God deeply cared about our desire and our willingness to ask. 

I had never asked for healing before, because healing feels complicated, not just for me, but for the many people I know and love who haven’t experienced the physical healing they’ve prayed for. I’ve asked for healing for others that still succumbed to their disease. I know the pain of people I love begging for healing still living with their pain. So asking - asking doesn’t mean getting. If I don’t ask, I don’t have to be disappointed, or wonder why God chose not to answer my prayer when he answers the prayer of others. I began to recognize at that New Room Conference that I had been afraid to ask for healing all those years ago. I asked for God’s presence. I asked for joy. I asked for a child. But I never asked for my body to be healed. That felt like too much. But I had a new longing to obey the work of the Holy Spirit and respond where he was moving. As I listened to the Spirit in me, I felt called to ask in spite of my jaded uncertainty.  Gabe and I approached an old friend and mentor, Dr. Steve Seamands for prayer. And I asked for my physical healing without expectation. 

It was so very vulnerable. It felt like so much - asking for something that seemed impossible, and that I had closed my heart to as a possibility years before. But in trust I asked, they prayed, and I cried as I leaned into God’s loving care. They prayed calmly yet intentionally for the healing of my womb. As they finished their prayers, I remember leaning into Dr. Seamands to ask…. "If God were to choose to give me life, what do I do about the many complex medical issues that contributed to my losses. Do I resume treatments and medicines if I became pregnant to try to prevent miscarriage? Or do I pretend I didn’t have any issues?” He calmly paused, thought for a moment, and responded by saying, “If God can do the bigger thing of making and giving you life - he can do the smaller thing of making your body work to sustain that life. I believe you can trust Him with that.” 

I returned to my seat as worship swirled around me. I was emotional, not from the prayer, but from the vulnerability of asking God for something knowing I may not receive it. The act of vulnerability and trust with my places of unbelief was overwhelming. I stood at my seat, trying to compose myself as I fell into worship when suddenly, and clearly, I saw Jesus. He wasn’t clear and vivid like a projection or picture. He was transparent, hazy even, but I was clearly aware of who it was - that Jesus was standing right in front of me. As he stood there, calmly and sweetly, I saw that he was holding a baby in his arms. I felt kind of lost in his gaze….at peace and aware of the strangeness of the moment when he looked down at the baby he was holding and said, “She’s beautiful. She looks just like you.” And I wept. 

I kept this strange and precious thing to myself for a moment, like Mary “quietly pondered these things in her heart.” (Luke 2:19), trying to absorb them and take them in. Eventually that night, I would tell Gabe what I saw, and he joyfully embraced the wonder with me, even as I told myself that maybe it didn’t mean what I thought it meant. After so much trauma and loss, you learn to protect yourself, protect your heart, from the pain of disappointment. I began to tell myself that maybe Jesus didn’t mean there was a new baby. Maybe he was holding one of our babies waiting for us in heaven. Maybe he was telling me that he saw all we endured and wanted to give us hope that he would heal and redeem all things. 

As our days of worship and retreat came to a close, we began the transition home, processing with those who came with us what we had seen and experienced. We shared what we thought God had been saying to us, where he was pushing us, and places he was working in us. I hesitated to share my experience at first. It seemed too big….too strange….maybe it would make them question my sanity or capacity for ministry. But I kept feeling a push - as if sharing what I experienced of the Holy Spirit was for me, not them. In verbalizing what I had experienced, I was expressing trust and belief in the God who loved me. Keeping it to myself felt like shame. So I told them. The prayer, the vision, the baby, all of it. With support and care, we chalked it up as an awesome experience, wondering what God would do. 

In the two years since that moment, the memory of what God had done sort of drifted into the background - not forgotten, just put away. I began to tell myself that I must have misunderstood God. The prayer and pressing in to ask God for healing was still an incredible exercise in trust, but my healing must have come differently. I wasn’t angry with God or even disappointed. I just sort of recognized that God knows something I don’t - and my attempts to understand him will always be shrouded by my lack of understanding. But the work of transformation, of pressing into the Holy Spirit, participating in what he was doing in and around me….that was worth every vulnerability, and only added to my wholeness. 

And now, two years later, I stand in awe that God was indeed unfolding something that I couldn’t see, and certainly wouldn’t expect in this sudden pregnancy and healing of my body.
I wish I could say why God chose this healing for now - why this was the time for physical healing. Or why he chose this physical healing for me when so many others are still hurting - and I didn’t need the healing. I can’t pretend to know the heart and mind of God. But I do know that this gift was only possible because of the gracious choice of a loving God…..who simply wanted to delight in giving his daughter a good gift. 

Admittedly, I’m not free from the worry that past trauma brings. 
On my way back to our first ultrasound, when the tech said “Let’s go see that baby.” I swiftly said, “We’ll see.” I can’t say that I’m confident that this gift will come to fullness in the life of a child, the scars of my miscarriages still haunt me from time to time. What I can say is this, that the moments of surprise and delight in seeing a beautiful heartbeat on a screen, and watching this baby grow between appointments, has been a miracle in and of itself - reminding me that God is still capable of accomplishing whatever he wants. Each day of this pregnancy is an act of trust and hope that we’re watching beauty rise from the ashes of places closed off to possibility for far too long. For the Lord to look in on my life, the places of pain, the work of healing, the desire to know him more, and then - to want to give something beyond my expectations simply as a gift of love; it just makes him so much sweeter to me. 

For his goodness, and desire to bless me, for the revelation of his power, and the reminder that he is still working and more than capable - I am in awe.