The other day I was visiting with a close friend about the twin's. By the end of our conversation, I caught myself in tears. Two whole years and the emotions still evade. My tears were brought to surface when our conversation led to the moment in the hospital. The moment where I asked God to take the battle out of my hands.
Even putting it into words now, I still feel guilty for asking God to take it all away.
In the hospital, I fought everyday for a miracle to happen. And, it wasn't only my call for help, everyone else was sending up prayers too. Reality was on my clock, while I endured minimal success in a declining pregnancy. I couldn't do it much longer. I couldn't come to terms that the hardest two weeks of my life had gone by with only negative changes. Nothing was working. So, why couldn't I get on my feet? Why couldn't I stand to take a shower? Why couldn't I just go back to a normal pregnancy?
I was growing tired of coloring to exhaust my energy. The countless hours of watching movies wasn't passing the time anymore. The tangling tubes were a common thief of my sleep. Frustrated with the same bad news after every test, I was at the point of giving up.
So much so, that the nurse had to remind me that I could be someone else's hope. My case could be used to show other patients that certain restrictions make two more weeks of pregnancy possible... because I did it. Yet, even after those words, selfishly, I didn't want to be someone else's hope. I didn't even possess hope myself. How was I going to give it to someone else?
After she left, I was still stuck. When my mom saw me crying later that day, or night, (I never truly knew the times), she cried with me. She revealed a prayer to me, saying, "It's okay to pray this pain away. It's okay to give it all back to God. Bitsy, it's okay to ask Him to hold your babies, if it is His will." She, as a mother also, knew I was tired. She knew I was left hopeless, and yet somehow was expected to be someone's hope. And, she reminded me that God knew I was tired too.
That night, I looked at the cross in the silence of those four walls and told God that I no longer wanted control over my battle. This fight was for my God to carry me through, whichever way that may be. And, God met me where I was at. That night, blood revealed the signal of an upcoming delivery.
He left the 99.
"What is your opinion? If a man has a hundred sheep and one of those goes astray, will he not leave the ninety-nine in the hills and go in search of the stray? And, if he finds it, amen, I say to you, he rejoices more over it than over the ninety- nine that did not stray." Matthew 18:12-13
This post was hard for me to write about because it's hard to admit when you "lose control." Yet, I shared it anyway in hopes that it reminds you, He will always meet you where you are at.
God understands when you've grown tired of the fight. He sees when you've run out of will power. And, more than anything, He knows you are equipped to handle the path you are on.
My silence spoke loudest in those four walls. I didn't want to talk to doctors, nurses, friends, and even family. But, mainly, I didn't want to talk to God. I wanted him to do the talking. At that point in the hospital, my mind had strayed so far away from hope in His plan, because the twin's health kept declining. What hope was left for me?
In Matthew 18:12-13, it is written that "he rejoices more over it (the stray) than over the ninety-nine that did not stray." Our God wants us to call out His name. He wants to take the cross off our shoulders. He has already found you. So when you cry out his name, you have found him. He will always leave the 99 to meet you, for He is The Good Shepherd.
I took this verse, and my experience with The Good Shepherd, to create "The 99 Sweatshirt." If you sit long enough to count the sheep, you will notice there are only 99 total on the shirt. Because, you are the one. If you decide to purchase the sweatshirt, wear it and share that inspiration with the person behind you.
The 99 Sweatshirt
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