The ding from my phone forced my eyes to open. The incoming message announced that my job assignment that morning had been cancelled. Good, I mumbled as I turned on the bed, ready to pull the covers back over my head and drift off for as long as I could get away with.
For weeks, I had been battling feelings of
sadness and utter lethargy. A recent visit to my country of origin had reopened
the deep wound left by my mom’s passing the year before. Even though the loss
of the assignment meant a loss in income, I’d welcomed the chance to stay in bed
to try to avoid the pain.
But then I remembered the other message,
the one I’d received the day before, and I groaned. It was an invitation to all
church members to gather this morning to pray for our senior pastor’s premature
baby. Little Adrianna had been born almost 3 months early, and – at 1.5 lbs. –
the doctors were amazed she hadn’t been lost right after birth. She needed all
the prayer she could get so I couldn’t justify the overwhelming temptation to stay
home instead.
I rolled out of bed, got ready and drove to
church feeling as if a heavy, dark cloud hovered around my head. I didn’t think
I’d be able to offer much during the prayer meeting but knew I had to show up –
at least. I had lost a baby myself and couldn’t’ fathom seeing my pastor and
his wife go throw the same agony I had experienced all those years ago.
The meeting had already started when I walked
into the church building. I was glad I didn’t have to greet anyone and field
their caring how-do-you-dos. Looking at the beloved faces of fellow church
members and hearing their earnest prayers for our pastor’s child did little to dissipate
the darkness that hung all around me and the burning ache in my chest. Unable
to match their passionate pleas, I sat down and silently agreed with them. That
was all I could give.
People began to read portions of Scripture
aloud and to sing song of praise to a God of miracles and compassion. My plan
going in had been to stay only for a short while, so I could go back home and to
my bed as soon as possible. But as I began to join in prayer and song, time and
the all-consuming grief that had tormented me for weeks began to fade away, being
replaced by a heartfelt need to intercede for that precious baby’s life and
wellbeing.
Next thing I knew, the meeting was over. Two
and a half hours had passed since I had stepped into the building. I couldn’t
believe it! But the greatest surprise was realizing that the pain in my heart
and the heaviness I’d carried were gone and that a deep sense of peace and comfort
had taken their place.
I had attended the meeting intending to pray
for a miracle in my pastor’s baby and I was given one in return. It
reminded of the verse in Acts 20:35, where the Apostle Paul quotes the Lord
Jesus saying that it is more blessed to give than to receive. How true
those words had proven to be in my case.
A month after her birth, Baby Adrianna is making strides in her growth and recovery. Our church family rejoices, knowing our prayers for her are being answered. To me, the miracle of life emerging before our very eyes is significantly special. It reminds me of the power and goodness of God to those who are willing to give of themselves, however little, to see a positive change in people’s lives, unaware that theirs will be changed in the process as well.
Like mine had been on that blessed morning.
