She held the pregnancy strip, tears clouding her vision. With a deep sigh, she walked morosely to the sitting room. She was pregnant, again. This was the fourth time. The last three had all ended in miscarriages.
It had taken so much strength to get through the last one. Someone had advised her to go for family planning and rest from the whole ordeal. The day she planned to go, her husband had driven her there, but before they got out of the car, he held her hands.
“I understand the effects these miscarriages have had on your health, and I wanted us to do this,” he said softly, “but I feel a restraint, a strong one. I feel God would not want us to do this.”
She looked at him as though he had called her by a stranger’s name. With a pained laugh, she asked, “God or you?” The tone of her voice implied that he didn’t care about her health.
She saw the hurt look in his eyes before he replied gently, “God, Diane. God.”
She had walked out of the car that day feeling defeated. And that was the end of that decision.
Now, here she was, pregnant again, with another episode of heartbreak in sight.
Her husband returned from work later that evening and found her sitting on the chair, looking drained and pale. He moved closer, sat beside her, held her hands, and asked what was wrong.
“Nothing,” she replied quietly.
He tried to make her talk, but she said nothing more. She didn’t bother to tell him about the pregnancy. What was the point? she thought bitterly. God had abandoned her, and she didn’t want to raise his hopes high again.
The fact that he still spoke so animatedly about the names they would give their children made her wonder. She had lost her faith in ever having a child, but she didn’t want to take that hope from him. He had been loving through all her pain, patient through her breakdowns, he deserved at least that much.
Two months passed, and she still hadn’t told her husband anything, waiting silently for another tragedy.
Then, one Monday after church, as they were about to leave the compound, a little girl ran up to her. The child tapped her arm gently, smiled shyly, and stretched out a crocheted doll.
“I made this for your baby,” the girl said softly. “She would like it.”
Diane froze, her hands trembling as tears filled her eyes. The child kept holding out the doll, her gaze lowered in shyness. Her husband quickly reached out, took the doll, and thanked the little girl. Then he placed a gentle hand on Diane’s shoulder and guided her to the car.
As soon as they got inside, Diane broke down completely, her body shaking with sobs.
“I’m sorry,” she kept muttering, gripping her husband’s hands tightly.
“For what?” he asked softly.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered through tears.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re what?”
“I’m more than two months gone,” she said, her voice breaking.
His face fell, hurt and confusion flashing across his features. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was… waiting for the norm to happen,” she said bitterly.
“Norm?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she choked out. “For another miscarriage. I didn’t want to raise your hopes again.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes softening. “But we could have trusted God again.”
“Again?” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the strength or the faith anymore.” Her voice broke as sobs racked her body.
He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled—a gentle, dashing smile that confused her.
“God gave us the first gift for our baby through that child,” he said, holding up the doll. “Let’s start with this. That girl must have worked hard to make it, and our baby girl will surely receive it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe.”
For the first time in months, Diane smiled a small, trembling smile. She wanted to believe him. She hoped he was right.
It wasn’t easy, but with her husband by her side, one prayer at a time, one Bible verse at a time, she began to believe again.
Months later, she walked quietly to her baby’s cot, tears glistening in her eyes. There she was, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Her miracle. Her testimony.
Through the difficulties, the tears, the moments of doubt and deep sadness, God had come through. He had turned her mourning into joy.
She lifted her eyes heavenward and whispered, “Thank You, Lord.”
#fiction
Dear believer,
In this new month, despite what might have happened in the past, can you please believe again? Can you pick up the pieces of your shattered hopes and hand them to God to rebuild?
He still works miracles. He still turns pain into purpose.
Believe again, because God has not forgotten you.
Happy New Month! Happy November!!
It had taken so much strength to get through the last one. Someone had advised her to go for family planning and rest from the whole ordeal. The day she planned to go, her husband had driven her there, but before they got out of the car, he held her hands.
“I understand the effects these miscarriages have had on your health, and I wanted us to do this,” he said softly, “but I feel a restraint, a strong one. I feel God would not want us to do this.”
She looked at him as though he had called her by a stranger’s name. With a pained laugh, she asked, “God or you?” The tone of her voice implied that he didn’t care about her health.
She saw the hurt look in his eyes before he replied gently, “God, Diane. God.”
She had walked out of the car that day feeling defeated. And that was the end of that decision.
Now, here she was, pregnant again, with another episode of heartbreak in sight.
Her husband returned from work later that evening and found her sitting on the chair, looking drained and pale. He moved closer, sat beside her, held her hands, and asked what was wrong.
“Nothing,” she replied quietly.
He tried to make her talk, but she said nothing more. She didn’t bother to tell him about the pregnancy. What was the point? she thought bitterly. God had abandoned her, and she didn’t want to raise his hopes high again.
The fact that he still spoke so animatedly about the names they would give their children made her wonder. She had lost her faith in ever having a child, but she didn’t want to take that hope from him. He had been loving through all her pain, patient through her breakdowns, he deserved at least that much.
Two months passed, and she still hadn’t told her husband anything, waiting silently for another tragedy.
Then, one Monday after church, as they were about to leave the compound, a little girl ran up to her. The child tapped her arm gently, smiled shyly, and stretched out a crocheted doll.
“I made this for your baby,” the girl said softly. “She would like it.”
Diane froze, her hands trembling as tears filled her eyes. The child kept holding out the doll, her gaze lowered in shyness. Her husband quickly reached out, took the doll, and thanked the little girl. Then he placed a gentle hand on Diane’s shoulder and guided her to the car.
As soon as they got inside, Diane broke down completely, her body shaking with sobs.
“I’m sorry,” she kept muttering, gripping her husband’s hands tightly.
“For what?” he asked softly.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered through tears.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re what?”
“I’m more than two months gone,” she said, her voice breaking.
His face fell, hurt and confusion flashing across his features. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was… waiting for the norm to happen,” she said bitterly.
“Norm?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she choked out. “For another miscarriage. I didn’t want to raise your hopes again.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes softening. “But we could have trusted God again.”
“Again?” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the strength or the faith anymore.” Her voice broke as sobs racked her body.
He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled—a gentle, dashing smile that confused her.
“God gave us the first gift for our baby through that child,” he said, holding up the doll. “Let’s start with this. That girl must have worked hard to make it, and our baby girl will surely receive it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe.”
For the first time in months, Diane smiled a small, trembling smile. She wanted to believe him. She hoped he was right.
It wasn’t easy, but with her husband by her side, one prayer at a time, one Bible verse at a time, she began to believe again.
Months later, she walked quietly to her baby’s cot, tears glistening in her eyes. There she was, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Her miracle. Her testimony.
Through the difficulties, the tears, the moments of doubt and deep sadness, God had come through. He had turned her mourning into joy.
She lifted her eyes heavenward and whispered, “Thank You, Lord.”
#fiction
Dear believer,
In this new month, despite what might have happened in the past, can you please believe again? Can you pick up the pieces of your shattered hopes and hand them to God to rebuild?
He still works miracles. He still turns pain into purpose.
Believe again, because God has not forgotten you.
Happy New Month! Happy November!!