In my A to Z blog challenge, I wanted to wait and blog a “Y is for Yahoo,” but thought of this Y post instead. My hope is to post a yahoo later. For now, I’m posting “Yours.” Here’s why:
Today, with anxiety and anticipation, I wait to hear if my son Jake will be drafted into the NFL. It takes me back 22 years when I was admitted in the hospital and with anxiety and anticipation, I listened to the doctor. He said, “You will most likely miscarry.”
It had been a rough morning. Crimson bed sheets. Cramps. Telltale clots. Didn’t look good four months into my pregnancy. The doctor offered zero hope.
Shortly after he left, a nurse entered the room, not checking me physically, but examining my emotional state. “Have hope,” she said, before she patted my hand and left.
Though I never saw that nurse again, her words sparked hope and ignited my first grown-up prayer. It was simple. “My baby is yours, God.”
I was young, scared, and needed someone way bigger than me to deal with something I couldn’t handle. I remember telling God that though I wanted this baby with all of my heart, whatever the outcome, I would trust Him. If the outcome was not what I wanted, I would be sad, but I would still trust that it was His will. It was a decision. A prayer.
After the prayer, a wave of peace washed over me. God gave me an immediate answer. When another nurse came into the room, I heard Jake’s heartbeat for the fist time.
A few months later, when Jake was born and I looked into his eyes for the first time, I was sure I glimpsed Heaven in those eyes. A look of wisdom of his knowledge of where he’d just been. He connected with me, peered deep into my eyes and cooed. The moment stunned me. I felt as if the coos were a thank you for the prayers I’d offered months earlier. Then, in an instant, the look in his eyes switched to that of an innocent newborn.
From that moment, I knew God had a purpose for Jake to be born. I also realized that my prayers would be an important part of his life. When he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes in his teens, and my anxiety would get the best of me, I would again tell God, “He is yours.”
Today, as we wait to see if Jake is drafted in the NFL, I remind myself to let go of my anxiety and pray the same prayer I offered twenty-two years ago, and repeated many times: “Lord, He’s yours. Whatever the outcome, he belongs to you.”