One hundred nine days…
About two years ago, I was asked to speak for a child development class at a local college. It was a favor for a friend taking the class. She asked me if I could speak about my pregnancies. (By the way, I’ve had eight.) Just days before I received this invitation to speak I felt there was going to be a change for me where ministry was concerned, but I had no idea what it would be. I was very reluctant to speak, partly out of nervousness, but mostly out of the fear I would fall apart emotionally in front of the class and professor. However, I prayed about it and believed I should accept. I had a 50-minute timeslot. That may seem like a lifetime to anyone the least bit nervous about public speaking, but with my atrocious obstetrical history I had enough material to stand up there all day.
The morning of the class I was terribly nervous, yet I felt an urging in my spirit things would be okay. When I arrived, I took my seat and waited anxiously for my introduction from the professor. When my name was finally called, I remember trembling. As I took my place behind the podium and looked to the faces in the classroom, peace settled inside of me. I spoke for the entire class period, and did not have an emotional breakdown. The words flowed. Within a week of the class, God put on my heart to write a book about my 15 years of pain and loss. I’ve heard it said before that we need to allow our test to become our testimony. It’s true; what is broken can absolutely become beautiful.
My largest fear concerning this new ministry was no one would ever want to read my book, let alone this blog, but God squelched my pride, dried the tears of my own sorrow, and began softening my heart through a welling up of new tears for a whole group of women who are also enduring what seems unendurable. Pain from miscarriage, stillbirth, and infertility does not have to be the identical tie binding us together. Grief of any sort will connect us.
I felt it important today to share how “A Girl on the Doorstep” was created. We spend our whole lives waiting on different doorsteps. We walk through different seasons. New doors open; old ones close. Even though I stand on the doorstep of this new ministry with a hint of trepidation, I’m excited. Healing has come.
I hope this post is an encouragement to those who have been reading every day. To those of you who have sent me messages sharing your own hearts, I thank you. Tragedy may have brought us here, but triumph awaits!