Kole's Story

Paul: On June 9, 2007, Michelle and I discovered that we were pregnant with our sixth child. Michelle's second pregnancy had caused her to be on "sit rest" for the last trimester. The third pregnancy was difficult throughout. The fourth and fifth pregnancies had ended in miscarriages. While we were excited about another life coming into our family, the difficult nine-months ahead looked somewhat bleak. We had no idea what was in store.

We waited one week to announce the pregnancy to our family and friends, finally breaking the silence on Father's Day, 2007. Only two weeks later, on a Saturday morning, Michelle began to experience spotting and cramping. Because of our previous experiences with pregnancies, we knew the signs of a miscarriage but we called the doctor anyway. She has been with us since the beginning of our family and so was well aware of Michelle's medical history. She returned our phone call that Saturday morning, and after getting the necessary information told us as kindly as possible that the signs indicated that Michelle was experiencing a "waning pregnancy." Even though we were anticipating that information, the actuality of it hit my chest like a ton of bricks.

Michelle began to cry.

Almost immediately the Holy Spirit reminded me of the famous email story in which the optimistic man is shot by robbers. He is whisked to the hospital and sees their grim faces. One of the nurses asks him if he is allergic to anything. He says yes. The entire Operating Room comes to a silent halt to wait for the details. He finally says, "I'm allergic to bullets." He explains that he wants them to operate on him as if he was going to live, and not look at him as a dead man walking.

When the Holy Spirit reminded me of that story I knew I was being invited to have a heavenly perspective and to listen to the Great Physician and not just our doctor.

I reminded Michelle of the story and then declared that we too were allergic to something. Miscarriages. That I understood that God was in control, but that the baby was still alive and that we would knock and keep on knocking on the door of heaven until something happened.

Not long after that, Michelle was talking with her mother on the phone. I could tell that the conversation was being too emotional and not hopeful enough. I asked to get on the phone and listened to my wonderful mother-in-law sympathize and support our emotions however we wanted to be supported. I reminded her of the story of the optimistic man and told her that we were allergic to miscarriages. We didn't want prayer that essentially said "well God, you're in control, you do what you want to do." We wanted prayer that was contending for the life of our child. She immediately understood and stood and contended with us during the ensuing months.

The next couple weeks were an emotional roller coaster as Michelle began to realize the limits of her activity, eventually being consigned to her bed for the majority of the pregnancy. During those first couple weeks as we were praying and contending for the new life, the Holy Spirit impressed on my mind the name of our baby. "Thunder" he whispered to me. I spent the rest of my time at RHOP that night looking up verses that had the word "thunder" in them.

The Holy Spirit guided me to Psalm 81:7 - You called in distress and I delivered you; I answered you in the secret place of thunder; I tested you at the waters of Meribah. Selah [pause, and calmly think of that]! [Num. 20:3, 13, 24.] . The verse immediately spoke to me. I began to study that verse more that evening discovering that the work "distress" is actually a feminine word that can also mean tightness. That totally spoke to me of the cramping that Michelle's womb was experiencing. The waters of Meribah is where the Israelites strived with the Lord and He provided water for them. Our fourth child, the first to end in miscarriage we had named Selah. It was as if she was in heaven, and had signed this verse specifically for us.

I firmly believe and am persuaded that without these impressions from the Holy Spirit, our family would be one person smaller.

Michelle: When Paul first told me that he was allergic to miscarriages, I was a bit skeptical. After all, hadn't we had two miscarriages in the past year? I just wasn't sure that my body would be able to carry any more pregnancies, especially considering how hard the first three had been. While I was sad to possibly lose this baby too, my faith was pretty low. I had more faith that God would be with me in the sadness, as He had before, than that He could carry this baby to term.

I was about to start a major journey of learning about faith.

At first I simply agreed with Paul to be supportive. I was touched that he cared about this baby so much. But part of me, afraid of disappointment, didn't want to hope too much. When my mother began to join him in believing for the life of our baby, I was convicted. Instead of assuming that God would just do whatever He wanted to do and that my job was simply to submit to the inevitable, I began to ask Him what His will was for this baby. Soon I too had a strong conviction that God intended for this child to live. While listening to a Rock podcast of a sermon by Pastor Steve Gregor, I became convinced that I did not need to prematurely mourn the life of a child who was alive inside me, no matter what the prognosis might appear to be. Instead, I decided to rejoice in every day of the precious life that we had been given, whether that be days, months, or years.

As a tangible way of rejoicing, I borrowed a shofar my mother had gotten from Jerusalem. Bringing it home, I blew it loud and long, declaring God's victory and thanking Him for the life of our baby. For much of the pregnancy, especially on the hardest days, this became our family tradition at bedtime. Our entire family would shout and praise the Lord, quoting Psalm 107:1, "Give thanks the the Lord for He is good; His love endures forever." The kids loved it. Even if I couldn't get out of bed to join them, I would hear Paul, Rayne, Reesa, and Cedar shouting and thanking God for baby Thunder.

I began to feel the baby move as the weeks went by, and my fear of losing him lessened. Though the pregnancy continued to be difficult almost to the end, every ultrasound showed that he was perfectly healthy. God was truly holding him safely inside my womb. While researching in Strong's Concordance for words that might work as a name for our baby, I encountered the word "kole," which is a Hebrew word translated as "thunder" and "voice." Paul and I agreed that this would be the name of our child.

A few weeks before Kole's due date, I was feeling up to attending the RHOP Encountering God Service where Diane Parnell was teaching about the Song of Solomon. As a side note to something she was saying, she mentioned that Jesus didn't medicate His pain on the cross. Instead, He fully embraced it, trusting His Father to carry Him through. I immediately felt the conviction that God was inviting me to a new level of trust in Him. The phrase that I clearly heard in my spirit was, "You can do that." Wanting to go deeper in my relationship with God, and after consulting with Paul, I accepted the invitation. I experienced great fear at first. I had been grateful for epidurals with each of my three previous births, but due to some complications, we did not have peace about my getting one this time. I had been praying about it throughout the pregnancy, hoping that God would enable me to have another epidural safely. Instead, He gave me faith to trust Him to carry the pain for me, reminding me of Isaiah 53:4, "Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows."

We asked a dear Christian friend to be our doula and shared with her our fears and hopes. I asked her how, with so little time to prepare, I could feel ready to give birth naturally. She gave me a list of scriptures to meditate on, encouraging me to add to it as the Lord drew my attention to truths I could hold on to. That list became my lifeline, and after a couple of weeks, I found that I was no longer afraid! This was a great miracle, for the fear of the pain of child birth had nearly paralyzed me for years.

The day that Kole was born was the crowning glory of the entire experience. It still makes me laugh to think of how God brought Kole like a thunderclap in the clear, blue sky. I drove myself to the hospital for a routine exam. An hour later I was told that I would not be going home, as the amniotic fluid was leaking. I was not in active labor at the time, but I began praying that God would kick-start me into labor so that I would not need to be induced. A few minutes after Paul arrived at the hospital, labor began. Half an hour later, our miracle baby was born! The on-call doctor wasn't even able to make it to the room in time, so a nurse delivered the baby.

After all that, I know more than ever that God is good and His love endures forever. I have also learned that He wants us to actively partner with Him to see His will done on the earth. Faith is not trusting that what I want will happen. It is trusting in the character and power of God, knowing that He is able to do what He has said He will do. Doctors and people are limited in power, but He is the one who does all things well! All I can do is thank Him.

Transformed by Joy

Last weekend at the RHOP Encountering God Service, Diane Parnell quoted Mike Bickle:

"Whatever we behold (by meditation unto revalation) in God's heart toward us becomes awakened in our heart back to God (transformation)."

My ears immediately perked up. What do I need most while battling depression these days (and what do I most feel that I lack)? Joy! Did I just hear a way for joy to be awakened in my heart - by meditating on the joy in God's heart toward me? That very evening I began looking up scriptures on joy, for where better to behold God's heart than through the verbal expression of His heart toward me, His Word?

This is the verse that I found this morning:

"Then Ezra told then, Go your way, eat the fat, drink the sweet drink, and send portions to him for whom nothing is prepared; for this day is holy to our Lord. And be not grieved and depressed, for the joy of the Lord is your strength and stronghold" (Nehemiah 8:10 AMP).

This is said in the context of guilt (oh, how I relate!)--the people had just read the law and realized that they had not been keeping it. They wanted to mourn. Yet at that very moment, the Lord was rejoicing over them. He desired to strengthen them by His joy. So instead of declaring a fast, He declared a feast. They feasted on the goodness of His love and mercy toward them, turning their hearts toward the One who gives good gifts, including the joy that gives the strength to obey.

Jesus does not want me to obey out of guilt or shame or even self-discipline--though, like crutches, these can help me along for a time. But when His joy has made me strong, I will cast them aside and "run the way of [His] commandments" (Psalm 119:32).

Jesus' greatest earthly act of obedience was done out of no lesser motivation than joy (Hebrews 12:2). I tend to think that joy is more of a childish motivation, and that "just because I have to" is more grown-up. But Jesus Himself, who told us to become like little children, was motivated by joy!

By joy I can run to my Papa-God, throw myself fearlessly into His arms, and receive His bear hugs and kisses. He is not frowning at me; no, He has sweet things in His pockets that He wants to lavish upon me. I can hear him saying to me, "Don't sit over there in the dark, dusty corner with your crust of bread, measuring it our carefully to make sure it will last. Lift up your eyes! Turn your face to me! Behold My joy! All around you is light and laughter and music and celebration. I am throwing this party for you! Come, join in my rejoicing. Don't be so cautious about with your feelings. Be My little girl again. Laugh and run and jump and play with Me. Let's have a tickle fight. I have so much for you. Come and get it!"

I have often heard that God does not look like Santa Claus. Doubtless that is true--He is so much more. But He is certainly not less! And right now, gazing upon His joy, He looks more like that jolly man than anything else I can picture. Rather than reducing God, it raises Santa to a place of holy significance as an image of God, the giver of all good gifts. And unlike Santa, He doesn't give them based on whether we are naughty or nice. In his joyful compassion, He simply gives out of His never-ending goodness.

I am coming, Big Papa. Hold Your arms out wide! I am hungry for Your love.