My firstborn child turned 20 this week, and I’m no longer the mother of “three amazing teenagers,” as my brother-in-law noted. I need to update my bio!
The story of Nate is an interesting one.
Hubby and I tried for years to get pregnant and were beginning to think that it wouldn’t be a possibility for us. Just a few months into our marriage, before we were eager to start a family, hubby had had a vivid dream and in it my name was not Nancy. It was Hannah. He was so disturbed by the dream that he confided it in our pastor. Later, we realized that the dream was God’s foretelling of our story. The Old Testament Hannah was the prophet Samuel’s mother, who had urgently desired a child from the Lord.
Five years later, we moved to Jackson, Mississippi, and that same pastor from Austin had become president of Jackson College of Ministries the previous year. His new home was undergoing heavy and very slow renovation, so we offered him and his wife and daughter a place with us in our new home, which we had purchased because it had a split floor plan; we had an inkling that they might need a place to stay for a while. They stayed with us for a few months.
No one but my friend Anne knew that hubby and I were struggling with infertility. It was a depressing time, but we hid our sorrow as best we could and changed the subject whenever it came up. One day following a little prayer meeting at a dear friend’s house, the pastor’s wife took me by the hand and prophesied to me. She was clearly overwhelmed and confessed that she’d been praying that God would use her in the gift of prophecy. She said that He had told her that I would have a baby “about the time of life.” She puzzled over the phrasing but reassured me that those were the words He wanted her to say. I praised God, called my friend Anne, whose voice cracked when she said, “I’m glad you have hope, Nancy,” and carried on with life.
Months went by, the pastor and his family moved into their new home, and I made my annual appointment with a new OB/GYN. The appointment lasted a long time while I related my medical history. The doctor came up with a plan for fertility treatments and then said, “Our policy is to do a pregnancy test before we start any fertility treatments.” I shrugged and agreed to go pee in a cup to be in compliance with the policy. After waiting about 10 minutes with a herd of other women in a lab waiting room, I heard a nurse exclaim, “Well, this one is a definite yes!” I scanned the crowd to see who was jumping up to claim it, and my gaze connected with the nurse holding the little slip of paper aloft. She was staring at me and smiling.
I was shocked, to say the least! I had done so many pregnancy tests through the years that I was sure I’d never see a positive one. I took the strip and went straight to the VA hospital where hubby was currently serving for his residency. He was surprised to see me, of course, but knew almost immediately why I was there. When we counted back the months since the prayer meeting and the prophesy, it had been right at nine months, or “about the time of life.”
A few days passed, and I started bleeding. I had yet to tell my family, but my desire to keep my baby led me to ask them to pray. That Sunday in Houston, Texas, my parents joyfully told their pastor the good news that I was expecting. They didn’t tell him my concerns. He congratulated them heartily and then walked away. Suddenly, he turned back around and said, “I had a dream last night. I thought it was for me (he has daughters near my age), but I know now that it was for you.”
He said, “I was walking through a field in Mississippi (his home state), and I heard a baby crying, ‘Papa!’ I looked around and saw a baby wrapped in a blue blanket. I picked it up and held it. It weighed about 7 pounds.”
When my parents told me the story, I knew that I had heard from God. From that point on, I would ask questions of my doctor like, “Do you think I’ll need a C-section for a seven-pound baby?”
He would shake his head and say, “You don’t know that it’s going to be a seven-pound baby!” I would reply, “Yes, it will be. My pastor in Houston said so.”
When the appointment came to see the gender of the baby, the doctor asked, “Aren’t you so excited to find out?” I replied, “Not really. I already know it’s a boy.” He again shook his head and rolled his eyes, murmuring, “You have a 50/50 chance.”
When I gave birth to a baby boy and the nurse announced he weighed 7 pounds 2 ounces, I said, “So the pastor was right.” My doctor looked up with startled eyes from the far end of me where he was working to clean me up and said, “Where did you say you went to church?”
I am so blessed to have been raised in an environment where God can do the impossible, and I’m surrounded by people who choose to walk by faith! I hope that you will seek the same thing for your life today!
And a handsome promise to boot!!