It is getting close to midnight and another April 15th has almost come and gone. On this day, when most people are talking about how much they had to pay on taxes or how they are going to spend their refund, I am thinking of something else. I am thinking of a morning that I checked into the maternity ward, in a little town in Texas. The doctor came in, broke my water and induced my labor. This was the third time that I had gone through these motions, only this time was different. There was no anticipation of what the sex might be or if she might have lots of hair, or if she had her daddy’s feet.
I had gone to my OB the day before with my two children, at that time five and two years old. As the nurse moved the heart monitor around on my belly for what seemed like five minutes, I knew something was desperately wrong. I would soon see a lifeless body on a sonogram screen.
I felt numb. I lay in the hospital bed as our pastor prayed for us. My mom and dad were there. Their presence was such a comfort, but I felt like they weren’t really sure what to say. They have pastored for years and dealt with countless difficult situations, I can only imagine that it would be different with your own child.
That next morning, after delivering, I was awakened by a crying infant in another room. I began to sob. I thought, “what a cruel joke to leave me here in this room in this area of this hospital!”
I left the hospital, only with a birth certificate with two tiny footprints on them. And yes, she had her daddy’s feet.
This is not an encouraging or humorous post, as I usually write.
This is my heart on this April 15th.
This is my dedication to a baby girl named Kassidy.
I trust God, though I don’t understand.
I trust God, though I would have loved watching her grow up.
I can only imagine that she sings to the angels or says silly things to make them laugh. I’ll find out one day. Yes, that will be a good day.