I didn't ride it out. I argued with God all week. "You asked me to trust You, and now this is happening." That Sunday, our pastor showed us pictures of the time when he was living in Jerusalem. I probably was the only one crying at the showing. To see where Jesus actually walked, knowing that He left His former glory to walk amongst us in the dust and filth and our sin, it all hit me afresh. I was completely humbled. I prayed right then and there, "Lord, you bought me for a price payed with Your own precious blood. Do with me as You will."
The next day, which was Christmas Eve, I got a call from my doctor. He told me that he thought things were going to be alright. My hormone levels were going up as they should and that I should come into the office in a couple of weeks for an ultrasound. I told him that he had made our Christmas. My first thought after I hung up the phone was, "How great are the mercies of the Lord, they are new every morning." I was ashamed of the cantankerous attitude that I'd had all week and repented of it right then and there.
Here is a picture of that baby boy, named Jude because Jude means "praise." His middle name (also his Daddy's middle name) is Christopher, which means Christ-bearer. Jude is thriving. He smiles and coos and is tipping the scales at sixteen pounds. That's right, he's not yet four months old and he's wearing 6-9 mos. clothes (the cute little outfit he's wearing in the picture was given to him by our dear friend Eleanor).
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