It was Halloween 1992, and I was eight months pregnant. In fact, my figure rather resembled the pumpkin on our porch.
“Turn on the outside light,” I called to my husband Jeff, “and I’ll get the treat sacks.”
As I walked into the kitchen, a sharp pain shot through my belly. I grabbed the kitchen counter and breathed through the contraction. A few minutes later, I had another small contraction.
I continued handing out treat bags, making comments on all of the kids’ cute costumes, but the contractions also continued. And, they were becoming more intense.
“Jeff!” I groaned. “I think we’d better head to the hospital.”
“But it’s too early.”
“I don’t think she knows that,” I urged.
Like any expectant mother, I had been reading all of the baby books, learning what physical aspect of my baby was developing during each week of my pregnancy.
So, I knew if I had the baby that night–four weeks early–her lungs might not be fully developed. I was scared, and yet, I wanted to have my baby girl.
By the time I was in a hospital gown, I was excited about the prospects of meeting my daughter. My parents, Jeff’s parents, the extended family and my best friend had all gathered in the waiting room.
Jeff will have to finish the nursery this weekend, I thought. And Mom will have to buy some preemie outfits. I can’t wait to . . .
“Michelle,” the doctor said, interrupting my thoughts. “We want to keep this baby inside of you as long as possible so I am going to give you some medication to try and stop your contractions. I need you to lay on your side and try to relax.”
“Stop my contractions, why?” I whined. “I thought I was going to have this baby tonight. Please, Doc, can’t I have her tonight?”
“Not if I can help it,” he said, patting me on the head. “We want what’s best for the baby, right?”
Over the next two hours, all of my contractions stopped. With baby intact, I waddled out of the hospital, and we headed home. I was put on strict bed rest and given medication to keep my contractions from coming.
With every passing day, I lay on the couch and envisioned what my daughter would look like, how she would smell, what cute baby sounds she would make, how I would dress her in frilly, pink outfits.
I thought about her constantly–except for the moments I thought about mint chocolate chip ice cream.
I wanted to have her so badly.
Finally, the day came when I was taken off of bed rest and the labor-stopping medication. I was 38 weeks pregnant and out of the danger zone. I just knew that by nightfall I’d be in hard labor.
That night, the clock ticked more loudly than ever before. Hour after hour. Sitcom after sitcom. M&M after M&M. No contractions. No baby.
Day after day, friends called: “Any contractions?” “Have you tried running up and down the stairs?” “You might try taking some castor oil. I hear that starts contractions.”
Days turned into weeks. I was eight days overdue. I hadn’t seen my feet in months. My stretch marks had stretch marks. I had run up and down the stairs so many times that my calf muscles were bulging like every other part of my body. I was a mess–physically and emotionally.
It was decided. They would induce labor. Hallelujah!
At 4:38 p.m. on Dec. 3, Abby Leigh Adams entered the world weighing 7 lbs. 5 oz. It had been a difficult pregnancy but an easy birth. From her little pointy head to her long monkey toes, she was perfectly formed.
“You were definitely worth the wait,” I whispered to Abby as I kissed her head for the very first time.
I’ve often reflected on that waiting period–from Halloween to Dec. 3. It was one of the most difficult times in my life. Yes, the bed rest was uncomfortable and the contractions were irritating, but those things weren’t the cause of my pain.
I was simply disappointed because I hadn’t gotten my way and given birth on Halloween. Was that immature? You betcha. But, at the time, I didn’t think so. I just wanted to have my baby.
Isn’t that how we act with God sometimes? He puts a dream within our hearts, we lay hold of that dream, and then we try to give birth to it before its appointed time.
We don’t consider all of the factors; we just want to birth that dream and get on with it. And, just like I ran up and down the stairs trying to activate my labor, we do silly things to speed up the dream-birthing process.
But, you know what? Just like Abby might have encountered some health challenges if I’d had her too early, our dreams can suffer if we try to give birth to them before their time.
So, wait on God and His timing. Then, when it’s time to birth the dream He has put inside of you, you’ll be able to embrace it and say, “You’ve definitely been worth the wait.”
Pray this with me:
Father, I ask that You help me to be patient as I wait for Your perfect timing. I thank You for putting dreams in my heart and mind, and I believe that You will cause them to come forth at the appointed time. In the precious Name of Your Son, Jesus, Amen.
P.S. Happy birthday, Abby Leigh. I love you very much, and you were definitely worth the wait.
