Carried for God...born for heaven

The text I’d been expecting, finally came.

"We had a sweet baby girl around 8 o’clock, Annie...”

I clenched my jaw, my eyes blurred. A girl…a sweet baby girl.  

We’d been waiting, wondering, praying.

The ultrasounds—and there were many—couldn’t reveal whether the baby was a boy or a girl. But it really didn’t matter.

Annie. I’ve heard the name means, grace; from the Biblical Hebrew, Hannah, meaning, gracious or favored.

How fitting.

In all my life, in all the births, with all my kids and grandkids and relatives and friends…I’ve never witnessed anything so filled with grace, with peace, as this one.

I wiped my eyes.

“Momma is fine, just recovering from surgery”

I let out the breath, I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“We spent our time with her, holding her…”

I smiled.

My eyes sprung a leak as I pictured the little family taking turns holding Annie. Mom and dad and big brother, Beau, who’s almost two. Each pouring a life time full of love, into that moment.

Dad trying to squeeze, into this precious moment, all his dreams of teaching her to walk, swim, ride a bike, fish…and say no, to boys.

Mom spilling a life time of love down both cheeks, off quivering lips and kisses.

Big brother whispering, “I love you sis.”

The words from months ago, echoed. I closed my eyes and shook my head, but the haunting memory wouldn’t go.

“Ultra sound wouldn’t show gender, due to enlarged kidneys…

no lung development

Every specialist

No chance of survival

No options

Two possible outcomes…

still born,

or, deliver baby and have whatever precious time God allows.”

How’d they do it? How’d they go through with it? How did they hold it together?

Twice a month doctor’s visits at $400 each.

The good news they hoped for, prayed for, was only met with nothing new. All bad news.

Sure, Clint may have fallen a little behind at work, sometimes he forgot to do the simplest of things. But, never once did he make an excuse, never was he irritable or rude. Somehow, through it all, he remained, professional, courteous and kind. If you didn’t know better, it seemed he was at peace; as if, all was well.

Somehow, they managed to keep doing life, even though, instead of painting the nursery and putting together a crib, they were calling a funeral home and picking a casket.

I felt guilty thinking—most folks wouldn’t have done it. They’d have ended it, at the first bad report.

But not the parents of Annie; the mommy and daddy of grace.

 The phone rang. It was Ruth. I could tell by the sound of her voice, she knew.

“So, you’ve heard?”

“Yeah…I’ve been bawling like a baby.”

We talked about how doctors should’ve been able to do something…how God could’ve.

Finally, I asked, “How’d they do it?”

“I don’t know. It’s like, she carried the baby…just for God.”

I stared out the window and whispered. “The baby, Annie, born for heaven.”

I hung up the phone. Cleared my throat, wiped my eyes, blew my nose. Then, read the rest of the text.

“…around 9:30 she went to heaven. We had a very peaceful morning.”

We had a very peaceful morning?

I’ve heard baby deliveries described as long, loud, exhausting, joyful, painful, tearful…but never peaceful.

How could they say, peaceful? Especially, since she, since Annie…

Annie…

grace….

God’s amazing grace….

That’s how.

I typed a reply:

“Thanks for letting me know, my friend.

There’s no denying The Prince of Peace and His great love are near, when you can go through something like this, and still say, ‘We had a very peaceful morning.’

You and your precious family are so, very, loved. Your sweet Annie will only know the most wonderful of love and joy and peace. She’ll never know sorrow or pain and she will be so happy to meet you some sweet day not so far away.”

I asked if there was anything we could do, if there was anything they needed.

He said, “No, we already have so much. You’ve already given us the power of prayer. That to us is overwhelming.”

I was overwhelmed, at his response and thought of the overwhelming peace that must’ve saturated the soul of Horatio Spafford as he drifted over the spot where his four daughters were drowned at sea, and he penned:

“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul.”

I’m convinced, that same peace that enveloped Mr. Spafford, filled a hospital room in Florida, where my friend Clint and his precious wife Bristen and their little mister Beau, said hello, and, see you later, as they watched, their beautiful little Annie, go Home.

PS:
I'm all at once, smiling and crying, as I write this:

God's specialty of bringing life from death is crystal clear in the wonderful life of Annie.

When seeking permission to share Annie's story I was told that she has already donated two life giving valves from her precious heart, to a patient in need.