Grace Anna Sings E-Book

Angela Ray Rodgers

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 327

Beschreibung

Grace Anna: A Heart Song that Inspires the World Often in life we feel beat down. Life has lost its joy and we want to give up. Then there is a light—a light from someone unexpected. A story so inspiring, we begin to wake up and dream again. Before the birth Grace Anna, Angela experienced heartbreaking loss that left her seeking God's guidance and healing to make it through each day. After Grace Anna's birth, Angela went from being a science teacher to an advocate for her daughter. The Rodgers have gone through incredible highs and heartbreaking lows. But through it all, God has been their refuge and has blessed them with amazing, joyful lives. Grace Anna will inspire you to: - Be the best you can be no matter your circumstances. - Make the choice to live, not just exist. - Be bold, be brave, and step out courageously. - Seek joy where there appears to be only darkness. - Experience simple, pure hope in a world that seems overwhelming. Grace Anna's inspirational journey has touched millions across the world and is proof that life is what you make it. Open your heart to God's love and be uplifted through the courage, strength, and resilience of one of God's tiniest warriors.

Leseprobe

Grace Anna, you, my little angel, are truly a gift from God. You have touched my heart and soul with your angelic voice of love and patriotism. I am a better man for having met you and, of course, for listening to your rendition of our national anthem. Semper fidelis!

—COL. ERNEST E. GARCIA, USMC, Ret., former Special Assistant to President Ronald Reagan

Grace Anna truly exemplifies God’s grace. Her life, being, and heart-warming smile empowers us all to be beautiful, grateful, and humble in every way.

—KYRA PHILLIPS, CNN Correspondent

God has inspired me through Grace Anna’s determination and strength to be what He made her to be. Her beautiful testimony and, most importantly, family made my heart smile. My love, heart, and soul are forever changed because of her silliness, gregarious laughs, and love for music. God bless Grace Anna and her family from the heavens. Grace Anna Sings restored me and reminded me of God’s unfailing love for all of His children.

—LAUREN P. O’REILLY, The O’Reilly Foundation and O’Reilly Auto Parts

Grace Anna is the true definition of joy and strength. She always has a smile on her face no matter what battles she has had to face. She is a hero in my book.

—DIYRAL BRIGGS, Super Bowl XLV Champion

Grace Anna Sings reminds all of us that a lot of love can flow through a little heart. Grace Anna might be little, but she has a big heart and lives life in a big way! She reminds all of us that God really does put big hearts in small people and does big things in small ways. When Grace Anna sings, hearts open and heaven cheers.

—JON WEECE, Pastor, Southland Christian Church and Author

BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC

Racine, Wisconsin, USA

BroadStreetPublishing.com

GRACE ANNA SINGS

Copyright © 2017 Angela Rodgers

ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-5570-3 (softcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-5571-0 (e-book)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Stock or custom editions of BroadStreet Publishing titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, ministry, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email [email protected].

Cover photograph taken by Alex Mitro Photography (Campbellsville, KY) and used by permission. Photograph of Grace Anna with her parents and the one of Angela Rodgers on the “About the Author” page were taken by Alexa Ingram Loy Photography (Russell Springs, KY).

Cover design by Chris Garborg at garborgdesign.com

Typesetting by Katherine Lloyd at theDESKonline.com

Printed in the United States of America

17 18 19 20 21 5 4 3 2 1

I dedicate this book to my gentle giant,

my precious peanut, and my steady rock—

the three of you are my home.

To the advocates for people with intellectual and/or developmental disabilities who strive to give them the best life possible, you are not alone—we are in this together. To the self-advocates who face challenges most people cannot fathom, who live daily overcoming the odds—you are warriors.

CONTENTS

Foreword by Melissa D. Jarboe

Our Miracle

1 From Despair to Joy

2 Not Your Usual Gal

3 Tough Choices

4 First Flight

5 All I Can Do Is Sing

6 A Tiny Warrior

7 Hearing Is Believing

8 Busy as a Bee

9 Daddy’s Girl

10 Oh, Say Can You See

11 Small-Town Hero to Internet Sensation

12 Her Big Debut

13 The Kindness of Strangers

14 Where There Is Good, There Is Bad

15 Growing Pains

16 Navigating the Open Sea

17 Brother and Sister

18 Love Heals Old Wounds

19 Advocate in Action

20 A Time to Mourn

21 The Best-Laid Plans

22 It’s the Small Things

Hope for the Road

About the Author

FOREWORD

In 2011 my husband, US Army Staff Sergeant Jamie Jarboe, was shot by a sniper on his third deployment in Afghanistan. The bullet severed his spinal cord and left him instantly paralyzed from the chest down. Months after his injury, it became my personal mission to learn everything I could to provide the quality of care my husband deserved. Unfortunately, the level of care I was able to provide wasn’t enough to save his life, and he took his last breath on March 21, 2012.

Little did I know how everything I had learned would serve a greater purpose. I carried on his dying wish to help his fellow service members by caring for others with paralysis or medical conditions. I remember driving to a rural part of Kentucky to meet with Grace Anna, her mother Angela, her father Jeff, and her brother Isaiah right before Thanksgiving. As a parent, the challenges are definitely familiar to me, yet the adversity of Grace Anna’s condition and the determination of her family was inspirational.

Grace Anna Sings comes as a compelling story of devotion in a vitally important time. Perhaps never before has the foundation of the family’s faith been more important to the future of America.

With each passing birthday Grace Anna celebrates, I feel blessed to have been graced by their presence and know they will forever be a part of my family.

Melissa D. Jarboe

Founder, Military Veteran Project

OUR MIRACLE

Due to mistakes I made as a young woman, I spent a big chunk of my life questioning my path. I was still holding on to guilt for sins already forgiven, but I wouldn’t accept God’s mercy. After a failed marriage, I had given up on love and having other children. My son, Isaiah, had not.

When I met Jeff, the life I created for Isaiah and myself changed. It started out full of joy and promise; I allowed someone to love me, and I let down my guard to trust again. After three heartbreaking miscarriages, our world changed. My once-solid marriage came under tremendous strain as we tried to grieve the losses.

Then God’s grace appeared.

Isaiah had been praying for a sibling since he was very young, hoping to have someone in his family beside his parents. His pure-hearted request would shortly be granted, healing hurt both Jeff and I were feeling.

Although doctors held no hope our sweet baby would make it to term, I relied upon God to carry her home to us. What I never expected was how His gift to our family would not only change our lives, but the lives of millions of people around the world.

Grace Anna came into this world, perplexing everyone even before she was born. Doctors had no idea how to explain what they saw as she grew in my tummy. They doubted she would ever take her first breath, but God had bigger plans.

Once she arrived, fighting for every breath she took, she continued to stump doctors and specialists alike. She would spend her future days doing the same, showing others miraculous things come in unexpected vessels sometimes.

We couldn’t have known it at the time, but through her resilient spirit and sweet songs, this unique child would eventually change the way the world looks at those who don’t fit the “normal” mold. The world would soon find out it could learn valuable lessons through a girl who defied the odds.

Our family would grow stronger, and the compassion from people around the globe would give us hope for what the world can become. Even when faced with daggers of cruel insults and attacks, love would win.

Grace Anna’s talent and unbreakable happiness give hope to others where they cannot find it in today’s sometimes cruel world. Her physical limitations do not stop her from experiencing life and being a light for the world.

As Grace Anna says, “It’ll be okay, Momma.”

Grace Anna’s story has been narrowly defined by what is seen through television, the Internet, and radio, but it is only part of her story. The entire story is much more profound than just her talented singing and infectious personality.

Her story was destined to be told in its entirety. A light that shines as bright as hers cannot be hidden; it was meant for the entire world to see and witness. Her story could be the light that makes a difference for someone needing a touch of hope.

Meet our miracle, our Grace Anna, and hear her spirit sing.

1

FROM DESPAIR TO JOY

The first time I met Jeff, it was like something out of a movie: sparks flew and music filled the air. I was playing volleyball at a friend’s house when he pulled up in a sharp black Chevy truck with Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” blaring from the radio. Something about him caught me completely off guard. I looked at him and then turned to my cousin. “I’m going to marry that man,” I said. Of course, she laughed at me and told me I was a complete idiot. But I didn’t care. I knew he was my man.

Funny thing was, I had basically sworn off men completely, having recently been through a devastating divorce. Being young and delusional, Freddie and I jumped into marriage with both feet. Unfortunately, even though I adored him, neither of us knew the first thing about marriage. And while we certainly shared times of laughter and delight, especially after our son, Isaiah, was born, a lot of tremendously dark days also plagued us. And even though I was committed to stay, Freddie wanted out.

When Freddie left, it crushed me, and I vowed that I would never again set myself up for that kind of hurt. But all that changed when I saw Jeff pull up in his truck that day. I can’t explain it except to say that he felt like home.

Within six months, we started dating and the journey wasn’t always easy. It was a learning process for both of us, mixed with flashes of pure joy. Jeff had never been around children much, and his initial interactions with Isaiah were quite awkward. Over time, however, he and Isaiah found things to do together, like playing ball and hunting. I knew there were moments when we both wanted to walk away, but something always pulled us back together—a feeling that life would not be the same if we were not together. Looking back now, I can’t help but think God already knew Grace was on her way, and we both needed her in our lives for very distinct reasons.

Jeff and I were married on April 4, 2008, in a small celebration for family and friends. I had always hoped to have more children, but I knew going into the marriage that Jeff did not. He felt we were too old to add to our family at this stage in life. While I didn’t necessarily agree, I respected his position. So you can imagine what a shock it was when, within two months of being married, Jeff asked, “When are we having a baby?”

I was dumbfounded. Was he serious? For years he had been totally against having children, but now all the sudden he wanted a baby? I was thirty-five-years old, and Isaiah was almost a teenager. Not to mention, my body wasn’t what it used to be! But as I thought about it, I realized that as an only child and only grandchild on both sides of his family, Jeff would love for a child to carry on the family name and add to his very small family circle.

After weeks of prayer, I told Jeff I was ready to try to have a baby. I didn’t know the journey to having a baby would be an uphill struggle.

I first became pregnant in July of 2008, and everything seemed perfect. We heard the heartbeat and even had an opportunity to see an early ultrasound. I had a few complications with bleeding but nothing that seemed serious or concerning.

When I went in for my routine three-month checkup, however, the doctor had trouble finding the heartbeat. As he moved the fetal Doppler around my abdomen, no sound emitted from it, and I knew something wasn’t right. A few moments later, the nurses brought in the ultrasound machine.

As he probed my body, the doctor quietly asked, “Are you by yourself today?”

I immediately wept uncontrollably. “No, my dad is with me.”

The doctor and the nurse left the room to find my dad while I got up, dressed, and sat in the stiff chair in the cold, clinical room. It was as if the air had completely disappeared from the room. I couldn’t breathe, and I felt as if my lungs could not expand to fill with oxygen.

My dad entered the room, looking puzzled. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Dad. The doctor will be back in a minute.”

When Doctor Voss opened the door, I could tell the news wasn’t good. He told us my unborn baby had died earlier in the week, and my fluid was slowly leaking from my body. I needed to have a D&C or try to lose the baby on my own. I believe in miracles, so at that moment I could not allow them to surgically remove my child from my body.

Dad took me into his arms as I sobbed profusely. I truly believe he felt as much sorrow at that moment as I did. We sat frozen in time, waiting for something to cue us to get up and go home. I tried to hold onto hope and not give in to the loss, but deep in my heart I knew my child was already home with Jesus.

I told the doctor that if I hadn’t miscarried over the weekend, I would come back on Monday. If tests still showed the baby was deceased, I would get the D&C. It was Labor Day weekend, so I went home, propped my feet up, and waited.

The usual cookouts and family get-togethers didn’t happen that year.

I didn’t miscarry on my own, so the following week I was admitted to the hospital. My sweet child was taken from my body and discarded. If I had known what they do with miscarried babies, I would have requested to take his or her remains home with me for a proper burial. Amid the grief, I didn’t think about what happened after they left with my baby.

The doctor called me a few weeks later and explained that a chromosomal mutation caused the miscarriage. Evidently there was nothing we could have done to prevent it from happening. He suggested we wait at least three months to allow my body to heal, and then we could try again.

As Isaiah wept in my lap, I questioned why this was happening. I trusted that God was in control, but I was not happy with His plan at the moment. I had tried to live my life as close to Him as I could, following His Word in every area. Why would He allow this to happen to me? I had no idea God was building strength in me that would help me nurture an amazing little soul one day.

Jeff was as heartbroken as I was. He tried to be strong for me and was positive we could try again. He never let on that he struggled to accept the reality that he would never hold our baby. He believed he had to make sure Isaiah and I were okay first. This willingness to care for us was one of the reasons I fell so in love with him, but at this juncture, I also knew he needed to grieve with us. I was afraid if he didn’t acknowledge how much he was hurting, the pain would consume him.

He never did acknowledge his pain.

Months passed, and we were eager to try again. It didn’t take long, and we were pregnant again. We shared the news at Thanksgiving, and our families were ecstatic, especially Isaiah. He had been so wounded after the first miscarriage, the news eased his little soul. In addition, Jeff’s dad’s health was declining, and we prayed he would get to meet this baby.

We were relieved at our first appointment to hear that the heartbeat was strong and nothing was amiss. On Christmas Eve, we celebrated the season, and our joy at my aunt Inga’s with karaoke, of course. After my rendition of “Jolene” by Dolly Parton, I made a trip to the restroom and there it was.

Blood.

I wasn’t hurting, so I told myself it was just early spotting. I tried not to allow the last miscarriage to send me into a spiral of panic. But even so, I wanted to be safe, so Jeff and I headed to the emergency room. They drew my blood. The emergency room doctor couldn’t find the heartbeat, but he assured us that often this early in a pregnancy, it isn’t always possible to hear it. We had to wait for the lab results to know for sure what was happening.

Then I saw my cousin Sarah rounding the corner. Sarah was a lab technician at the hospital and has always had the sweetest spirit. She made eye contact with me and I knew. She was trying not to show her emotions, but as she hugged me, the tears started to flow. My HCG level was not high enough at this point in my pregnancy to indicate a viable pregnancy.

Of all the mornings to find out we had lost another baby, Christmas would now bring an unwelcome memory for the rest of our lives. I got dressed, and we started home. I cried most of the way home. Jeff never said a word, but as we eased into the driveway at 4:00 a.m., he began to wail. I had never heard such sorrow. It was a deep, mournful cry as he gasped for breath between sobs. We sat in the truck for what seemed an eternity before finally moving to the house where we went straight to bed.

I dreaded telling Isaiah, especially on Christmas, so we waited until he returned from his visit with his dad the next day. I wished I had never told him I was pregnant. His big heart had experienced more than enough hurt for an eleven-year-old, and as I explained what had happened, gigantic tears streamed down his innocent, sweet face. I held him in my arms as his body shook in disbelief. I felt as if my insides were on fire. The anger building up made me want to scream, but I knew I couldn’t do that to him. He couldn’t take any more pain.

Two days later, I miscarried the baby at home, and this time the grief was almost more than I could bear. I was short with people, started having panic attacks, and became very depressed. There were no support groups in our area for people who experience miscarriages, and most people didn’t even bring it up. They almost acted like it was a bad word. Our family was grieving tremendously—grieving over the fact we would never hold our child or see her sweet face—and no one would acknowledge it. It was as if I had lost a tooth, not a baby.

Jeff and I were never quitters, so in spite of the pain we still experienced, it came as no surprise to our families when we were yet again pregnant in March of 2009. This pregnancy didn’t even make it to eight weeks. By the time I miscarried, I was numb. I tried to focus my energies on being a top-notch teacher and a great mom to Isaiah. But none of my efforts could fill the emptiness that crept in. For some reason, I found myself angry at Jeff. My grief and ever-changing hormones made it hard to think rationally. I was finished trying to get pregnant, but he wasn’t. I also worried I was being punished for mistakes I had made during my youth. I should have known better than that. God doesn’t work that way.

For some reason, the shower has always been a place where I feel the freest to pray and reach out to God. As the water washes away the dirt and grime of the day, I find that it also washes away some of the pain inside. After months of these nightly shower sessions, I started to feel a little more like myself, and I realized Jeff was suffering as much as I was.

He never voiced how much pain he was in, but his sleepwalking had reached an all-time high. I often caught him walking around the room, searching under the bed, or pulling the covers off, thinking something was in the bed. He barely slept. What made things even worse was that his dad’s health was declining very quickly. I knew he feared his dad would never hold a grandchild.

As the months went by, Jeff stopped talking about getting pregnant. Every once in a while, he would ask if I was ready, but I replied with an adamant no. Part of me felt selfish, but another part felt I had earned the right to say no. I had miscarried three babies in less than a year. I deserved a break.

You know that old saying about the best-laid plans? Well, my plan was not to get pregnant again. No matter what. But God, of course, had other ideas.

I stared at the pregnancy test as if it was an alien. How could this be?

We had tried to prevent this from happening. I was not prepared to lose another baby. My spirit could not handle one more miscarriage. As I continued to stare at the pink lines, I found myself becoming very angry with Jeff. I needed someone to blame, and since he was the only other person involved, he became my target.

I left the test on the counter and let him find it on his own when he came home from work. When he did, he was beyond happy—ready to celebrate. I was not. How could he think everything would be okay? Did he not know what the past year had been like? Had he forgotten the nights in the hospital—the anguish we lived through? I wished I could be happy with him, but the only thing I felt was fear.

We decided not to tell Isaiah until the second trimester this time. I couldn’t live with myself if he had to endure this all over again. He had hoped for a sibling his entire life and had been let down three times already. I wasn’t going to rob him of his hope.

The first two months went by without any issues. The heartbeat was strong and everything went well except for the horrible nausea and vomiting. I hadn’t been sick with any of my previous pregnancies, except Isaiah’s. I started to gain faith that maybe this baby would make it. I continued my daily shower prayer sessions, and as we selectively shared the news, people throughout our community and church prayed for this pregnancy. Every day, I received messages and phone calls from friends claiming that this child would make it in Jesus’ name. A firestorm of optimism covered us.

While my pregnancy advanced, Jeff’s dad’s health worsened. He was placed in hospice, and we knew that even if our child made it, he would probably never meet her. He fought with everything he had to hold onto life until the baby arrived, but only time would tell if his body could hold out that long.

Due to my age and my history of miscarriages, my doctor sent me to see a specialist. On February 23, 2010, they ran blood work and performed a high-resolution ultrasound, and as the doctor began clicking images, I noticed he kept going back to the baby’s right leg and arm. He wasn’t saying much, but was taking many, many images. He excused himself from the room and returned with a nurse. I began to cry.

Jeff looked at me, “What is the matter?”

“There is something wrong with the baby,” I told him. “He keeps reassessing the same thing over and over. I just know it.”

Jeff was in complete denial. He tried to calm my nerves, but I knew better. I had been here before. Something wasn’t right. Moments later the doctor returned and explained to us that the baby’s arms and legs were not measuring what they should be for this stage of the pregnancy. He also noticed some abnormalities with the shape of the spine, feet, and head. It was all a very clinical account of what the ultrasound showed. He could tell us the baby was a girl, which made me cry even more. A sweet girl—my sweet girl resting in my belly—needed a touch from God.

The doctor went on to talk about our options, including abortion. We both firmly said no. It didn’t matter what the ultrasound showed; that was our baby girl. We would pray and believe God would bring her through this. We lost three of our dear babies. This was a new chance. We would not throw our girl to the side, just because she didn’t fit a doctor’s idea of “normal.”

Later that night, we told Isaiah the entire story. We wanted him to be prepared and understand that if I carried her full term, she may be different than what people expected, but that wouldn’t change the fact that she was his sister. The joy that beamed from his soul lit up the room.

“Mom, this baby is going to make it. I know it,” he said. He always had the most amazing faith for a young child.

We phoned our friends and family who had been praying, and they agreed to continue to pray for God’s touch on the baby. For the first time since Jeff and I were married, I felt an amazing sense of peace and calm envelop us. I looked at my husband, and I saw a hero, a man who stood by my side through it all—the good and the bad. I realized that for far too long, my grief had clouded my view of just how wonderful he was.

Finally, we drove over to see Jeff’s parents, Wyatt and Norma Jean. Wyatt was in a hospital bed in the living room, hanging on to life. We told him he was going to have a granddaughter, and his beautiful face broke out into the biggest smile you can imagine.

Five days later, Wyatt Rodgers took his last breath and went to be with Jesus. I like to think that as his spirit left his body, he got a glimpse of our precious baby girl somehow. I knew more than anyone that life was given and life was taken away, but sometimes it felt so unfair.

We had been through two very long years of marriage full of sorrow and despair, but little did we know that very soon, all that heartache would be healed. God was leading us to a special child who would not only change our lives but the lives of millions of people around the world.

2

NOT YOUR USUAL GAL

After the heartbreaking loss of Jeff’s dad, our family was not yet finished with difficult times or tough decisions. I spent many days listening to the hopelessness most of our doctors seemed to focus on. Few gave us any glimmer of optimism that our unborn child would make it into this world, much less take a breath after she was born.

Besides my OB-GYN, I saw specialists to help with the delivery. One doctor reminded us every visit that we had options. We continually told the doctor we were not interested in abortion, but he still would not let it go. After one late-afternoon visit, I had heard enough. I marched to the front desk and told them, “Find me another doctor.”

From then on, a new specialist handled my pregnancy. I made it clear to him during the first visit that I did not want to hear about abortion, amniocentesis, or anything else that wasn’t about helping us have a safe delivery. He was more than gracious. I found myself looking forward to our conversations when we went for visits. He was very informative and supportive throughout the remainder of the pregnancy.

My body was not quite as cooperative as my new specialist. I spent every day sick from the time my feet hit the floor in the morning until I closed my eyes at night. My OB-GYN even prescribed medicine to help me keep food down. It did not help. The headaches were excruciating. My heart raced, and most days the rate was at 130 to 160 bpm. Some days I honestly did not know if my body could take much more.

At six months, following my second hospital stay to get fluids and treat my racing heart, my OB-GYN took me off work and put me on complete bed rest. I don’t think people truly understood how difficult those days were for me. I had always prided myself on being a strong, independent woman. Many assumed I was fine. I wasn’t. I missed teaching and interacting with people. I missed going to church, gardening, and doing as I pleased. As I lay there alone, I became fearful of what the future would hold for my child and our family. Doubts flooded my mind.

What if I can’t take care of a baby with health problems? I’m not equipped for that.

What if I should leave my job, and we lose our home?

Isaiah needs me. I’m missing all his baseball games and school events. What kind of mother does that?

I found myself spending more time worrying than focusing on taking care of my health. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure I would never make it to see our sweet girl’s face. My emotions were getting the best of me, and somehow, I had forgotten all about prayer.

The longer I lay there, the tougher it seemed to find peace or joy and easier to dive into self-pity.

God, where are you? Why is this happening to me? Haven’t I been a good servant?

I was on the edge of spiraling down into depression. I recognized the signs and knew I had to do something to stop the pattern of my thoughts and behaviors.

I began to pray more and speak positively. When an upsetting thought crossed my mind, I refused to give into it. I would call friends or family members and ask about their day. I tried to focus on others instead of only me. Plenty of other people facing very tough struggles could use a friendly voice and welcoming ear.

I noticed a change in my attitude and how I felt. My family noticed it too. I was laughing again, smiling again, eating better, and sleeping. Life was not as horrible as my racing mind had convinced me. I started to believe everything would be okay.

We were coming upon our last scheduled ultrasound before the baby’s due date. This was the ultrasound that the doctor felt would be the final indicator of whether our child could survive outside my womb. They would be looking for her lung-to-heart ratio. The previous night I stood in my shower, crying out to God to touch my unborn baby—to help her lungs and heart be the right size to make it in this world. As the hot water cleansed my body, it also seemed it washed away any doubt that tomorrow would bring good news.

God, please, I won’t complain. I’ll be the best mom I can possibly be. Give me a chance to be a mom again, one more time. I sobbed.

The next day we arrived at the doctor’s office, and the doctor began the ultrasound. As he clicked through different images of her, he seemed very positive. Sure enough, our little fighter had a ratio that he felt would sustain life once she was born, but he was very adamant about having a C-section. Her vertebrae could be damaged with a regular birth and cause her neck to break.

“Of course, I’ll have a C-section. Whatever it takes. I’m just so glad for this news.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew I would see my sweet daughter. It didn’t matter to me how she got there. I was overjoyed that she soon would be here. Jeff was visibly shaken. He’s not one to shed many tears, but that day they were flowing. We finally were going to have a baby.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah!” I cried as I shook my hands into the air. Joy overcame my body. My enthusiasm overflowed, and the poor doctor was caught in my hugging frenzy.

The celebration lasted a few moments, then we had to plan. It relieved me some to hear I would have a C-section. I had one when Isaiah was born, so I knew what to expect.

We also had to get our home baby-ready. We immediately filled it with every newborn item we could find. My sister, Bobbie, hosted a shower for us. We were all prepared for the arrival of our sweet girl. Now it was a waiting game until the first week of August. I was due to deliver August 7.

I had to be careful of how much excitement I allowed myself to experience due to still being on bed rest. Every now and then I would sneak a trip to her new room and just marvel at how Jeff and Isaiah had pulled the room together for our sweet girl while I was keeping myself and our baby safe.

The night of July 18, 2010, a strong storm blew through and caused quite a bit of damage—enough that it knocked out our electricity. I spent the night on our couch with all the windows open and my leg hanging out one of them. The air and rain from the outside would blow in at times, relieving me from the heat and humidity. Jeff was at the end of our couch, sitting up watching over me. It was a comical sight to see.

The electricity finally came on around 4:00 a.m. I stayed on the couch as Jeff closed the windows and went back to our bed. I awoke to Isaiah rubbing my forehead around 10:00 a.m. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Yes,” I told him, “I just feel a little ragged. Why do you ask?”

“You look really tired, Mom, and it’s after ten o’clock. You are usually awake by seven.”

I needed to get up to go to the restroom and when I did, it happened. My water broke. Just one problem. No car. My car was in the shop being fixed, Jeff was at work, and my mother-in-law, Norma Jean, was nowhere to be found. I called Jeff frantically, “Honey, come home now! She’s on her way!”

“Are you sure?”

“My water broke, and I’m having pretty severe labor pains.”

I don’t remember him saying anything else. I heard a dial tone. Within ten minutes Jeff was at the house, and we were on our way to the local hospital. We feared if we tried to make it to our scheduled hospital in Lexington, she would be born on the way. The possibility of a natural child birth was not ideal, so we thought we should go to a local hospital to be on the safe side.

“What if she’s already on her way? I must have a C-section. She can’t survive a regular birth,” I sobbed to Jeff.

Jeff tried his best to calm me down. “She’s going to be all right. Hang in there.”

I didn’t know anything else to do except pray and get my family and friends to do the same.

Once we arrived at Somerset, the doctors felt we could make it to Lexington. Part of me was terrified to get back on the road and attempt to make it to Lexington in time for her to be delivered. Jeff wasn’t that worried. He stopped by a McDonald’s on the way to get a Big Mac, which irritated me to no end.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Well, if this baby comes out of me before we get to Lexington, it’s not going to be pretty for you.”

He was as cool as a cucumber, and I was frantic. The labor pains were getting closer and more painful, and my husband was absolutely getting on my last nerve.

My regular OB-GYN was on vacation in Colorado, so we had to see a doctor I had never met before. He immediately sent me to the hospital to be checked in.

There must have been a full moon that day, because the nurses informed us they were absolutely bursting at the seams with babies being born. We checked in to a holding room where doctors and nurses monitored the baby and me.

My dad and his wife, my sister, my niece, my nephew, Isaiah, Jeff, and me packed the room. Oh, it was loud. The tougher the labor pains got, the louder my family seemed to get. Jeff would rub my back, but somehow it made it worse. I was trying to be nice, but I wanted to scream. Everybody was happy and laughing, having a good time, and I felt as if a knife were being stabbed in my lower back. Not to mention, I was concerned that something would go amiss.

All I wanted to do was hold my precious baby and kiss her sweet face. God had blessed me with the opportunity to be a mom again, and I could not wait to see the beautiful soul He had planned for me to nurture. This little girl would be an answered prayer not just for me but for our entire family. The amount of healing her life would provide was heavy on my heart. Losing four babies had left a hole in my heart that this little girl would most definitely fill.

I noticed the baby’s heart rate was getting high and that the nurses were coming in more frequently. My heart rate also started to skyrocket. The last time a nurse came in, she seemed concerned. “We’re going to get you in a room right now. You can’t wait any longer.”

I was wheeled into an operating room and given something to relax me, which did not seem to do its job. I felt no different than before they gave it to me. After three attempts, the anesthesiologist finally got my saddle block in and the caesarean section began.

The doctor moved quickly to pull our daughter from my body. I found it odd they never showed me her face. I knew with our medical history she would go straight to the NICU, but I figured they would at least show me her face first.

“Mrs. Rodgers, the other doctors took your daughter to be examined in another room. We will go ahead with the tubal ligation. Are you feeling okay?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, I’m okay. When can I see my daughter?”

“When we get you through this and back in a room, we will see about getting your daughter to you.”