It wasn’t my miracle, but it was my miracle to witness.
We were strangers, but because we have a few things in common, someone thought we should meet. We sat across from each other at a local coffee cafe awkwardly striving to make a heart connection. Honestly, the more we talked, the less likely it seemed that we would ever spend time with each other. We were both African-American, women, educators, who shared a distant relative. Beyond that, we were living very different seasons of our lives, and outside of the intentional rendezvous, we might never cross paths naturally.
We put in the prescribed time for an initial meet-up that’s considered polite. We put in the effort to spark an acquaintanceship. And we said all the words that expressed our good intentions to gather our families together in the near future. But to be honest, I didn’t think we felt an authentic connection to each other. The lack of spark didn’t bother me. We both seemed content to know that the other existed and that someone thought enough of us to bring us together.
We said our goodbyes and made well-intended promises to keep in touch. As we walked in opposite directions to our cars, something out of my ordinary happened. I felt an overwhelming sense to talk with her about her having a baby. Immediately, I pushed back, “Absolutely not! I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me. She will think I am one of those parking lot prophets. I will lose what little credibility I have with her. I have a doctorate — this is illogical. And prophecy 101 says never to prophecy about having babies!”
Months passed, and I could not quiet the voice encouraging me to talk with her. I could not escape the gentle push to contact her. I even tried to bargain and compromise. I told God, “When I see her again, I will talk with her.” But our life seasons did not afford our paths to cross. Over time, the gentle nudge grew into a pushy shove. So finally, I risked looking like a complete idiot, pushed my pride out of the way, and sent her an email. I simply told her the truth — that since the day we met, I was overwhelmed with a sense to talk with her about her having a baby. I told her that I had no idea why. And in the case that my email caused her discomfort, pain, or confusion, I concluded it with a pre-apology.
She replied immediately: What’s your address? My husband and I will be right over. It had taken half a year for me to reach out to her but only ten minutes for her to get to my house. When they arrived, I was extremely nervous. I still had no idea what I was going to say. Her husband’s protective stance was obvious and intimidating. They’d been exhausted by baby desires, wishes, prayers, and promises, but with no baby to hold.
We prayed together. In that moment, I had a vision of her full-term pregnancy, and I sensed I was simply to be their cheerleader until their baby arrived. I shared my intentions to cheer them to the finish line, and they went on their way. In the years — yes, years — that passed, she shared with me one negative infertility report after the other. At times, I was frustrated with God. Why did you nudge me into such a difficult position? Why did you put me in proximity to their pain? I was deeply perplexed. I had to wrestle with my own doubts and insecurities so I could do the one thing I knew I was do to: cheer!
Ultimately, the obstetrician gave the most daunting prognosis: “It would take a miracle for you to conceive!” When I heard the news, I was oddly overcome with joy. It felt as if God’s language was spoken — miracle!
“Okay, then, a miracle it is!” The words leaped from my mouth with assurance. The prognosis was simply the established beginning of a miracle in the making. The doctor’s words aligned with God’s intention and sealed the deal.
As a monument of faith, I set aside our cherished basket bassinet, the one our babies had slept in nestled next to my bedside. I knew I would one day gift it to the new mom. As a cheerleader, I needed to hold space for the victory. So when the time came to give away all our past-the-baby-stage stuff, we kept the bassinet to hold space for the miracle. When we moved to another city, the bassinet moved with us, still holding space for the miracle.
And when the couple conceived, the doctors were astonished. My pregnant friend told me, “Doctors can’t write ‘miracle’ on the chart, so they recorded the miracle as a ‘spontaneous conception’!”
I have no idea why I was given the privilege of witnessing their miracle, but I am forever grateful for this divine disruption. I learned so much about how love can show up:
- Desperation can be the seed for a miracle.
- To serve you, God’s love will disrupt and inconvenience the lives of other people.
- So that you can courageously move by faith, God will recruit cheerleaders to encourage you, pray for you, and hold space for your victory.
- You are not alone in whatever situation you’re in.
What do you have the privilege of cheering for today?
How have you been encouraged by encouraging someone else?
So that you can courageously move by faith, God will recruit cheerleaders to encourage you, pray for you, and hold space for your victory. -Lucretia Berry (@brownicity): Click To Tweet