Breath on Paper small group is taking a break between semesters. We’ll be back June 12th.
The moment I held my son in my arms I knew I was holding a miracle. My miracle. Everything I’d ever wanted but never dared allow myself to dream of was cradled against my chest. I remember inhaling his scent as the tears of joy and still disbelief streamed down my face and anointed his head.
Until that moment I had come to a place of acceptance in my barrenness. I had settled for the life I had known. Even in learning to be content, I’d still settled. But in an instant, everything changed. Holding my baby, I found myself experiencing the ability to dream again. Suddenly my very bleak future was solid. I now not only had security to look forward to but more than that, I had a child to love and the incredible privilege of being a mother.
I never knew it was possible to love someone so completely that they could become your whole world. I never stopped praising God for the precious gift He had given me. This child was such a perfect example of the Father’s love for me, as well as that of the great things He had in store. Such things I had ceased to ask Him for, He still gave, even when I dared not hope for them.
My son was a reminder that hope is never lost and acceptance doesn’t have to be our response. Nothing is hopeless in the Father’s hands.
So when my sweet boy died in my arms, defeat wasn’t an option for me. Though pain, fear and agony stood at the threshold of my heart, I refused to accept the reality before me. The one that reflected the gift God had so willingly given me, to be so unnecessarily ripped from this world and my heart.
I cradled his lifeless body in my arms, just as I had when he was a baby. I studied his perfect features as a rebellious tear escaped my eye and splashed his eyelashes. In that moment my spirit came to attention. I had seen hope restored before by the only One who could restore it. I wasn’t ready to give him up. I had to believe He would restore my son to me. I wouldn’t accept anything less.
I remember a peace washing over me. One that was not of myself or even this world. It was supernatural and numbing to all other natural emotions that were threatening my resolve. Somehow I knew what to do.
I kissed his forehead as I laid him upon the bed of God’s servant, and whispered to him, “It’s going to be alright, my sweet one. I will be back soon. I love you.”
As my servant and I hastened towards Mount Carmel, my thoughts focused on one declaration, “He. Doesn’t. Die. Today.” Whether it was my own or that of the Lord’s, I don’t know. All I knew was that was my only truth.
It was bold of me to approach His servant Elisha, but my spirit willed me to do just that. For a moment I allowed my flesh to indulge in the grief that was looming as I spoke to him. “I didn’t ask you for a son. I even asked that you not get my hopes up.”
It was clear he knew then what I couldn’t utter. It was also clear that he knew why I was there, without me speaking it. He didn’t hesitate or question when I told him I would not return home unless he came with me.
My husband was still unaware of our son’s passing, upon our return home. I maintained my composure as I assured him once again, “Everything is fine.” Elisha’s servant had been unsuccessful in his attempt as he had been instructed. But even so, I knew the Lord would work through Elisha. He was a vessel of the Lord and had performed many miracles. He would perform another one for me today.
I prayed as I waited, and I praised. I praised the Father for what I knew He would do; for what I expected Him to do. I don’t remember how long it was before I was summoned. It could have been minutes; it could’ve been hours. Time stood still for me as I rested in the peace that held me and the promise that was at the front of my mind.
My concentration broke upon hearing Gehazi beckoning me to the upper room. I held my breath as I entered, my eyes immediately on my son. He was ALIVE. Gratitude and tears of praise overtook me as I fell to the floor and bowed before the man of God who had resurrected my child, just as he was saying, ” Take your son!” I didn’t attempt to restrain either.
I collected myself off the floor, then went and scooped up my little boy. He was breathing and smiling. I stroked his head and kissed his pink cheeks; once again inhaling his scent. Again I was reminded of God’s faithfulness and love.
From that moment on I would approach my heavenly Father with expectance in all things. Nothing is hopeless in the Father’s hands.
Heather Whidden loves Jesus, is married to her best friend and is mother of 3 blessings. She is a professional photographer and has a heart for ministry. She loves spending time with her family and friends, writing, reading, and traveling. Time and people is what she values most. You can read more about her here.