It was 1:00 a.m. and I’d been awake for seventeen hours.

Three days past my first baby’s due date, I didn’t know what to expect. When my water broke at 8:30 p.m. the evening before, my husband and I switched into fast gear. Gathering our “go” bags and rushing to the car distracted me from my contractions. As we drove forty-five minutes to our hospital I made phone calls, telling our loved ones, “This is it!” and “She’s coming!”

By the time we reached the delivery room, I was ready for relief. I changed into an oh-so-comfortable paper gown, and we buckled up for the ride. A few hours later, all was quiet. The nurses had adjusted the lighting, surrounding us in shadows. Across the room, my husband draped diagonally across a chair, asleep. He’d been up since 6:00 a.m. the morning before, working hard all day and then rushing here. I thought about how that upright wooden chair must’ve made an uncomfortable bed.

Another contraction hit and panic engulfed me. Until then, nurses had been in and out. But now my room was conspicuously empty. I can’t handle this, I thought. The contractions hurt too much and we had a long way to go. I struggled through the pain, my body tensing and fighting progress. 

Then, I sensed the Holy Spirit whisper: Rachel, pray through each contraction.

Why hadn’t that occurred to me before? Far too often, prayer comes to be my last thought in a crisis rather than the very inhale and exhale of my life.

A machine print-out unraveled beside me, tracing a wiggly line of peaks and valleys. I set my heart on talking to God and depending on Him for each mountain of pain. Instead of waking my husband, as I normally would have, I threw myself upon my Creator to carry me. 

And a wonderful thing happened — a verse came, as vibrant and personal as a love note: “Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not be afraid, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will also help you, I will also uphold you with My righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10 NASB). 

The comfort was so real, and I outstretched my hand on my bed as though it was being held. I could feel the warmth of God’s hand — the One who recorded my days before one of them came to be, the One who knit together this baby within me. He was holding me and the life of my precious daughter.  

Twelve hours later, along with an epidural-induced nap and many shed tears, we seemed no closer to the finish line. My baby wasn’t descending, my body wasn’t responding to the signals my uterus was sending, and labor’s drumming was taking its toll on me. Carefully monitoring the baby’s heartbeat, the on-call doctor made a decision. Locking her eyes with mine, she spoke calmly but firmly: “We need to do a C-section. The baby is showing signs of distress.”

The next half hour was a blur. Within minutes, they wheeled me out the door and down the hall. My husband was barely in his surgical suit and booties before they began the incision. I lay exhausted, strapped down, bleeding, and shaking. Fear thrummed through me, as I waited to hear if everything was okay. The room became a whirlwind, finally crescendoing with the sound of a newborn’s fluid-choked cry — perhaps the most welcome sound in all the world. My husband briefly held her, then she was whisked away to receive oxygen. Soon I was settled in a recovery room.  

We made it through! The epic delivery we awaited for forty weeks, my water breaking, the long labor, the pain that loomed insurmountable, the middle-of-the-night hand-holding with my Almighty God, and the emergency that placed me under a scalpel — it all culminated in this moment. Before heading home, my delivery nurse stopped in to say, “Rachel, I want you to know you have a God watching out for you.” She told me that when the doctors opened me up, they realized my placenta was rupturing. “We could have lost you both,” she said. “You have a God watching out for you.”  

There are few moments when the shroud of earthly fog parts, we glimpse the eternal, and we see behind the scenes. This was one of those times. My God sat next to me, held my hand and reminded me not to fear. He upheld me and my baby, steading my doctor’s hand and saving my daughter just in time. And, in case I missed the realization, He sent my nurse to remind me of His grace in my life that day.

When I see it . . . and even when I don’t . . . He holds my life in His hands, carrying me through the hardest mountains. And if I have a God watching out for me, I know you have a God watching out for you, too. He is holding you, even through the heaviest and hardest of moments. Come what may, know and believe that He is carrying you through every heartbreak and every birth, every valley and every peak, every dark night and every bright day.

May you feel the warmth of His hand, just like I did that day, and may you sense Him reminding you not to fear.

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