Banners of Love

When I had my first son, I was 30 years old. I had never really been around babies before that. I had a beautiful pregnancy, however, in the 6th month I was diagnosed with stage 3 pre-cancer cells in my cervix. There was nothing that could be done until after my son was born. I prayed and believed God for healing. I was healed but it was a process. After the procedure I would then go in for a pap test every few months, then if the diagnosis remained clear, I would eventually be able to go back to annual appointments. It has been gone for 17 years now.

I had a traumatic labor and delivery. My expectations of a beautiful and amazing experience were dashed. I went into the hospital on a Friday night having major contractions that were close together. Yet I was not in pain and the nurse was surprised when I told her that. The problem was that I wasn't progressing but they didn't want to send me home either. So they broke my water at 10am on a Saturday morning. I was still managing the discomfort well, remembering my breathing techniques as the contractions grew stronger. I wasn't dilating as I should have been so they induced me late that afternoon. At that point, I felt pain like no other. Around 5pm I finally asked for a local. Once it wore off I then asked for an epidural. I began to progress more and the doctor on call told me that I could finally start pushing. Unbeknownst to me, shortly after I started pushing, my epidural ran out. (no wonder it hurt so bad!) In the wee hours of Sunday morning I pushed for hours according to my mom. I asked the doctor if it was too late to do a c-section and they ordered one. By this point, I was hysterical. My body was in complete shock, so much so, that the anesthesiologist commanded the whole team that, "No one is touching her until I get her calmed down!" He ordered the nurses for more and more warm blankets to pile on top of me because I was shaking so bad. By the time my son was delivered I was delirious and completely out of it. Later I found out that the cord was wrapped around his neck. I didn't even get to hold him for another 2-3 hours. I barely saw him. There was not that beautiful moment of mother and son bonding like I had with my second.

My son was a fussy baby who had colic. I went home with so much anxiety. My mom stayed with us the first night. Her and I paced the living room floor with him all night that first night. Not a wink of sleep.

And as I read back through my journals I was reminded of those nights. Lots of time spent in the rocking chair. Going to bed after 10pm, waking up multiple times in the night for feeding and/or consoling, and then he would be up by 7am if not earlier. He also did not take naps more than maybe 2-3 times a day for about 15 minutes at a time. Then every night at dinner time, without fail, he would scream uncontrollably for a minimum of 3 hours straight. This is what is defined as "colic" and it lasted for 3 months. I was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. But what I wouldn't give to hold him and rock him now.

A year and a half later I went to my church counselor and she told me I was depressed and advised me to see a doctor. I did and he confirmed I was still suffering with postpartum. He gave me samples of a drug but I never felt peace about taking it. I was getting ready to go out of town to a conference and I didn't want to try new medicine while I was away from home. The short of that is that the Lord healed me while I was at that conference and I never had to take it. But that's another story.

My marriage was going through its own trial at the time and I felt like a complete failure as a wife, a mom and as God's daughter. When my son was almost 2 years old I went to church one night and one of the pastors, who had a gift of vision, was praying over me. We were going to a mega church at that time. He had no idea of what I was going through whatsoever. He began to speak over me saying, "I see banners of love over you and unlimited mercy and grace from God." Wow. I thought it was such a beautiful and amazing word then. It brought me so much comfort. But now...when I read that journal entry...it was so profound. Even prophetic.

Historically, a banner typically has an image that depicts a king, what he stood for...his identity. Soldiers would carry this banner into battle with pride. A banner distinguished them from other regiments in battle. In essence, God's love covers me. Not only that but unlimited mercy and grace. I have seen this in my life. His love has been a constant even to a point that at my worst I almost wanted to push it away. It was too pure, too good, and I was so undeserving, so dirty, completely undone.

That banner is for you as well. None of us are deserving. If we were then we wouldn't need Jesus. That's why He came. He didn't come for perfect people. He came for the broken. He says your face will no longer be covered in shame but all who look to Him are RADIANT with joy! (Psa 34:5)

It's okay, carry that banner high and proud. His love covers you and you will find his mercy and grace right when you need it. (Heb 4:16)

xo