The Sorrows of Labor, The Hope of Faith | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: The Sorrows of Labor, The Hope of Faith | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kimberly Miller
01/30/14
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I remember being pregnant. I remember the joy of the life soon to be born. I remember the agony of hours of labor. I remember the thrill of soon seeing her face. I remember the sorrow of waiting for her arrival.

At night I would dream of who she would be. Excitement would grip my heart as I imagined the tiny child inside my womb soon nesting in my arms. I would place my hands on my protruding stomach and feel her feet gently responding to my voice. I would whisper, “You are mine,” as I prayed for her to one day know the love of Christ.

My pregnancy wasn't easy. Night trailed night ever so slowly. Unusual symptoms tormented my already weakened body with no cure or remedy to lessen their dominance. Restless days turned into sleepless months; there was little hope of relief prior to the birth of my child. Seconds, minutes, and hours were all cruel tormenters punishing my agonized vessel as I waited for her arrival.

My birthday was a day before her due date. I suppose I could blame it on pregnancy hormones, but I cried the whole day beneath a covering of heaviness. I was weary; I was tired; and even though her predicted due date was just twenty-four hours away, I had lost all hope of her ever coming to grant relief to my suffering. I know this sounds foolish and perhaps melodramatic, but suffering has a way of clouding our vision and producing a hopelessness within us that lacks the capacity to contemplate relief.

And that was when labor came. If the months prior had been difficult, labor was far worse. Agonizing spasms sawed through my deteriorating spine every thirty seconds to a minute for twenty-one hours. My husband held my quivering body as we anticipated another round of contractions while the seconds ticked down. The clock became my oppressor as I dreaded the twenty, ten, five seconds left until the knives lunged themselves into my back again. It was endless; it was awful; it was glorious.

I look back upon my pregnancy and I remember that I had one special gift that most don’t possess in the midst of their sufferings: I had a promise. I had the promise that life would be birthed through my sorrow if I only did not give up and abort that life. I had the promise that there really would be a day of relief if I only took one step farther and endured one more contraction. I had the promise that all the pain and sorrow would be worth it when I saw the face of my child. Even on my most hopeless nights, I had a ray of light promising me her day was about to come and my night was about to end. I had hope, because I clung to a promise.

The greatest destroyer of man is hopelessness. Our circumstances and tribulations can be so overwhelming that we lose sight of the fact that we’re pregnant with a promise. Our tormentors can be so oppressive that we lose hope in the salvation of the day that He promised. We see no light at the end of the tunnel because we have no hope that there is an end to the sorrow, pain, or situation we currently face. We cannot see how beauty can be derived from our ashes.

The word of God yearns. The word of God yearns to be ingested by faith. The word of God yearns to implant the promises of God within us that grow and mature until the day they are finally birthed as realities in our lives. The word of God yearns to give us hope, to give us strength, to enable us to persevere through the darkest nights and the hardest fights. The word of God will be birthed in our lives if we do not abort the assured promises He gives us through hopelessness. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel, yet there can also be a light within the tunnel. He not only promises to lead us to victory from our sufferings, He promises to be with us in their midst.

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