About three weeks ago I found myself in an upstairs room something like 12 feet by 12 feet filled with a pregnant woman, Rona (mentioned her in my last blog, but if you missed it, I’ll sum her up: she’s a midwife, highly involved in Kids International Ministries since 2006 as she was one of the original care takers at the Children’s Home but has since moved on, was the founder of our local cost free Birthing Clinic, she’s passionately in love with God, and there hasn’t been a day here in the Philippines since I’ve met her that I haven’t seen her offer people in need help all across these neighboring towns and provinces and villages! anyways, she goes on nearly all the feedings along with a pastor and one of the translators), Lucie, myself, Alejandra (a nurse serving at Kids International Ministries from Sweden), with two women and two children leaning on the door frame, peering in as we tended to their friend and mother, Jean.
This is a day I can’t seem to get out of my mind.
I just keep hearing Lucie’s voice saying “I’m pretty sure we heard a baby come back to life today, Lillabea.”
And an afternoon will go by when I hear it again, “I’m pretty sure we heard a baby come back to life today, Lillabea.”
And I’ll brush my teeth in the morning when I hear it again, “I’m pretty sure we heard a baby come back to life today, Lillabea.”
And I’ll dive unerwater for a moment, muting the wild screaming and uncensored joy coming from the street kids as we let them swim in the afternoons, and I’ll hear it again, “I’m pretty sure we heard a baby come back to life today, Lillabea.”
That day: The morning started at a feeding.
Nine or so of us crammed into one of the cars headed to our nine o’clock feeding. This particular feeding is new. It was found just before our team arrived here to serve. It’s located in a community that was burnt down from a house fire that went out of control. There’s lots of fresh heartbreak and resentment in this community as they’re struggling to rebuild their homes and lives right now. I like this feeding because of how important it is that they are given a good, free, nutritious meal at least once a week and with the food comes games and songs and medical care for anyone in need. It’s nice to really take care of people and know that they truly needed the little that we have to offer. As we were on the half hour car ride there, Rona got a call from one of her neighbors named Jean. Rona became a furious kind of concerned on the phone as she yelled a bunch of Tagalog. After the conversation ended, she turned to me and said in her Filipino accent, “Jollibee, you girls have to be quick with the feeding today, we have a woman who’s baby might of just died inside of her and we have to go over there as soon as possible to help her.” As we rolled up to the site where we serve our porridge, I was drowning in questions for Rona. We drove through narrow streets lined with stacked houses and shops and people of all ages along with oncoming traffic from every direction possible- this scene we were driving through mirrored my mind, all kinds of craziness, dense in complexity and confusion. I asked Rona how this woman had gotten hurt. Rona explained that her husband is abusive, that he was known for coming and going. He’ll be “fine” for a while and then he’ll leave. Leaving Jean and their three children for long periods of time, he’ll return drunk or high out of his mind and raise havoc. He’s known for beating her black and blue and escaping again to God knows where a couple days later. Rona heard about Jean and her husband and began counseling them several times a week. She would let them each speak and all Rona would do was try and bring healing through the Bible. (Rona: an actual wonder-woman. Head over heals for the Lord, just spilling over with wisdom and compassion.) I asked more questions as we weaved in and out of various roads as I was burning with anger and concern all at once. I kept asking questions only to be shocked at each answer she gave me, not in naivety to the international epidemic of domestic violence, but more so aching to get to Jean and hold her hand and tell her that she isn’t what she feels like when her husband comes to torment her- she isn’t weak, she isn’t useless, she isn’t good for nothing, she isn’t a burden or unlovable or just some toy to toss around in rage. She is priceless, unique, powerful, a Woman: a naturally designed Life Giver, capable of bringing life into this world, full of passion, creativity, tenderness, beauty, ambition, and allure.
I felt the car stop. We hurriedly prayed over the food and served the porridge out of the trunk and hopped back in as soon as possible. I remember getting lost in what I was doing, in going one by one. Look for one of the dozens of little brown hands holding tight to a container or cup or plastic bag that they were waving around in front of me to be filled with food. Hold cup, scoop porridge- hot and colorful with eggs and chicken and herbs swimming in the soupy mix of rice and other grains. Scoop, scoop, scoop. I was relieved to think simply for a moment in time. To just concentrate on the gift that this food and all of these little hands were in front of me.
Then, just as soon as we came, we smiled and left, hugging the little ones as we squeezed back in the car. We turned the car around out of the crowded and ash filled alleyway we were serving in and told Pastor Dudoy to “BOOK IT!”
On the ride back Alejandra (the Swedish nurse) asked tons of medical related questions that led to Rona explaining that Jean had bled all through out the night before without any knowledge of if her baby inside was alive or not and this morning she had begun experiencing contractions, but she was only 5 months pregnant, leaving her petrified that she was about to have a still birth. My desire for God to work miracles from all angles of this brokenness only intensified the more I heard.
We got home and Rona told me that she wanted me to come and pray for the mother while Alejandra and Rona did the medical work. And before I could let my fear stop me, I followed them. Lucie saw us walking up the street and followed. Kids were screaming our names and smiling and laughing and running up to us and climbing all over us as we walked up the street and turned down a little path to the left that lead to a long strip of houses stacked high with a mixtures of sticks, concrete, wood, fabrics, and tin, modge-podging structures together, making places families of all sizes call home, a classic scene here in Manila. We walked onwards until we reached a home that smelled strong of nicotene and sewage. I gently put down the two litte ones I was holding on either hip and let go of the little hands holding mine and entered in the doorway. We walked up the steep stairs leading to the room where we’d find Jean.
The four of us squeezed into a dimly lit room where we found Jean. She was lying on the ground of what looked like the bedroom of her children- streaks of crayola and markers polka dotted with stickers were decorating the dark walls. I remember the look of relief on her face when she saw Rona come through the doorway. And then I remember her struggling to speak more than a word or two. This woman before us could barely open her mouth because of how bruised her face was, her lips and cheeks a mixture of pale, greeny blue, and a rich sort of red-purple staining her face. We quickly realized she hadn’t eaten in two days because it was too painful to open her mouth enough to get food in let alone use her sore jaws to chew or her aching neck to swallow. She answered all of Alejandra and Rona’s questions as best she could while Lucie and I made sure she was fanned and gave her friends pesos to fetch her some rice to eat and propped pillows up for her to rest against rather than just lying on the hard floor.
Rona and Alejandra began debating if they could figure out a way to bring Jean to our ministry’s birthing clinic where they could better care for her or not as Jean began explaining that there was absolutely no way that she was going to go anywhere. She began solemnly telling the two of them that her children would be traumatized if they saw their mama get up and leave them after they had seen everything she had been through the night before. She wasn’t going to let them go a minute without their mother. As she was saying this, one of her children, a young boy with kind eyes wearing a dirtied blue racecar tshirt came in the room. He moved close to her, letting his mom rub his hair while staring at Rona. I don’t know what he understood of this conversation or even of any of the abuse that he’s been exposed to his whole life, but he most definitely understood one thing: he loved his mom and she loved him.
After hearing her, Rona and Alejandra decided that they’d care for her here in her home.
Lucie and I were told to keep time of her contractions while they examined the situation with the medical kit we had grabbed on our way out of the Kids’ campus.
It was time to check for the heart beat, so Alejandra pulled out the doppler.
I watched Alejandra’s face. It was like the word “nervous” was defined in a single facial expression, her facial expression. In that moment everything in my body tensed. I stood against the wall formed by randomly assorted patches of plywood and rusting tin, clutching my fists as I prayed hard and strong. I was internally screaming as I continued watching Alejandra. She was struggling to find a heart beat. She kept moving that doppler around in search of the heart beat. She must’ve tried every single angle and side of Jean’s stomach. Thoughts in my mind: Alejandra has done this thousands of times, she knew exactly where to find the head down to the baby’s toes- she’s done this so much it might as well be muscle memory by now. The heart should be beating, it should be beating, it should be beating. None of this is how it should be. God, You wanted it to be different. This isn’t how a husband treats his wife, this is broken vows, broken, sacred vows, and the life that they made together is entering into a home that is dangerous, reeking with terror. Not how it should be. God, You wanted more. You made us so intricately and tenderly for more. All I could do was continue standing there, praying with my eyes wide open. I remember screaming at God on the inside, saying things like “God, I don’t even know how to speak to You right now- save this woman, save this baby, I lift them higher and higher to Heaven as I talk to You, I know You love Your Children, can You just love them right now? I don’t know what to say. It says in Your Word that You will never leave or forsake us, WHERE ARE YOU NOW?! Prove this to be true! Heal us, heal this little one, show us Love, save us the way that You do, bring him back to life, shock us! Amaze us! Make this baby healthy and strong; defeat the odds- You are limitless! Be who I know You are.” I also remember repeating “Abba, Father” in one of the most desperate ways a person can call for their Dad over and over again in my breath, eyes still as wide open as before.
My eyes were still fixed on Alejandra. I watched as she continued to desperately moved the doppler in a new position, let it sit for a moment hoping that it’d catch a heart beat, then moving it over here or there. It was exhausting, my body barely remembered how to breathe while watching this tiny, little room from against the wall. Alejandra looked at Rona with a terribly sad sort of defeat painted across her face as she reached across the room with the doppler in hand, offering it to Rona so that she could try and get a beat out of this baby.
All I was doing was praying. Desperate prayers. Desperate and at the time I remember a deep sensation of uselessness. Utter weakness. I also remember internally screaming that I had faith in God like never before in this moment, nearly demanding that He bring this baby back to life and this mother back to health.
Rona felt for the baby’s position and began feeling for a beat. She struggled at first as well, doing nearly the same exact thing as Alejandra, but she finally found it.
It was like a symphany or something!
Oh, that beat!! It was like a choir of angels! Something undeniably Heavenly about any heart beat, but this one was different. It was an answered prayer- the baby began kicking and moving after the beat was heard- the first movements since that awful night. The first movements since Jean spending hours bleeding out in desperation and intense pain. I remember Rona just sat there, letting all of us listen to the drum of this little baby’s life for a long while. The sweetest melody, that’s all this was!
Back to life.
That baby came back to life.
Did this baby just come back to life?
Oh, God, if this is You and You just revived this little one…what can I even say? Thank you is too small for a moment like this.
My heart practically lifted outside of my chest and into the tropical skies above us, I was so relieved and set free in that moment.
To be honest, I have no idea how long all of this took. Could’ve been just five minutes. Maybe less. Maybe more. All I remember was feeling detached from time, all of my senses fully engaged with my surroundings, leaving my awareness to time somewhere far, far away. Man, those five or so minutes could’ve been a lifetime.
All of the sudden the joy of the heart beat faded when met with the reality that Jean’s contractions were still dangerously close, bringing her body was entering into a premature labor which was almost indefinitely bound to kill the baby and could most definitely put her own body in real danger with her being as weak as she was in the moment. Contractions were three minutes or less a part. Jean is a strong woman, but she was in intense pain. From the moment we stepped into her room to the moment I left that afternoon, she would be hit with a wave of extreme pain that rolled over her whole body. I remember transitioning my prayer from “God, bring this baby to life” to “God, shorten her contractions so that she can have a healthy delivery at the right timing.” Much like my previous eyes wide open prayers as they were using the doppler, I was feeling a lot of different emotions and feeling them deeply as I saw her beaten yet undefeated body fight itself on when and how to deliver its child. We just sat there, tending to her as we saw agony emmitting from her body while praying without ceasing both out loud and inwardly.
“God, stop this pregnancy right now, this baby and this mother will not survive something like this, God. In the name of Jesus Christ, I’m asking time to seperate these contractions, God.”
I kept saying things like that over and over again.
All of the sudden, Lucie returned in the room after heading out to find Rona some food and equiptment from our ministry site and Lucie told me that all of our girls had to leave to head over to the immigration office to renew our visas so that we wouldn’t get kicked out of the Philippines. So, I had to go. That’s when Lucie turned to me and said, “I’m pretty sure we heard a baby come back to life today, Lillabea.”
I’ll be honest with you, I was half relieved to have a reason to leave. It was hard to see someone hurting in all of the ways that she was. I didn’t like that I felt relief, but it was undeniable. It all kept eating at my thoughts all afternoon while renewing our visas. Running over and over, my mind would replay different scenes and my heart would re-feel all that it felt. I kept begging God to miraculously calm her body to the point that she wouldn’t have her baby today, but right on time, when the child is healthy and due.
And sure enough, Rona was back at the ministry site to tell both Lucie and I that the mother was completely fine within hours of us leaving! Her body had slowly stopped contractions and she was now resting. Rona continually checked on how she was doing and all Jean did was grow in strength and health.
PRAISE OUR BEAUTIFUL GOD FOR DAYS LIKE THIS ONE! FOR ANSWERING PRAYERS LIKE THESE! FOR BRINGING LIFE TO LIFELESS SITUATIONS! FOR LOVING US AS HIS CHILDREN AND ACHING WHEN WE ACHE. OH, WHAT A SAVIOR!
How I saw God in all of this is summed up in love and thankfulness. God loves us. He just does. He hears our cries and He wants to do something about. He adores faith- faithful prayers are His favorite song on the radio! In this love, concern, and listening, He answers us. And in all of this all I am is thankful. I am thankful for a God like ours, I am thankful for the human body that he made just for each and every one of us- while weak and frail, our spirits within keep us resiliant and boyount even in the darkest of vallies. I am thankful for women of God like Rona, who see the needs of others as priority and loves without question or restraint. I am thankful for enough food to feed tons of children every morning and evening. I’m thankful that that fire didn’t burn their smiles. I am thankful for answered prays and the simple fact that I can pray.
I know full and well that everything from the morning to the evening- from the fact that we even have a need for things like feedings because some people have gone so long without that one free meal a week sustains them and significantly helps them all the way to the fact that we would ever have to help a woman who’s husband, a man meant to be her protector and lover, had beaten not only her, but the little one within her leaving her alone and desperate for help- was not God or His love or His will for anyone. It was wrong. It was all horrifyingly wrong.
I also know that all things will be made perfect in Heaven. I get chills just imagining people like Jean entering the gates of Heaven- all of the glory she had been deprived of her entire existence on earth generously manifested into eternity just for her and people just like her. Oh, I could get lost in that beauty all day.
Everything I just typed about what I got out of a day like this one seems like classic Christian sayings, like something you’d read on a Christian calander or in some daily devotional in your grandma’s bathroom, but it’s different because I believe it for myself. I, Lillabea, who I am, believe these things so deeply that I’m starting to feel that it’s a part of me. Over these past months I’ve found myself sitting in a newfound, personal understanding of things that I would have nodded at or clapped for or said “Amen” in response to hearing or reading. Now it all feels different, deeper, realer, more meaningful. All this to say, I find myself ending each day exhausted. I find myself going to bed fighting to keep my eyes fixed on the Lord and thankful for what He is doing. He is always at work. It’s just a joy to get the opportunity to see it first hand honestly.
I hope you’ve left reading these words moved or motivated or empowered in some way or another, maybe you were even brought to a place of remembrance of God’s faithfulness in Your life. I really do hope that you felt something, I sure did even just re-writing my thoughts and memories from it all. As always, thankful that you took the time to read and thankful for your love! Sending you goodness and blessings from the Philippines! <3
