Stephanie’s Story

When I became pregnant with our second child,  we had no idea anything was wrong. It wasn’t until we had our 20 week ultrasound to find out the gender that we learned there were problems. After several ultrasounds and being referred to a specialist, we found out that our baby had clubbed feet, joint contractures in her hands, and a problem with her brain. We were given no guarantees about what her outcome would be. Two weeks later, I was put on bedrest due to low amniotic fluid.

On December 21, 2010, At 27 and a half weeks, Kinley Peyton Blanks came into this world. She was 2lbs and 12 inches long. Our hope was that after a few months in the NICU, we’d be able to take our little girl home.

We were devastated. I didn’t understand why God chose not to heal our daughter. I was heartbroken and angry. He could have healed her. He could have intervened. There were two things that our former youth pastor told us during this time, and I have no doubt God used him to deliver this message to me. The first was that it’s okay to be mad. Just don’t stay mad. The second was to make sure our faith was not in the miracle but in the Miracle Worker.

Those two things hit me hard. Up until this point, I had never had anything really bad happen to me. It was easy to serve God when my circumstances were good. But now I was crushed and God didn’t seem good. I was at a crossroads and had a choice to make. God was either still God for me, or He wasn’t. Would I place my faith and my hope in my circumstances or in Christ? Would I choose despair, or would I allow my Father to carry me?

I chose Him. How could I not?  He had already chosen me.

I had trouble speaking to Him at first, but the Spirit interceded for me. I didn’t know how I could survive this hurt, but the Lord had other moms reach out to me that had endured the loss of a child. He loved on me through our family, our friends, and our church. He etched His promises on my heart through His holy Word.

One of the many things I love about God is how He doesn’t end our stories with death. One year and 11 days after losing Kinley, I walked out of that same hospital again. Except this time, my arms weren’t empty. They were holding our third child, Levi Clif Blanks. Then, two years later, I was able to get the pink box out of storage. The one that had the butterfly bedding that had been packed away unused. The walls in the nursery that had been painted over would once again be able to display soft lavender. Because I had gotten the call. The call that told me our fourth and final baby was healthy and that she was a girl.

Hope in the darkest circumstances. Hope not in the miracle but in the Miracle Worker. Hope that God is not finished writing your story.