Faith In A Bundle

FAITH IN A BUNDLE
FEAR SEES THE PROBLEM
FAITH SEES THE SOLUTION
By: Becky Ellison Munoz
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Originally written August 1993
Revised August 2014

FAITH IN A BUNDLE

Nervous and silent, I waited for the news that might change mine and my daughter's lives forever. My daughter was at a friend's house to administer the test. I answered the phone when it rang, and my fifteen year old daughter said only two words, “It's positive.”
Hours later, my daughter returned home and I gathered my baby in my arms. My eyes were swollen and my heart was breaking. At the time, I felt like my faith was shattered and I knew there was only one person to turn to now, God.

My main concerns was for my daughter and the child. My daughter chose to keep the child she was carrying so many plans had to be made. She was too frightened to speak to counselors at first, so we discussed all the consequences of her decision. I vowed to support her and her child one hundred percent in every stage of the pregnancy and childbirth and whatever came after that. Decisions had to be made to prepare for our future. I was a single, working mother who tried to make amends for a non-existent, one-visit-a-year father. I had always tried to give my daughter everything she wanted, whether she needed it or not. Now, at 42 years of age, I felt alone and afraid. My world was falling apart.

First, I quit a great job that I loved and took a low paying temporary position so that I could stay as close as possible to my daughter. With the help of a Crisis Center, we were able to find a doctor who would take a new patient. I approached school officials and asked that my daughter be able to remain in school and be treated according to her condition. My faith and I had our jobs cut out for us.
My daughter's bedroom in our small two bedroom house was made into a nursery. The king sized waterbed was replaced with a daybed and a donated crib was put in place. I was prepared for the morning sickness, belly aching, and immature confusion. I was not prepared for the horrified looks from people, the whispers and the extra financial burdens. My faith was being tested daily. A church leader and gospel singer, I always had a deep love and belief in God. I knew He was with us and I knew this must be His plan for my daughter's life. Yet, I did not understand it.

The time came when I had to ask about the father. My daughter lied to me about him until she understood how important his medical and family information was to her unborn child. When she told me the truth, there arose even more problems. He was a sixteen year old black boy. Strictly raised by a racist and prejudiced father in Georgia, I lived my youth in a segregated world. I stayed in the deep south, got married and had my daughter, hoping to live happily ever after. Of course, that was not to be. After my ugly divorce, we moved to Tennessee. I thought I would be able to raise my then six year old in a place where racism and bigotry were not a way of life. I tried to
pass along my beliefs of treating all people as human beings, disregarding race, religion and social status. All of these teachings would not change the problems of a teenager having and raising an biracial child.

Families are the cornerstones of the world. I was always close to my family, and now I kept them up to date on our family events. I told my family simply that my daughter was pregnant. I told her father nothing, leaving that responsibility up her, when she felt the time was right. I did not tell anyone in my family about the father of the baby. My faith was abundant, but I was afraid. Predictably, my mom was the only friendly family member during the entire pregnancy. She would call and write, and even send money when she could. I was unsure how understanding she would be when she saw a mixed great-grandchild, we would just cross that bridge when we got to it. The rest of the family gave bitter criticism or nothing. My job was to be there totally for my daughter, preparing for a new little person in our lives. Fear shows a lack of faith in God, yet I feared that my daughter's life was ruined. I feared for the money I needed that I did not have. I feared the looks and remarks from strangers and friends and family that would influence my daughter. I feared that my grandchild would not be treated fairly in life. I feared the sadness my daughter would live with, knowing she had given up her youth for this child. I feared much, slept little.

The busy months flew by. I worked as much as possible while sitting through long doctor visits, trying to iron out problems at my daughter's school, and dealing with cravings, problems and woes of a teenage pregnancy. I was so proud of my daughter for taking good care of herself and making plans for her and her child.The labor began on a hot, July day. Word spread in our small town and the hospital delivery room became a social gathering. Daylight faded and a full moon rose in the summer sky. Excitement overcame my fears as our closest friends and I laughed and talked, awaiting the new baby. My daughter was prepped and a monitor was placed on the baby's head. We were able to listen to the baby's heartbeat and watch the movements in the birth canal. I called my mom and she too, was excited. Together we prayed and with faith, put my daughter and her child into God's able hands.

It wasn't long before we saw the baby's head. The nurses and doctor took their positions at the bed. I coached my daughter while holding her hand as delivery seemed very near. The doctor told my daughter to push harder, and she did. The epidural was disconnected and the delivery became painful with each push. We did not know why the baby had not forced it's way out into the world yet! We had no idea of the serious problem that lay ahead. Another push, and the doctor suddenly started yelling orders to the nurses. The baby's heartbeat had stopped! Everything happened very fast after that. Within just a few minutes, the equipment was
unplugged and my daughter's bed was being wheeled down the hall to surgery! I was thrown a blue gown. Nurses were running. A nurse was on the intercom for emergency assistance. All I remember
whispering was, “Oh God, Oh God!”

Excitement recoiled into fear once again as I put the gown on and clung to my daughter's hand as we went into the operating room. There were worried looks on everyone's faces. I still did not know what was happening. I prayed out loud, trying to smile at my daughter to let her know that it would be alright while squeezing her hand. The anesthesiologist ran into the room, tripped and fell, hitting his
head on the wall! He got up, and put a mask over my daughter's now ashen face. The huge, frightened eyes of my daughter were haunting. I was trying to comfort my daughter at this point while the doctor took forceps and tried to pull the baby out of her womb. Seconds later, the doctor asked me to quickly and safely find my way out. I had to leave my daughter and grandchild in the hands of these people and God. I stumbled outside the operating room door as I heard my daughter scream in pain while a “C” section was carved across her young belly.

In the bright, pristine hallway, our closest friends met me in tears. Too upset to cry, I became angry! I cursed every male alive! I cursed my own stupidity for having a child that would be subjected to this kind of trauma! I loudly prayed, crying out to God for my child's delivery. An eternity passed while I paced and cried and prayed. At last, a nurse walked out with a blanketed bundle wearing a pink stocking cap. My breath caught! It's a girl! Fear and anxiety gave way to an overpowering love in a split second. “My daughter?” I asked nervously. “She's doing just fine,” replied the tired, relieved nurse. A baby specialist arrived and gently took my granddaughter from my arms, disappearing into an examination room. I waited for my daughter with her tearful friends. We were in a group hug when
the doctor came out. In explanation, the baby's umbilical cord was very large and as she moved down the birth canal, the cord got wrapped around her neck, strangling her. The “C” section had saved her life. God had been there all along and the sign of His Angel remained in the form of my granddaughter. I called my mom and then stood starring at my new granddaughter in the nursery. Her sweet smile and little glow gave no signs of her almost tragic entrance into this world. My daughter was heavily medicated, but managed to smile when I told her she had a little girl, perfect in every way!

Now, I look at my granddaughter and am reminded that God was with us at her conception, and her birth, extending His love and care throughout each painful and challenging time. This precious child is no mistake. She is a true blessing and one of the greatest gifts my daughter will ever give to me. She lets me know that faith keeps hope and love alive. She calls me Nana, and she called my mother, Greatmama. Yes, she has lots of things to overcome in her life, but having survived near death on the day of her birth, should instill faith in all of us. Faith got me through months of feeling like a failure in order to succeed. Faith comforted a frightened teenager afraid of having a child. Faith overcame the negative responses of family, friends and community in order to follow God's perfect plan.

Raising a child in today's world requires a lot of faith. I hope to be a beacon of faithful light in a new age where all people disregard strict, biased upbringings, look beyond skin color, social standings and disabilities, and love our children and all people. Faith will lead us into peace and harmony, allowing us to love one another and live together as brothers and sisters in Christ. Through faith, I overcame earthly obstacles, allowing my light to shine, so I may set an example for my new granddaughter and all generations to come.