WHAT COMES BEFORE

She was a pastor’s wife. So what transpired wasn’t so much surprising as it was awkward given the circumstance.

It was meant to be a lively celebration, a gathering of women, poolside, at a best friend’s house.

Amid conversations about husbands and jobs, children and gardens she had something else entirely to share.

“Someone needs to hear this,” she admonished.  “Someone is here for this purpose alone.” 
And then she began—
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 
He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.

Heavy. I remember it was impossibly, uncomfortably so. But she didn’t stop there. She urged that we should pray over our babies, this adult-sized prayer. Not sometime, but now. Right away. In the morning. In the evening. Before leaving for work each day. While reading to them at night. Loudly like a church choir. Softly like a Saint.

Ron and I decided early in our marriage that no matter the disposition of our relationship with our God, we would always pray for our children. And we did. Each of us in different ways.

While I would go about my day, in meetings, during coffee breaks, I would quietly pray for their safety—“Dear God, lay a hedge of protection around Kyle.” And later, the same words were uttered for Cameron and Quinn.

But Ron had a different way of doing things. He prayed over his boys in tiny cribs and beds as they drifted off to sleep—“Dear God, bring each boy a mate that will undergird them and guide them. Keep them safe.” And then he prayed for each little girl that would grow to become that woman, assuming she was already firmly planted on this earth.

Something shifted in me at that pool party of young mamas simply trying to enjoy a mimosa without children under foot.
I was certain that I had been that “someone” who needed to hear that pastor’s wife’s words.“Yea though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death I shall fear no evil, for you are with me”
That was the haunting and mezmerising refrain.

I had planned to run some errands after the gathering but instead headed straight home to my four-month-old baby, Quinn, and cradled him as I prayed, loudly like a church choir, not softly like a Saint.

…“he leadeth me to green pastures… “

There. I had done my job, what I had been stirred to do. Even though the words poured over a little boy seemed daunting and out of place.

Just two days later I was heading to my car after a business meeting and had this overwhelming feeling that I should call home to check on Quinn, who was there with his young nanny while the other two were at school.

The phone rang and then a strange man’s voice came on the line.

“Who is this,” I demanded?! And then the world slowed to a still. I remember planting my feet in the parking lot, bracing for the whole of the impact of what was  coming next.

“This is the paramedic. Your son has suffocated in his crib.”

These next words may sound odd to you, harsh and uncomfortable to hear—

Is. He. Dead?

There must be a hundred other ways to say it, must have been a thousand other thoughts running through my head.

But those three words were all that mattered in the moment. The answer, all I begged to hear.

“We have revived him and are taking him directly to the emergency room. Meet us there.”

After receiving assurance that Quinn was being attended to, it was his nanny who must come next. For twenty minutes I poured an unearthly love into Jennie in ways that cemented her understanding that what had transpired was out of her control.

There were two fragile souls at stake that day—my son’s and hers. Quinn’s was in the hands of the medics. How extraordinary that in this moment of tragedy, God did not forget Jennie and his grace poured out through an anguished mother into every doubting, questioning corner of this teenaged woman in her most-fragile state.  

Here’s the part of the story that I passionately want you to hear—

Those first few moments on the phone with Jennie, something extraordinary was revealed—

While Quinn took his morning nap sounds were coming from his baby monitor, tiny voices like children singing grew louder and more insistent with each refrain.
Those strange little voices ushered Jenni to his room.
“Like angels,” she shared.
Angels. Indeed.

In a broken world, the agony never ceases.  But neither does the light.
It is this Light [and not the darkness] that I carry for my children. That. We. Must. Carry. For. Our. Children—
If they are to have any chance at preserving innocence
If they are to grow into men and women who will rise to every circumstance.

Amid all of the insanity, there is one thing I am sure of—There is no force more powerful on this earth than the words of a praying mama.

I have lived the supernatural power of words spoken [even screamed]  to the Origin of every living thing time and time again.

Prayer is not nothing, or something.  It is everything.
Prayer is what comes before what is next. It is our assurance that the Creator of all things is listening, is in it, is near.
Praying over and with our children is soothing sweetness to tiny souls who long for the voice of the One they come from, the One they miss. 
Prayer is more enchanting than any storybook. It is love embodied. It is a poem. A song.
Prayer is a forcefield. A battle line. A sacred boundary.
It is a direct line to both Guardian and Comforter through every impossible thing.
Prayer is the soul’s conversation with the brain. It is clarity and confirmation of what is known and believed deep within. 

Prayer is life-giving.
It is every single thing that the world believes it is not.

“I shall fear no evil…” spoken from a mama’s mouth, is both promise and command.
Whether we are sending them into their day, or unknowingly ushering them into the Kingdom.
In every situation, it is acknowledgement of a master plan.
In the light or in the darkness, it brings an unearthly peace that
the One who is their Papa, their Warrior, their everything is with them.
No matter what. No. Matter. What. 

Psalm 23
1 The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2     He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3     he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
    for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
    through the darkest valley,[a]
I will fear no evil,
    for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
    forever.