It must’ve been something I ate. At 7 months pregnant the pain in my abdomen doubled me over with what I could only imagine was a monstrous gas attack. But after a few hours and no relief, my husband Mike called our midwife and she ordered us to meet her at the hospital.

We were terrified.

And we were baby Christians, having been saved barely a year. We didn’t have a strong foundation of faith and didn’t know what was happening to us and our baby so we did the only thing we knew. We called the woman who had led us to the Lord and she got her church praying for us.

Since I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a mom and have lots of kids. In fact, Mike and I were planning on a messy, noisy houseful of children but God had a different plan. A second pregnancy turned ectopic (tubal) and we lost the baby and any future fertility. Three failed adoption attempts later we got the memo. It took awhile to accept we would have only 1 child but eventually we saw God’s hand and will in what seemed to us, at first at least, to be the death of our dreams. But that’s a whole other story.

Anyway, back to the hospital. No one had a clue what was wrong with me. Appendix? Premature labor? Indigestion? Virus?

Because I was having some contractions, they hooked me up to the monitor. Doctors came in and out, poking and prodding and examining me. Fear was palpable in that hospital room. We didn’t know if our baby was a boy or a girl but in that scary night in the hospital when we didn’t know if our baby would live or die, I learned the first lesson of being a mommy.

No matter what the circumstances, whether you understand what’s happening or why, a mom will fight for her child. She will do whatever it takes to give that baby a chance. Love takes over amid the desperation and she takes her stand and stands her ground.

For awhile they really thought it was appendicitis and I’d have to have my appendix out. If it would save the baby, fine, do it. Whatever the cost. Just save my baby.

I didn’t know about taking thoughts captive or casting down vain imaginations. I didn’t know that we ‘fight the good fight’. I just knew I had to fight. So I prayed and I feared but I prayed. Mike prayed. We prayed together. We asked God for a miracle.

In the end, it wasn’t appendicitis and the doctors never could figure out what was wrong with me. As the contractions stopped and the pain subsided, all they could say was that it was an ‘anomaly’ which is doctor speak for ‘we don’t have a clue.’

Home we went and 2 months later, 10 days past her due date, Francesca was born, all 8 lb.., 10 oz. of her.

I had no experience with babies. Seriously, none at all. But I learned. God sent me wonderful mama mentors in those days. I made plenty of mistakes but one thing never changed. I never stopped fighting or standing for my baby girl.

Fighting in faith, fighting my own doubts and fears, fighting in prayer, standing in the gap, fighting for her future.

Franny’s all grown now with a husband and family of her own. I adore her 2 babies with everything in me. I love being Mimi and I love to play with them and I buy them way too much stuff. When I’m with them my goals are to make cupcakes, make laughter and make memories. And to model a love for God that makes them want to love Him too.

But in the secret place, the place they don’t see, the sacred place of prayer, I fight. I fight for their future, for their destiny. I take God at His word and I fight the good fight of faith. The fight of belief. And I stand my ground.

The weapons of my warfare? Love. Because that’s how we mamas do it.