As for me, I will call upon God,
And the LORD shall save me.
Evening and morning and at noon
I will pray, and cry aloud,
And He shall hear my voice.
He has redeemed my soul in peace from the battle that was against me,
For there were many against me. ~Psalm 55:16-18

Gregg and I rarely fight.  I’m very passive, and he and I pretty much agree on most things, so there isn’t a lot left to fight about.  We’ve had our moments, and our marriage had a really rough year at one point, but for the most part, there has been little fighting.

One of our early fights, and for some time the only disagreement we ever had, was over whether he would be with me in the delivery room when our child was born.  I think at this point I wasn’t even pregnant.

I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to be there to support me.  He couldn’t understand why I would want him to see me in pain.  He said that seeing me in pain would be a nightmare for him and he just didn’t want to.  Period.  I left it alone, partly because his wanting to abstain from the process hurt my feelings, and partly because I thought once the moment came, he would change his mind.

Back when I was just shy of 29 weeks pregnant with Scott, I was lying on the couch, on bed rest, watching Gregg pack to go to an Army school.  This was a school he had wanted to go to forever, and was psyched about going.  But, he absolutely wasn’t psyched about leaving me bedridden.

As is the norm for us, he put off leaving until the last minute.  He had a 5-hour drive in front of him, and it was Saturday night before he had to report at 7AM Sunday morning.

As I lay there watching him pack, I was ignoring the contractions I was feeling every 2-3 minutes.  I was trying to get him out the door before I drove myself to the hospital, but he kept putting leaving off.  Finally, about 10PM, I couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Gregg rushed me to the hospital.  As soon as they got a reading on my blood pressure, my contractions stopped.  But, the blood pressure reading had them admitting me.  Around 1AM, Gregg had to leave.  He had absolutely no choice in the matter, and he didn’t like it.  He left me admitted into the hospital, torn up inside for having to do so.

He went to that school, distracted by me, worried about me, suffering for me, while I kicked back in the hospital, making friends with the nurses, watching Firefly reruns on the SciFi channel, yucking it up with my many friends who came to visit me and eating three meals a day and all the snacks I could handle served to my bedside.

Ten days later, the doctor came running to my room.  Running.  I could hear the pounding of his footsteps outside of my room as he ran to me with the results of my morning ultrasound.  Slightly out of breath, he said, “How fast can your husband get here?”

I called the number he had given me and talked to someone in charge, who put Gregg on the phone.  His answer, “Let’s find out.”

He drove that 350 miles consumed with worry, consumed with knowing that I was very very sick, that Scott was in grave danger, and that he wasn’t there. He got pulled over once in Alabama and once in Georgia, and is convinced that the highway patrolmen who pulled him over and didn’t ticket him radioed ahead for safe passage through their state.

He arrived at the hospital about thirty minutes too late.  The doctor couldn’t wait for him anymore.  But he was able to see Scott and to see me.  He spent the next two days sitting in my ICU room, waiting to find out if I would pull through or not.

This man who couldn’t even fathom the thought of seeing me go through the pain of childbirth found himself keeping watch by my bedside, watching blood pressure machine readings, talking to doctors, waiting for me to be in my right mind, praying for me.

And then he had to leave me again.

He had to get back in that car and drive that 350 miles.  He had to go back to that school and try to finish.

Ten days later he returned.  We spent every moment at the hospital with Scott, eventually being able to sleep in a room with him.  We sang to him, talked to him, prayed with him, brought in our friend and pastor to anoint him with oil and to pray over him.  We drew on each others strength, on each others optimism, on each others faith, and Gregg never wavered.  There was never a moment that he showed even me any doubt or fear that Scott wouldn’t be okay.  He was as upbeat as I felt, and together we wow’d the nurses and doctors with our peace that passes understanding (Philippians 4:7).

Even in the face of some of his worse fears during the trials of Scott’s impending and subsequent birth, Gregg stayed faithful and trusting to God.  With that experience behind us, it gives me confidence that whatever we face, when we face it with God at our head and our hands clasped together, we can handle it.

Read chapter 13 of The Power of a Praying Wife and consider the following discussion questions.  Comments are turned off on this post, and the discussion has been created in Hallee’s Daily Brew by following this link:

1.  James 1:2-3 says, “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials,  knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”  Does your husband find joy in the midst of trials?  How does he react to tough times?

2.  Romans 8:28 says, “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”  Is your faith strong enough to help your husband find the good in tough times?  Are you willing to pray him through any trial?

3.  God uses trials to work His purposes in our lives.  How can you pray for your husband to not be destroyed in the trials he faces without minimizing what God desires to accomplish in him through them?

4.  Is there a certain kind of trial that keeps reoccurring in your husband’s life?  Think about it and write it on a sheet of paper.  Pray about it.

5.  Pray out loud the prayer on pages 114-115.  Include specifics about any trial your husband is facing.

Hallee

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