How can a woman who has died and buried herself in a downtrodden pit rise above these deathly gallows beneath her? What can a frail woman like me do?
Perhaps it is true that nature would seem to poke fun at whatever the heart so desires. Three months ago, i lost what could have been a brother or sister of my precious Kiny. Today, supposedly pregnant (for the fourth time) for 9 weeks, I found myself bleeding. My body seems to reject any fetus that would so easily find home in my womb. You see, I have one dream that surpasses any other career-driven woman's aspiration--having many children. Since having Shekinah, my only child, life as a woman and as a Christian has never been so colorful and fairytalelike. As bizarre as it may sound, my heart leaps and flies like Peter Pan who hovers the real world while flying in his fantasyland. I wouldn't call it Neverland, though. Mine has never been so real. In a material world, having a toddler is never easy--what with the financial difficulty that comes with milk, diapers, medicines, and what have you. Regardless, I am soaring. It's like flying with this little angel of mine. This is a Cinderella discovery of my newfound beauty, not with a new gown, silver slippers, and a prince to boot, but with the kind that you can flaunt to the world that you are a mother of a miracle, the kind that you can keep to yourself in your morning quietness.
Losing one more after two miscarriages has left a devastating mark in my soul. And yet I know no pain reliever science has invented to assuage this hurt, nor do I have a recourse to prevent any such losses come tomorrow. But if I am meant to have only one, my God knows, I am satisfied, more than the metaphors of my poems could say. However, if God wills, according to his grander plan, I will be pregnant again, this time, his second miracle, a work of grace--an unmerited favor.
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