40 years ago, I entered this world. I was born, yes, but I was also put on one side to die. Put in an incubator, I was not expected last the night and the doctor (who had been prevented from going to church, that day) was understandably more concerned with saving my mother, than me. I have found my father’s letters of muted communication to my grandparents. He did not want to worry them but he did say it was hard. I catch the undertones of worry and the relief of crisis passed.
However, if it wasn’t for him, I honestly wonder if I would be here, 40 years later. He talked, occasionally, to me of this dark day and how it was one of those significant instances when he knew God was with him. What did he do? He went away and prayed. He hadn’t the strength to pray alone so he prayed with two others, a priest and his wife. I’m so grateful he chose to pray! God hears us and he answers.
My father then slept a deep, replenishing sleep and phoned the hospital when he woke. “It is a miracle! She has survived,” were the words he heard. That was me! From day one, I was impacted by the powerful, prayer-answering God and the desperate cry of a worried, but praying Papa. The mysterious lump on my head had disappeared. I had survived the night. My mother was recovering well, too.
Miracles do happen! And today my praying heart turns towards Zimbabwe. I am living proof of the miraculous happening in that nation (one life at a time). 40 years on, my best birthday celebration would be to see the beginning of a peaceful process that liberates that beautiful country and her beautiful people into new life, rebirth – a renaissance of what it means to live lives in reconciled relationships and free from oppression; lives that grow and build for good purposes.
Hope is high! Faith is fertile! There is a longing to see love flourish. Our eyes are watching for the miracle to unfold.
Rise and shine, Zimbabwe. Your time has come. You can do it! We’re rooting for you.