“We saw two abnormalities,” the doctor said, “On your son’s anatomy scan ultrasound.” I shifted on the white sanitary paper that I sat on, making it crinkle. “One is a shiny spot on the heart, which could be a soft marker for Downs Syndrome, or, another genetic disease. And the the other abnormality is an enlarged ventricle in the brain.”
My mind started to race.
“It could mean nothing, or…it could point to something more serious,” she said. “You need to get some genetic testing done, but it will take several weeks to come back. And then we will set you up with maternal fetal medicine, to do an ultrasound and see a specialist from out of town.”
I felt like I got the wind knocked out of me.
I wish I could say I walked out of there full of faith, with my head up, and shoulders back. But I didn’t.
I was deathly quiet until we got to the car in the parking garage, where I was flooded with emotions, and tears.
What did this mean?
Was he okay?
Would he live?
Did he have some deteroriating disease?
For the next few days, I felt like death. I was grieving. Grieving news I didn’t even have yet. Grieving results that didn’t even come back yet. I know I shouldn’t have been. I know other’s have recieved much worse news, and done better than me. But that’s what I did.
I usually try to be strong for the people in my life. But during those weeks of waiting for results, I couldn’t hide how weak I actually was. It felt like my legs just gave out from under me. I didn’t know how to walk.
Or even stand.
But then God sent the angels…
To carry me.
I didn’t expect them to come.
I didn’t even know they existed.
But they came.
Not how you would think.
They didn’t have wings. Or halos. Or harps.
They didn’t appear with a bright light.
But they came.
One sat on the edge of my bed, while I cried into my pillow the night after my appointment. He stroked my hair and whispered into my ears, the true things. The things that God says. He reminded me that the little one in my womb was God’s, and for God’s glory–no matter what that meant. He was a constant minister of strength to me. He held me against his chest and said through the dark, “Don’t be afraid.”
“You have to trust God now.”
And this angel was my husband.
Then more angels came. And they came like an army. Lifting me up, refusing to let me fall.
I didn’t call them with a heavenly trumpet…I called them with my old iPhone. And you know what? They answered.
They answered even though little ones were climbing up their legs, and the grilled cheese was burning in the pan–and they listened. To me.
They listened like I was the only one in the world…as I told them about my doctor’s appointment, and to please pray for my baby boy…and they listened when my voice cracked…and I fell silent on the other end, and couldn’t speak because the words got caught in my throat.
They didn’t speak to me in the tongues of angels. Instead they listened, and they reminded me of who God is. Some prayed for me—right then, on the phone, despite the chaos and noise going on in their kitches. And when they hung up, they cried for me. But they not only cried. They also cried out for me—with prayers and intercession to God.
They went to battle for me.
One drove hours to see me. And those who couldn’t come to me, sent text messages and voicemails, and Youtube songs (I would play on repeat)—and somehow, by the Spirit of God, they came close, just as if they were right there. And,
They lifted me up.
They carried me.
And these angels were my friends, and sisters, and parents.
Then more angels appeared in my church.
They weren’t dressed in white robes…but in business-casual Kohl’s outfits. Their eyes were wise and kind. Because they were moms who had already weathered these storms.
One sat next to me in the church lobby and laid her warm, healing hands on my belly. She didn’t care as people walked past that Sunday morning, and she prayed for me and my baby boy. She spoke life over him. And me.
Another angel, like this, gave me a message before worship started.
It wasn’t on a gigantic scroll…but on a simple piece of loose leaf paper, written in black ink. She handed it to me, and said, “I spent two hours praying for you last night.” Tears filled her eyes. “And I believe these Scriptures are for you.”
She hugged me and I cried. Who does that? Who spends two hours praying for someone else…and their baby? Who sits before the Lord for hours…on behalf of someone else? Not me. But, this woman had. And I could not ask for a gift more precious.
As we embraced she told me, “God is still forming this baby boy in your womb. And he is going to be a mighty man of God.” Hot tears filled my eyes, and I was not able to find words to even thank her for what she had done–it was so precious.
And do you know what? That piece of loose leaf paper she gave me, with scriptures she wrote out for me…is almost see-through today.
Because every single morning, as we waited for results, and appointments, I would come downstairs while the house was still sleeping, and I would sit on the couch with my coffee and read those hand-written Scriptures, and cry. And I would speak them over my womb. Over my son.
All my life I have wanted to see an angel. But suddenly, during those weeks of waiting, and wondering, and praying I realized—they were all around me.
These were the angels God sent to me.
Angels without wings.
Right when I needed them most.
I was falling, and they caught me.
I was weak, and they carried me.
They lifted me up in their hands.
This week, I left the specialist’s office crying again–but this time it was tears of joy.
God healed everything.
Our baby boy’s genetic tests all came back normal. The shiny spot in his heart disappeared. And as for the enlarged ventricle in his brain,
“It actually got smaller,” the specialist told us this Monday, “It’s in totally normal range now. Your baby looks great.”
(I’d never openly cried in front of a doctor, until then.)
“That’s exactly what we, and all our friends were praying for,” I said through tears I couldn’t hold back.
“It worked,” he smiled. “Prayer works. Intercessory prayer works,” he said.
I know that God doesn’t always heal–and He is still worthy of our trust in those times. But this time, He did heal. And I know sometimes people (even Christian people) are skeptical and think that the results for our son would have been the same–no matter if anyone prayed or not.
But I couldn’t disagree more.
I believe that these people praying for him–changed something. Because prayer isn’t man’s idea. Prayer is God’s idea.
God tells us to pray. To ask Him. To cry out.
And His word says, “Pray for each other, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” (James 5:16)
I don’t know what would have happened had these people not been praying. All I know, is what did happen because they had. And I am in awe of God because of it. So…
To My Angels Without Wings,
I don’t know why you came to me, but you came.
I don’t know why you prayed for me, but you prayed.
I don’t know why you loved me so deeply, but you did.
And because you did, something changed.
I believe it’s because of you, that God has done a miracle in the secret places of my womb, where no eyes but God’s can truly see.
And one day, I will tell my son about you. I will tell him about the ones who went to battle for him, while he was yet being formed.
I will tell him, that while he was yet in the womb, he was surrounded by angels.
Angels without wings.