I’m a young, country-grown mum. I was raised on the land, second eldest of a family of ten and married at nineteen to Benjamin, the young man that I loved and knew God had brought into my life. We’d discussed children before the wedding, so I already knew how he felt—not before five years.

When, less than two months later, my period was late, Benjamin was the first to be suspicious. And as the “overtime” added up, I stopped trying to deny the fact. I never even bothered to take a pregnancy test. No, it wasn’t planned, but God showed us in a special way that this was His plan. As soon as I felt sure, I told my mum. She surprised me by saying, “Well, we’ve already got a crib and baby bath here for you.” An elderly friend had given them to her for me. Mum hadn’t known what to do; she couldn’t use them and she knew that we wouldn’t need them for five years. But God had known!

I loved being pregnant. Every day I sang to my little one: “There Were Ninety and Nine,” “I will Early Seek the Saviour,” “Holy, Holy, Holy,” “Yield Not to Temptation.” At times I read him Bible stories. During this time I memorised several of the Psalms and together Benjamin and I asked God to fill this child with His Spirit. On Sunday, the 28th of March, I made up a bed in the cradle, sorted baby clothes and filled the nappy stacker. Monday night, just as I slipped into bed for the night, mild labour pains started. At 2:00 A.M. they really kicked in. In the next 40 hours, I hung onto the Lord to give me the strength for each contraction and finally for the strength to push. Our son struggled for a first breath at 7:02 the night of Wednesday, the 31st. The cord had been wrapped around his body as well as his neck and he needed oxygen, but he stabilised quickly. At 4:00 A.M. I was able to take my brand new baby with me to my hospital bed.

It was now, after his birth, that we chose the name, Samuel Benjamin, meaning “prayed for” and “God has heard.”

Who can understand the joy of a mother until they become one? Even though I grew up with babies, those first couple days in the hospital with my boy were learning ones. We learned together. And one of the best thing I learned was how much I really loved this tiny child. I held him, talked to him, nursed him, sang to him, prayed for him and adored him. What pure joy! I could hardly believe that he was really mine.

Then for three short months we reveled in each other’s company. I could never tire of telling you about them. Samuel was a joy to me every day of his life. The nights he kept us up were few. He was an incredibly happy, contended baby right from the start. I felt like my heart was bursting with joy when, at 3 1/2 weeks, he gave me his first real smile. Even before that, it thrilled me to see how, in his grandmother’s arms, he turned toward my voice as soon as I came into the room, and the contented, trusting way he looked to me.

During the day while I did housework he would watch me from his bouncer and I talked and sang to him. Of the songs I sang to him, he seemed to have favourites. Some of the ones I remember include the scripture song, “And the Lord called and spake as at other times, ‘Samuel, Samuel’ and Samuel answered, ‘Speak, for thy servant heareth.’” “Come into my heart, Lord Jesus,” was another one that always brought a smile from him. When I put him to bed at night, I sang to him and repeated the psalms I had memorised during the pregnancy. And I prayed continually that he would be filled with the Lord’s Spirit.

And I know that God heard my prayer. I believe He answered it. Samuel had a gentle, contented disposition. The only time I can remember his being unsettled without an obvious reason was once when Benjamin and I watched a movie. This opened my eyes to the evil in films, as it had been a G rated, supposedly “good” movie. Samuel didn’t settle that night until I prayed that God would drive away any evil influence. At that moment he stopped screaming and went to sleep. I thank God for that experience, though even now, it pains me to realize I allowed demons to harass my dear boy.

Praise God, though, I have many, many fond memories as well. I love to remember how he greeted one of his young aunts with a grin and what sounded like a “hello”. I greeted him hello very often so it was only understandable that he was trying to copy me, but so sweet! “Aunty Cherith” was thrilled.

Memory fails me here, but I believe it was the very next day that turned out to be our last with Samuel. It was the 22^nd of July, my younger brother, Elisha’s 12^th birthday. We had a small party planned and I was to be “master chef” while my husband, Benjamin, took all the children to a historic town clock climbing event.

There was so much to do. Time was quickly running out and Samuel would fuss. He was due for a feed, so, I tried feeding him, but he didn’t seem hungry at all. He was just too distracted to feed, looking around the room, smiling up at me and only occasionally giving any attention to feeding. I gave up and carried him back into the living room and sat him on the lounge. But he still seemed unhappy, very odd behavior for my generally contented child, unless he was tired. Mum wanted to hold him. When I told her he was tired she offered to put him to bed. I hesitated –almost. I had never before let anyone else put him down for bed. But this was my mother, I trusted her… and my mind was full with party preparations.

“Okay, mum.”

She smiled at me and took my little boy up the stairs. If only I had known! I might have at least kissed him one last time, hugged him, told him how dear he was to me, that he was mummy’s treasure, her greatest joy. I would have coveted the joy of tucking him into bed. But God is such a caring Father. He knew that such knowledge would have been far too heavy for me. Only He knew how close the trial was.

The party was a success. The food turned out perfect, the gathering was cozy but cheery, and Elisha was boyishly thrilled with everything.

Several times I thought I heard Samuel wake and hurried up the stairs, hopeful, to pick him up. But each time, he appeared to be sound asleep. Remembering these times makes my heart ache a little. Had he already breathed his last or could I have wakened him in time? I don’t know, but I leave that knowledge to the Father.

Finally, about an hour later, it was time for Ben and Bubby and I to start for home. Samuel still hadn’t woken, so I packed the car, put my shoes on and asked “Aunty Cherith” to bring the sleeping boy down stairs for me. I planned to strap him into his car seat without waking him so he could keep sleeping in the car.

I felt a jab of fear when I heard my sister’s voice call out, “Bethany, he looks really strange.”

I met her at the bottom of the stairs, my heart racing, and when I saw his purple, cold form, fear knifed me. It wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. But he really looked dead. I didn’t take him in my arms then. I couldn’t bear to look at him.

My husband was just walking through the front door and I turned away from the form of my child and ran to him.

“Ben, quick, do something—it looks like Samuel’s dead!”

I ran on past him onto the front verandah.

I could hardly pray, just cry over and over, “Lord, please save my baby. Don’t let him die. Just don’t let him die.” I still didn’t really believe that he was dead. Someone called the ambulance and Benjamin started doing CPR, but I couldn’t stand to watch.

Even though my parent’s home is out of town, it was mere minutes later that the ambulance arrived. While they hurried into the lounge room where Samuel lay on the floor with Ben still trying to revive him, I ran into my parent’s bedroom and fell to my knees beside the bed. And I gave the life of my child into the Father’s hands.

“Lord, I know You are the source of all life,” I prayed. “You can give it back so easily! Please bring him back to life like you raised Lazarus. I know nothing is too hard for You. But, Father, if it is not Your will that’s okay, too. Do whatever You see as best.”

I wasn’t on my knees long before they called me and asked if I wanted to travel with my boy to the hospital. I prayed all the way there, and I began to feel peace, though my heart was breaking.

In the hospital I waited in a side room, still praying and crying, while they injected my little boy with two lots of adrenaline and put him on an artificial heart pump. But he didn’t respond to anything. And then they told me. There was nothing else to be done.

My baby was dead.

Soon they brought him to me to hold for the last time. I touched his cheeks, kissed his little nose and hugged him to me. And I thanked God for the preciousness of the little life that He had lent us. I was very thankful for that hour I was allowed with my babe. I will never forget it. The peaceful look on his tiny face comforted me. “As if he were just sleeping,” I commented to my mother. The gentleness of the fact stole over me. He had just gone to sleep and that was the last thing he knew, the last thing he would know until he was back in my arms on the resurrection morning. (Daniel 12:2) I was glad that I could be sure that it hadn’t hurt him to die.

My parents invited us to stay the night, but we preferred to take the two-hour trip home and be alone. And what a trip that was! We found our tears being mixed with heartfelt joy as we looked forward to our heavenly home where God will wipe away all tears and there will be no more death. I found myself wondering if, in the new earth, my four-month old would still need to nurse. And I was thrilled to read in Isaiah11:8 where it refers to the “sucking child” and the “weaned child.”

By the time we arrived home it was nearing midnight, but we made our way over to the piano and sang the precious hymn “There were ninety and nine,” with breaking voices. It was the hymn I sang to Samuel every night as a part of his bedtime routine.

Even after we’d slipped under the sheets, we lay awake awhile, holding each other close and repeating promises. And when I woke hours before dawn the words of another hymn pressed onto my mind:

O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe…

The life I owe… my life, myself and all that is mine – yes, Lord and the life of my child. All Yours. And then the verse that we found ourselves identifying with:

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

We started a new life that day. We would take time to savour the sweet moments, but not forget to thank God for the rain. Most of all, we both determined to be there on the resurrection morning for when Samuel wakes up. I’m looking forward to that day with all my heart. Even so, Come, Lord Jesus!