How my firstborn son taught me about the power of God’s hope and healing

By Ebony Nicole Jones

Ebony Nicole Jones

It was an unforgiving June morning in 2006 in Jackson, Mississippi. The heat was sweltering, the humidity was high, and the air was thick. 

I was 23 years old, 32 weeks pregnant, unwed, and living with my parents. I had come to peace with the situation and the baby God blessed me with. But I wasn’t prepared for the medical challenges I knew I would soon face.

A sharp pain had woken me up. After the discomfort subsided, I went to the bathroom and had an urge to push. 

Suddenly I felt something strange. I looked down and saw my baby’s tiny toes. I jumped up and screamed for my dad. He rushed into the bathroom as fear consumed me. This wasn’t the birth I expected. 

As I gathered my things for the hospital, I thought back to an anatomy scan I had four months earlier. I lay alone but excited that winter day, hoping to find out the baby’s gender.

But the ultrasound tech seemed confused while looking at the monitor. She excused herself and returned with the doctor who reviewed the ultrasound, then said, "Ebony, we need to talk."

My baby had developed fetal bladder outlet obstruction, a blockage of the urethra causing backup of urine in the baby’s bladder and kidneys. 

“Your baby is not going to make it," the doctor had said. 

My child would either die in the womb, or during birth. If the child happened to survive upon their entrance into the world, it would only be for a few hours.

The memory flitted through my mind as my baby began to emerge that June morning. My dad called 911. 

Fear turned to hope

As the paramedics loaded me onto the stretcher, the ambulance seemed much smaller than it appeared on television. A paramedic inserted my IV's, joking that my baby couldn’t wait to get here.

“What do you plan to name the baby?” he asked, sensing my fear. 

I felt a glimmer of hope and I enthusiastically said, "If it’s a girl, Jasmine. If the baby is a boy, Hunter.” 

That hope stayed with me as the paramedic continued to comfort me. But I couldn’t erase the fear, either. Hurtful thoughts swept through my mind. I thought of the doctor’s words, that my child’s body was too frail for this earth.

“Don't look at the baby when it comes out, or you will lose yourself,” the fear inside me whispered as we pulled up to the hospital. 

“You will never become a mom. You will never be anyone’s wife. You will never be respected by the church." 

And for a moment, I trusted fear instead of God. 

At the hospital, I was taken to an emergency maternity ward. It was cold and bright. Though 20 strangers rushed around beside me, I felt alone and afraid.

Within minutes, the doctor pushed the baby’s foot back inside me, turned the baby around, and with one big push, the child was out. 

I said to myself, "Do not look." Yet, I stole a glimpse. A nurse held the baby — my baby —  and rushed out the door.

Just then I noticed a sweet nurse holding my hand. 

“You did a great job!" she said with a smile. And at that moment I felt loved and cared for. 

She told me my baby, a boy, was in the NICU.

“I have a son?” I thought. 

Shortly after, the nurse helped me into a wheelchair so I could visit Hunter. When I saw him, I broke down.

He was a little handsome guy, with lips like mine and a head full of hair. His little face seemed to squint from a pain that I could not fix. 

"This is all your fault,” the fear inside me uttered as I looked at the tangle of cords hooked up to him and listened to the beeping of the machines. 

The doctor stood by Hunter with sympathetic eyes. The medical staff cleaned my son and dressed him. Then with care, the doctor placed my son in my hands as tears lapped under my chin.

"I'm so sorry," I told my son in between sobs.

The doctor knelt in front of me and Hunter and said, "This is not your fault!"  

The room filled with family, friends, and church members. With them, they brought hope. 

We sang worship songs to celebrate and mourn Hunter. We shared stories with him about his family and how much we loved him.

I held Hunter for ten hours. Then he took his last earthly breath.

God is my hope

Ebony with her family.

It’s been almost 15 years since I said goodbye to Hunter. I am married. I lead worship at church. I have four beautiful children and two bonus sons.

I learned since that difficult ride to the hospital that my hope lies in God. He was beside me then, and He is beside me now. 

He held my hand in the delivery room. He provided me strength when I was weak, and He carried me down that long walkway. 

He took my guilt and shame away as I held my dying child, instead filling my grieving heart with comfort and love.

I often turn to Psalm 31: 24 when I need to be reminded that the Father is my source of strength if I have patience.

“Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the LORD!”

Though my firstborn son left the Earth years ago now, it was through him I learned that fear accomplishes nothing. Instead, hope restored all. God restores all.

Ebony Nicole Jones was born in Phoenix, AZ, then moved to Seattle, WA, before settling in Jackson, MS. She is the founder of Give Outrageously, a nonprofit that provides fun community events while feeding those in need and providing basic essentials. Ebony fights for food justice for all by serving on the Mississippi Food Systems and the Mississippi Food Policy. She has a master's degree in Organizational Leadership and is completing her studies from Relate University in Church Leadership and Biblical Studies. Ebony is married with six children and is a homeschooling mom and a small farmer, with 10 chickens and three ducks. Ebony enjoys writing inspiring words and ministering to women. To find out more about Ebony, go to www.EbonyNicole.me.