The past weeks prior to baby Ty’s surprise arrival were crazy.  I was frantic trying to get all of the last minute preparations made.  Part of the reason was because I was nesting like never before.  The majority part was the fact that Israel was planning on going to California the Monday to Wednesday (Dec. 14-16) before my schedule c-section (Dec. 21).  I wanted everything ready before he left so that when he came back, we would be ready to go.  I wanted the house clean and I had an enormous check-list.  The baby room was temporarily transformed into my mom’s bedroom for the month she would be staying with us, I had scheduled an appointment for our furniture to be professionally steam-cleaned, Micah and I had our doc appointments taken care of, I dropped off a few large bags of miscellaneous items to Good Will, I bought last minute baby necessities, I loaded the freezer with food from our Schwan man (in case we got stranded by a winter storm), extra wood was stocked in the house, our bedroom was transformed into a temporary baby room, and my bag for the hospital stay was packed.  Physically, our house was pretty much ready. 

Last Friday, Dec. 11, I had finished tidying up the kitchen and I crawled into bed.  I sat there debating whether I should read or if I should work on the baby book.  I decided to work on the baby book since I still had to write a letter to the baby.  After all, it was one of the things on my check-list.  I started the letter with “Dearest Baby”.  Immediately the other two letters that I had written to my other boys came to mind.  I had poured out my hearts to unborn Imanuel and unborn Micah expressing how much I loved them and how it is my goal to raise them to love Jesus.  I shared with them how I may fail them, but how I would do my best, by God’s grace to always point them to our Savior who died for them.  And then tears began to well up in my eyes.  I thought of the past few weeks.

While I was physically getting our home ready for the baby’s arrival, spiritually, I was an absolute mess.  From the minute I would wake up to the seconds before going to bed, my mind was consumed with making sure we were cleaning and ready.  Imanuel and Micah were my biggest hindrance to keeping the house clean and getting Israel to do anything helpful was impossible.  My temper was short and my patience was somewhere on vacation far, far away.  I must admit that each night that week, before going to bed, it was very difficult to even pray.  I would keep it pretty generic so conviction wouldn’t fully set in.  I kept rationalizing and thinking that if I could just get everything done or make good progress, I would be happier.  If the kids just helped pick up their toys or if Micah would stop throwing any and all objects down the stairs, I would have time to play with them.  If Israel would help, at least with his chores, then I wouldn’t feel so exhausted all the time and would have time for devotions.  I was angry and bitter and hated it.  With this frame of mind – still quite fresh I assure you – what was I supposed to write to this new baby?  Could I honestly write that my deepest desire is to be a godly mother?  That I would do my best to raise him to love the Lord?  Every sentence I wrote took a lot of faith.  Finally, I couldn’t handle it any longer.   

With tears streaming down my face, I spoke to the Lord.  I cried out to Him in utter despair.  The thought kept going through my mind over and over again, “How can I possibly raise another child when I’ve already failed You so miserably?” 

I experienced a true repentance that I haven’t felt in a long time…and it wasn’t a good feeling.  Then, I felt a deep need for forgiveness.  Primarily from my poor husband.  I went to the bathroom to wash my face and marched into the living room where he was preparing for his sermon.  I could barely get the words out, “Israel, I just wanted to say…” and I got all choked up.  It wasn’t graceful nor pretty.  First of all, he thought something horrible had happened so he was all concerned.  Then I finally blurted out that I wanted to say sorry for treating him so horribly.  He ended up smiling out of relief and giving me a hug.  I told him what had happened as I was sitting in bed trying to write my letter to baby #3.  He gladly forgave me and assured me that I was still the best wife and mother in the whole world.  I don’t even try to argue with him anymore about that. 

I went back to the room so Israel could finish preparing and I spoke some more with Jesus.  I told Him that I honestly felt there was no way I could possibly be ready for this child to come, nor did I even feel worthy.  I had been faithful in getting “ready” for a child from a purely human perspective, but I hadn’t been faithful at preparing myself spiritually for the challenges ahead.  I needed more time.  Good thing I had over a week.  “Lord, I cannot do this on my own.  I proved that this past week.  I’m nowhere NEAR ready.  I need Your ever-present help every moment of every single day!”

And that night, I went into labor.  As I was timing the contractions, I spoke with the Lord.  I couldn’t believe this was happening and I honestly thought they would stop.  But with an overwhelming impression, the Lord spoke to me saying, “Judy, now you are ready.”

At around 5am, with a soft, calm voice, I called Israel’s name. 

Titus Israel Ramos was about to make his entrance into the world and I couldn’t be happier.