He met me in the middle.
But God was never asking me to surrender the promise — only the path.”
When the Blessing Didn’t Look Like I Expected
I had what many would call an easy pregnancy.
No morning sickness. No strange symptoms.
If it weren’t for my growing belly and the absence of my cycle, I might have forgotten I was pregnant at all.
Nearly a year before, in the stillness of a devotional moment, the Lord had whispered a promise to my heart — a promise I held onto like a breath:“Your womb will be blessed.”
I had peace. No fear about birth. We planned a home water birth with midwives — calm, worshipful, and full of God’s presence. I imagined candlelight, soft music, warm water, and my baby arriving into an atmosphere of glory and rest.
At 39 weeks and one day, labor began just before midnight.
I was confident our daughter would be in my arms by sunrise.
After all, didn’t the Lord say my womb was blessed?
But what followed… was nothing like I had imagined.
It became the most intense, drawn-out, soul-rending pain I had ever known.
Labor That Felt Endless
But as my hopes grew specific and tightly held, the Lord whispered a gentle caution — one I scribbled down in my journal and tucked into my heart weeks before:“Don’t cling to a specific outcome.”
But I was attached.
I couldn’t see any other way. And as a first-time mom, I assumed what I was experiencing was just part of the process.
From Sunday night through the early hours of Thursday morning, I labored.
The pain escalated to a level 7 to 9 — what we had learned in our birthing class meant baby would arrive any moment.
Except she didn’t.
I stayed there, at that intensity, for nearly four days.
But my cervix wasn’t progressing.
Something was preventing her head from descending. The pressure built. The exhaustion mounted. My body was in agony, but I kept thinking:
This must be normal.
I clung to the plan.
By Wednesday, my midwife gently said what I hadn’t dared to speak aloud:
“You might need to go to the hospital.”
Looking back, I know many would wonder why I didn’t go sooner.
Doctors later asked me the same thing.
The truth is — I didn’t want my daughter born in the chaos of bright lights, constant beeping, and the sterile scent of a hospital room.
I didn’t want her arrival marked by rush and disruption.
I had envisioned something sacred — something soft and holy.
And I held that image so tightly.
I had planned every detail, and I couldn’t imagine a different path.
In my heart, I thought surrendering the birth plan might mean surrendering the blessing.
But what I didn’t yet understand was this:
God was never asking me to surrender the promise — only the path.
Letting Go
Thursday morning, I finally let go.
I told myself I just needed rest. If I went to the hospital and they helped me sleep, maybe then I could come home and have the birth I wanted.
But within an hour of arriving, everything changed.
My water broke.
Twenty minutes later, I was being rushed into emergency surgery.
Whatever had been holding her back had moved — and now her heart rate was dropping quickly.
It all happened so fast.
The staff was moving urgently. My husband broke down. The pressure, the fear, the loss of control — it was overwhelming.
And I was angry.
“Is this what blessing looks like?
Why this pain?
Why did You say my womb would be blessed if it had to break me first?”
The Middle Place: Where His Presence Filled the Room
But He met me there.
Right there — in the sterile room, in the flood of surrender, in the moment everything unraveled — He came close.
When they placed her in my arms, and I locked eyes with my daughter, I understood.
She is the blessing.
Not the plan.
Not the birth.
Not the smooth arrival.
She is the blessing.
And her life has marked mine forever.
I thought “blessing” would look like ease — like the perfect plan unfolding without interruption.
But I learned that sometimes, blessing is not the absence of pain.
Sometimes, it’s the presence of God in the middle of it.
I didn’t have the birth I planned — but I had something sacred.
In the hospital room, after all the trauma and surrender, His Spirit filled the space like a cloud.
Doctors and nurses came in and out — some only there for a moment — and nearly every single one made the same comment:
“There’s something peaceful in here.”
They couldn’t name it. But I could.
It was the presence of the Lord — steady and holy.
It was the kind of peace you can’t conjure, only receive.
God didn’t just meet me there.
He covered me there.
He wrapped me and my baby and my husband in His provision.
And He sent angels in human form.
There was one nurse in particular — Laila.
She cared for us as though we were her own family. She was gentle and attentive, noticing even the smallest details of what we needed physically and emotionally.
By pure grace, she just so happened to be on shift every day we were in the hospital.
She spoke peace into our fear, kindness into our exhaustion, and helped us feel safe in the most vulnerable moments of our lives.
She was a true angel.
And it wasn’t just Laila. Every doctor, every nurse, every member of the hospital staff became part of the covering God placed over us. With every check-in, every kind word, every quiet act of care — they reminded us we were not alone. We were seen. We were held. God's presence moved through the hands of those who tended to us — and through them, we experienced a healing that went beyond the physical.Through her, we felt God’s presence so tangibly — as if He were reminding us:
I see you. I have you. I’m sending help.
In the days that followed, we were surrounded with love.
Friends and family poured out blessing after blessing — meals, gifts, messages, prayers.
People we hadn’t spoken to in years reached out.
People showed up.
God showed up.
Everything we needed — and more — was provided.
Not just physically, but emotionally. Spiritually.
Where I expected to feel defeated, I felt held.
Where I expected to feel empty, I felt full.
Where I expected regret, I felt reverence.
Because that’s what the middle place really is — a place of holy meeting.
A place where we let go of what we thought it would be…
And receive what God knew we needed all along.
Biblical Anchor: Hagar in the Wilderness
One of the women in scripture who knew what it meant to be met in the middle was Hagar.
After being cast out, rejected, pregnant, and alone in the wilderness, she cried out.
And God answered.
Not by fixing everything.
Not by returning her to comfort.
But by revealing His nearness.
In Genesis 16:13, Hagar responds to God with these words:
“You are the God who sees me.”
Not the God who waits for me to arrive.
Not the God who only shows up in the perfect plan.
But the God who sees me — right here, in the wilderness.
In the middle.
I think of that often now.
God didn’t wait for me to recover.
He didn’t need my labor to go according to plan.
He saw me.
He met me.
Just like He always has — and always will.
Reflection: When You’re in the Middle, Too
Maybe you’re in the middle, too.
Not where you once were, but not yet where you hoped to be.
Maybe your body is healing, your heart is heavy, your soul is holding questions no one seems to answer.
Maybe the plan you made unraveled in your hands.
Maybe you’re still waiting to understand why.
If that’s you — I want to tell you this:
You are not alone in the middle.
God does not avoid mess.
He enters it.
He speaks peace over it.
And He blesses you within it.
Don’t miss Him because He didn’t show up in the form you expected.
Sometimes the miracle is not the perfect path.
Sometimes it’s the mercy that meets you on the floor.
Scriptures for the Middle Place
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.” – Isaiah 43:2
“You are the God who sees me.” – Genesis 16:13