Tiny Miracles

By Mel Woodworth

Many women dream of meeting their soul mate and settling down to have children and create a family. For Melissa, it wasn’t going to be that easy.

As a senior in high school, Melissa discovered she had a serious autoimmune disorder that would lead to a life of progressive pain and unique challenges. Doctors were unsure if she would be able to have children. She was fortunately blessed with a healthy baby girl early on in her marriage, and everything went smoothly—at first. As they tried to grow their family, they ran into obstacle after obstacle. Little did she realize she would face years of challenges and heartbreak on her journey to try to expand her family.

Her faith was tested again and again, but God had special plans waiting for Melissa and her family. Just when they were ready to give up, God showed his glory and his power through an unexpected and surprising gift that no one knew was possible—not even the doctors.

This is her story of hope, heartbreak, raw emotion, and the faith that pulled her through and ended with an unexpected blessing poured out by the hands of God. Because with God, all things are possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639034444

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Tiny Miracles

Mel Woodworth

Copyright © 2022 by Mel Woodworth

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

April

Doctors

Jordana

Loss

Four

Answers

Infertility

Shock

Joy

Life

Liam

Today

When you stand and share your story in an empowering way, your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else.

—Iyanla Vanzant

Introduction

Robin Roberts, the current anchor of ABC’s Good Morning America , has a phrase that she is known for saying. She says, Make your mess your message. That’s exactly what I’ve hoped to accomplish here. I hope I have made my mess my message.

The subjects of infertility and loss were, for many years, taboo. Women were not invited to discuss those things. Our culture and society tried to silence those issues and encourage us to keep our personal problems to ourselves. Thankfully, in more recent years, that is no longer the case. I hope to be able to contribute to a culture where women can discuss these things without shame, without judgement, and without feeling like it’s wrong.

Your story is part of who you are. You should be able to share it. And I should too. If sharing my story helps one woman to feel like she is no longer alone, like she’s not the only one, then I have accomplished my goal. If sharing my story lets other women know that it’s okay to open up and talk about these things and that it’s not wrong, then I have done even better.

For years, I almost refused to acknowledge my losses. Even within my own marriage, they weren’t something that we talked about. They were just something that had happened, and then we moved on. But without them, my tiny miracle would not have happened. Without those babies, I wouldn’t be the momma I am today. I wouldn’t be able to have the gratitude and joy and patience that motherhood requires. As Mark Twain so aptly put it, What is joy without sorrow?

I will not stay silent. I will not pretend like those babies did not exist. I will not live my life watching other women go through the same thing and pretend like it never happened to me. It did happen to me. It is part of who I am. And this is my story.

Many of you may wonder why I chose to write such tragic details about my personal life. Why would I publish these words and let them loose into the world for people to read? What good does it do me to confess the deepest, darkest days of my life and let the world witness them through this story?

It’s not for me. It’s for you. Sister, I wrote this for you. The woman who is trying to get pregnant—still. The woman who has been pregnant and her child is now living with Jesus. The woman who gave birth to a heavenly angel that she didn’t get to bring home to live with her. I wrote this for you.

Please know that this story isn’t all darkness and tears. It has some witty humor interjected (well, I tried). It has some heartwarming moments, and best of all, it has a happy ending. So don’t give up! Keep reading. If you get to a place that’s difficult to read and you need to set it down and walk away for a bit, that’s okay. Then come back later and keep reading.

April

Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.

—James 5:16

When she got on the plane, I could immediately tell she’d had a long day. Her long hair was piled on top of her head in a disheveled messy bun with pieces falling down around her face. Her arms were full, and her face was consumed by pure exhaustion.

Is that seat open? she asked as she motioned with her head to the middle seat next to me.

I immediately jumped up and said, Of course! as I stepped out into the aisle and let her squeeze by. She was pregnant. Clearly and probably near the end. I thought to myself, She’s still flying? I didn’t know for sure the cut-off period for when it becomes unsafe to fly, but I knew she had to be close.

As she sat down and placed her bag under the seat in front of her, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on the seat back in front of her and let out a huge sigh. Then she began to rub her low back. I felt for her.

I myself, was on my way home from a very long day. I had arrived in Corpus Christi at around eight that morning having got up at around 4:00 a.m. in Dallas to get ready and head to the airport. I was currently on a layover in Houston on my way back to Dallas, and it was about 8:30 p.m., so all in all, I’d been on my feet and traveling for about sixteen hours. I sat quietly with my book on my lap as I intended on reading and not talking to a single soul on my way home. I never talked on the plane, actually. I flew frequently for work, and it’s normally just a quick fifty-minute