Behind the Veils of Yemen (21 page)

“Good morning, sweetheart. Clear liquids, yum!” Kevin looked over my breakfast tray.

I pushed the tray aside. “How is he?” I asked.

“Well, like the neonatologist predicted, he got worse during the night.” Kevin hesitated and pulled three instant snapshots from his shirt pocket. “The NICU nurses sent these for you.”

I took the photographs from his hand, poring over Jake’s tiny body in each one. “What’s on his eyes and ears?” I asked.

Kevin cleared his throat. “Jake has begun to revert into Persistent Fetal Circulation, the blood patterns of the womb, which means there’s not enough blood going to his lungs to give him the oxygen he needs.” He took my hand. “They are trying to force him out of that by simulating the womb, so they put those mufflers over his ears and the blinder across his eyes. It’s dangerous, honey. Once babies go into that, they rarely come out.”

I nodded, cradling the snapshots. Kevin continued. “Pastor Luke came out last night, and we prayed together over him. Jake’s NICU nurse joined us. She came right up and took our hands while we were praying. She’s a Christian.” He smiled.

Tears glistened in my eyes. “God is good,” I whispered. “He raises up His people where we need them.”

“Can I get you some more ice?” Kevin asked. “Do you need anything?”

“I need to hold my baby,” I whispered, clutching the snapshots to my chest.

“I know. I was looking at Jake this morning in his incubator. I wanted to reach in and pat his tummy. All I could think was that Jesus is holding him right now, cradling him close while we can’t.” Kevin’s voice broke. I nodded, handing him a tissue while I took another for myself.

I was drying my hair when Kevin returned with the children. I had showered and dressed in a gown from home. My IV lines had been removed, so the children cuddled with me on the bed. They were animated, chattering about friends who had brought food and presents. I responded without listening. My thoughts were at the hospital twenty miles away.

“Don’t be sad, Mommy.” Jaden scowled. “We’re here!”

“And I’m glad you are!” I kissed him and pulled them all close. “I’m so happy that you’re with me!” But my heart was with the one who was missing.

After three stories from books and one about Squiggles, Kevin stood from his chair. “Come on, kids. Time for lunch.” He waved by the door. “We’ll come back and see Mommy this afternoon. Give her a kiss good-bye!” And then to me, “We’ll be back around three.”

I walked the yellow halls of the maternity ward and stopped at the wide window of the nursery. The nurses were preparing to roll the babies into their mothers’ rooms. One looked up as I watched through the window. She had been Jake’s nurse in the O.R. She smiled slightly and waved uncertainly. I put my hand against the glass and tried to smile back. I turned and walked away. I passed doors streaming with pink or blue ribbons. My own door was bare.

Words echoed in my mind.
In remembrance of Me, heal the sick.
I frowned. The altar at church was engraved
In Remembrance of Me
, but there was no “heal the sick.” I brushed the words away. I walked back into my room and sat on the edge of my bed. My arms ached, hungry for my son. Again the words echoed.
In remembrance of Me, heal the sick.

Puzzled, I glanced at the Bible on my nightstand. I remembered Jesus’ words,
“Do this in remembrance of Me.”
I crossed my arms tightly around my chest.
My arms hurt, Lord.
Tears trickled down my face.
I ache to hold my baby.

The words whispered through like a quiet song.
In remembrance of Me, heal the sick.
I knew God was speaking to me.

In remembrance of Me, heal the sick? My baby is critically ill! What do You mean, Lord? This doesn’t make sense.

I rocked back and forth on my bed. My arms yearned for my child, aching to nuzzle him and whisper in his ear all I had planned. But I could not. He was twenty miles away, in another hospital, in another town.

I picked up the snapshots Kevin had brought from the NICU nurse. I looked at my newborn son, covered by a profusion of IV lines and a jet ventilator tube. To force him out of the Persistent Fetal Circulation, he had been chemically paralyzed. Yellow mufflers covered his ears, and a blue blinder hid his eyes. He was under orders for minimal stimulation; no one was to touch him unnecessarily.

I tossed the snapshots on the bed. “Lord, even if I was there, I could not hold him,” I wailed. “Even if I was right there beside him, I could not cuddle him close to my heart. There’s a barrier between us!”

At that moment it was as if the fingers of God snapped in my ears. He whispered, “Yes, Audra. There are millions of babies, adult babies, teenage babies I long to hold close to My heart and tell them all that I have planned for them. But there is a barrier between us. They are separated from Me by a disease called sin.”

I sat stock-still. The words I had heard made sense.
In remembrance of Me, heal the sick.
I sat in quiet awe, pondering what I had just been shown. It was a sacred and intimate moment, a glimpse into the heart of God.

Tears streamed onto my gown as I looked toward the ceiling. “Help me never to forget, Lord,” I wept. “Help me to remember this pain. It’s Your pain, Lord. Use me to heal the sick. Help me to live in remembrance of You.”

That afternoon one of my prayer partners came to visit. Kathy presented me with a huge mass of blue ribbons adorned with a small white teddy bear and a banner emblazoned, “It’s a boy!” She hung it firmly on the door and handed me a gift bag. “Congratulations on the birth of your son!”

I was startled and stumbled for words. Everyone had been afraid to mention Jake. “Thank you,” I whispered. Kathy gave me a hug and left as quickly as she had come.

I followed her to the door. I touched the blue ribbons streaming in shiny profusion. I looked around at the pride displayed on other doors, and I straightened my shoulders.

“I had a baby, too,” I whispered. “I have a son!” In the pain of the circumstances, I had forgotten the blessing.

I had given birth to an eight-pound, nine-ounce baby boy. I had a reason to celebrate. “Thank you, Kathy,” I whispered.

I stopped at the nurses’ station. “I need to get a breast pump,” I told the nurse. “I need to store milk for my son.”

The nurse looked at me uneasily. All of the nurses had been hesitant, uncertain how to act. They knew how ill my baby was and understood his limited chance of survival.

“Okay, Mrs. Shelby,” she said finally. “We’ll get you one right a way.”

I left the hospital the next day. It was earlier than my obstetrician preferred, but he relented, knowing I wanted to see my baby. He discharged me with strong warnings about rest and recovery. I went straight to the hospital in Odessa.

Jacob was crying in his NICU incubator when I approached him. He was on his jet ventilator, but his blinders and ear mufflers had been removed. His tiny face was puckered as tears streamed down from his squinting eyes, but no sound came from his mouth. The jet ventilator prevented it. I could see him crying, but I could not hear him.

Tears streamed down my face as I gripped the side of the incubator. “When you are free, little Jake, and I can hold you in my arms, I will never let you cry again without being there to hold you through it. Never,” I promised.

For the next several days I was pulled between my children at home and my infant son in the city. When Jacob was nine days old, he was taken off the ventilators and placed in my arms for the first time. I took him carefully, trying not to disturb the IV lines that still remained.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I whispered. “I’m your mommy!”

Hearing my voice, Jake stretched his tiny face toward mine. He broke into a wide, ear-to-ear grin. “He knows his mommy!” I sobbed. “He knows it’s me!”

The nurse bustled around Jake’s crib. “Oh, all newborns smile periodically. It’s just gas.” But I knew better. My son knew my voice, and nothing would convince me otherwise. His wide smile was my reward for waiting endlessly to hold him.

Two months later we prepared our family of six to return to Yemen. I packed baby clothes into foot lockers, stopping periodically to bend over Jake’s portable cradle. He was sleeping on his side, his gentle breath soft and even. He shuddered slightly when I touched his chest.

I sank into the rocking chair to watch him. “Thank You for him, Lord,” I whispered. “He is so precious to me. Help me never to forget what it felt like not to hold him.”

I thought back to the hospital, to that intimate moment with God. I cherished it and held it deep within me. But it had come at a great cost.

I looked up at the ceiling. “He was my son, Lord!” My voice broke, remembering the pain I had suffered.

God quietly answered, “He was My Son, too.”

It took some time for me to realize that He was not talking about Jacob.

Soon afterward, we were on the final leg of our journey back to Yemen. We leaned back in our seats as the wide-bodied plane jetted into the evening sky of Frankfurt. The trees disappeared into the German darkness far below. Jacob slept undisturbed in my arms. I held him close.

“Would you like to move to a different seat? There might be an extra one available to lay him down.” The flight attendant handed me a dinner menu.

“That’s okay.” I smiled. “I like holding him.”

Kevin winked at me from the menu he was reading to Jack. “You’re going to be saying that when he’s eighteen,” he chuckled.

“Probably.” I grinned and cuddled Jake closer.

Jake’s first two months had passed quickly. He had grown chubby, much heartier than the seven-pound baby who had left the hospital after thirteen days. He had become a lusty eater with an equally lusty squall when he disliked something. I kissed his soft, pink cheek.

Madison stroked the top of his fair head. “He’s so cute, Mommy,” she whispered.

I nodded. “God has really blessed us, hasn’t He?”

Madison leaned against my arm. “Do you think he’ll be okay in Yemen?” Her ten-year-old eyes looked worried.

I moved Jake to one arm and wrapped my other one around Madison. “He’ll be fine in Yemen. Haven’t we been okay there? Even when you were sick, God provided what we needed, didn’t He? He’s enough for what we need.”

I looked into her eyes. “Honey, God never tells us to go out and let Him know how things go. He tells us to go out and He will go with us. Every step of the way.”

Madison smiled and leaned against me. “I’m glad we’re going home to Hudaydah,” she said.

“Me, too.” I kissed her cheek. “Me, too.”

I settled back against my seat thinking about my neighbors in Hudaydah and my friend Amal. I thought about them and the children they had lost. I watched my son breathing evenly in my arms and tried not to remember the looks from friends who questioned our return to Yemen.

Our well-meaning friends cautioned against it. Doctors warned that Jake could have pneumonia at least eight times during his first two years, reminding us that he was vulnerable to Sudden Infant Death syndrome.

“Jacob’s life does not belong to us,” I had responded. “God intervened and spared his life. They call him the miracle baby, remember? His life belongs to God.”

I closed my eyes, reliving the pain of my empty arms. I heard again the words,
In remembrance of Me, heal the sick
.

“Lord, help me never to forget the
why
of what we do. Help me to remember that pain of separation and to see people as You see them, to know Your desire to hold each one close.”

I thought about the news we had received from the International Mission Board. A young college graduate had arrived in Yemen to join our work in the Tihama. Scott was waiting for us in Hudaydah, where he had committed to serve for two years.

Jake stirred softly in his sleep. A smile briefly touched his lips. I kissed his fuzzy head. I did not know what the future would hold for him or our family, but I was confident in not knowing. I knew who held us in His hands, and I had found Him faithful to walk us through any situation we could possibly face.

I chuckled, thinking of the women who were waiting in Hudaydah. They would be pleased that I was returning with a son. Amal would cradle Jake and pass him for other women to kiss and pinch as we sipped hot tea and munched popcorn. I shivered with excitement.
Lord, I’ll tell them Jacob’s story. I’ll tell them how deeply You love them.

I leaned against my headrest, thinking back to our arrival in Yemen three years before. I remembered my first yearning to know the women, to get behind the veils of Yemen. “Lord,” I whispered. “Your people prayed, and You opened the door into the lives of these women. Take me behind their veils again. I’m ready to show them Your heart.”

Watching the bored eyes of fellow college students during an evangelism training course, Audra swallowed back tears. “Lord, these are the most powerful words on earth, but they have become clichés. Use me to communicate them in a way that people will understand.” Little did Audra Grace Shelby* know where that request would lead.

Audra began her missionary experience as a three-month-old, when her parents were commissioned as missionaries to South America. When Audra was five, her mother died tragically in childbirth at the end of the family’s first term. Her widowed father returned to the United States with his five children, ages seven years and under. Five years later the family returned to the mission field with a new stepmother and a new place of service: the Caribbean.

Audra met her husband, Kevin*, in Texas, where she worked as a children’s editor for religious curricula, writing and editing Bible stories and studies for children and teachers. After her daughter, Madison*, and sons, Jaden* and Jack*, were born, Audra began a desktop publishing business out of her home and continued writing and editing, while developing her interests in heirloom sewing and design, and gardening.

Kevin and Audra and their three young children left their home in Texas to answer God’s call to Yemen. They were appointed as missionaries with the International Mission Board S.B.C. to Yemen, where Audra spent treasured afternoons sharing the lives of Muslim women and reaching behind their veils to communicate God’s love and message in a way they could understand. Audra used her sewing skills among illiterate women and continued writing articles about the people of Yemen and creating stories for her children. The family returned briefly to the United States for the birth of their fourth child, Jacob.*

When the educational and social needs of their growing children became difficult to meet in Yemen, the family transferred to Egypt. Two years later, the family returned to the United States, where their oldest children entered high school. Audra and Kevin celebrate 24 years of marriage and remain actively involved in getting God’s message into the Middle East through global ministries and outreach opportunities. Audra continues to write and speak in churches and conferences across the nation, pursuing her passion to communicate who God is in a way people understand.

Visit Audra at her website and blog,
www.audragrace shelby.com
, and at
www.facebook.com/audragrace.shelby
, where you will also find her current speaking schedule and information for scheduling conferences and speaking engagements.

* Audra’s name, as well as the names of her family, have been changed to protect friends and ongoing work in the Middle East.