He Looked at the Devil and Said, ‘Not Today.’

Mason was born on April 27, 2013. He died the same day.  

After an initial cry of life was heard, his dad stood up to greet him and saw his little baby booty, but was told quickly to sit back down.  

After a day and a half of induced labor, Mason had started to experience distress. He was stuck on my pelvic bone, and I was sent quickly to be prepped for an emergency C-section.  

After receiving many doses of Pitocin, my body would not stop shaking, teeth chattering, a known side effect of the medication. My arms were placed in a T to my sides, alongside my husband. Medication was injected into an IV, and my arm felt as if it were burning. I attempted to get someone’s attention, but the staff in the room were focused below. I focused my mind the best I could on praying for Mason, while my head bounced small jumps on the table. I thought I was likely dying but tried to focus prayers on making sure Mason didn’t. 

And for a brief moment, he didn’t. He came out and cried. 

Then the air changed in the room. Mike stood and was yelled at to sit down. I closed my eyes and knew what was happening.  

I also knew to keep praying. I knew that God did not bring us this far for that child not to live. 

I heard the minutes called out as they ticked by as they attempted to breathe life back into his body.  

I heard the NICU doctor questioning if they knew everything about mom’s history because there’s no way that mom could have been honest about her prenatal care if the baby looked the way that he did.  

I felt the tug and pull as they closed me up.  

The longer time went on, the louder they prayers became in my head. I drowned out the counting, the doctor, everything with conversation and pleas to God. I couldn’t find my voice – couldn’t speak if I wanted to because I was shaking severely. I drowned out all of it with the simple, core belief of faith.  

God did not bring us to this point for Mason not to live. God wanted this child. And it was up to God to make sure His will would still be done. All I could do was lie there and believe that, with words and the most hardcore of faith.  

And then I heard it. The faintest of cries at first. He was alive again.  

They quickly stabilized him and started to head for the NICU. They stopped by us briefly so that we could see him. Our first born, our beautiful boy, beaten, bruised. Alive.  

Mike looked at me as they started to wheel him away and then looked back at Mason. I looked back at Mike and said simply, go follow that baby. He hesitated briefly. I told him that I can’t be with him and someone needs to be. So he followed Mason to the NICU. And I finally put my head back down and felt at peace with whatever came next, despite physical situation I was in. 

While in recovery, the NICU doctor came in to tell me that Mason was stable and breathing on his own, with oxygen. However, due to the “deformities,” he would likely have many problems throughout his life but that they don’t know the full extent yet. And he left. Just like that.  

I was shaking, still with teeth chattering. My mom kept telling me to try to calm down, and I kept trying to convince her that I was calm. It was the medicine. Because I was calm, and it was the medicine. To be fair to my mom, I can understand why she would think it was anxiety as I have had severe anxiety for much of my life. However, this time, that was not it. 

When I was alone for a moment recovering, I heard God’s voice again clearly for the third time. And I knew the truth that not everyone yet knew. Mason was going to be fine. Everything was going to be OK. I knew and believed that to mean that Mason wasn’t going to have the problems and deformities that the doctor spoke about but also I equally knew that if he did, it would still be OK. It didn’t change anything for me, not really. He was still my son. He was still meant to be here. He was still planned by God, and he still had value, worth, and there was a plan for him. Beyond that, nothing else mattered. And I had peace.  

After sleeping off some of the medication, I asked the nurses when I could see Mason and was told that when I was able to feel my legs enough to be able to help get myself in a wheelchair, I could go. My legs were still somewhat numb, but I poked at them and felt something, enough that I could pivot. So I said now, let’s go now. They looked at me dumbfounded.  

The rest of the time we were both in the hospital, it became a running joke that I was never in my room, and my nurses had to call up to the NICU to find me. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. I was with him for nine months, and I wasn’t going anywhere now. He’s got me, and he’s got Him. Mike and my mom would come by, drop their stuff off in my room, then head to the NICU.  

After his bruising and swelling went down, after his scars (mostly) healed, what was left was a perfectly healthy, beautiful baby boy.  

We both went home in a week. Both bruised, both still healing. But both alive, both loved.  

God saved what He intended to bring into the world that day and the Devil attempted to deny. I don’t know what Mason is meant to do, but God has a plan for Him. He has a plan for all of us.  

That tiny little creature with spindly legs might have made the weakest of cries when he came back to life, but he hasn’t stopped making noise since. So much God-loving, beautiful noise. He is a fun-loving crusader for justice and a mental health warrior at age 12.  

You’ll hear more from him as he will be joining me in this GoodSky adventure. It’s important to hear his voice, as a young individual making his way in this world. Young voices, the next generation, have big obstacles ahead and grand opportunities as well. I look forward to sharing his voice with you. I am sure I am biased, but he is one well-informed, empathetic, passionate, God-loving kid who wants nothing more than to love and be loved and to play video games, eat pizza, and sleep. Oh, and to change the world, too.  

When the game is on pause, anyway 😉