here I raise my ebenezer

Time passes. Struggles returned. I fight battles I thought were long over and done.

In Haiti, little ones were dumped in my arms— “Take them,” they would say, “we have lots of babies. You need one.” And my heart would clench as I snuggled them close and kissed dirty soft skin and shook my head. I handed them back to mamas and aunts and grandmothers. And the battle raged.

Then we were home and I sighed in relief. But it is here too. Staring me in the face. And I’m taking shaking breaths and pushing away burning tears. A friend is there, wrapping her arms around me and I know that God is hearing me and I know it will be okay.

But God, I don’t want to even fight this battle! 

I don’t ever want to mourn someone’s joy. Ever.

My journal is filled with scratched out words, the pencil pressed hard—

Please, Jesus, please– Do not make me drink this bitterness!
I’m not asking for you to take away my pain-
If this emptiness is mine to carry, I will…
But please, I beg, I cry, I ask with everything in me—
Take this bitter cup and make it sweet.

Then I hear the song that’s been running through my mind for weeks now. I thought it was just a pretty song that I liked. I had no idea it was a glimpse of God in me.

Here I raise my Ebenezer
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Come Thou Fount

Because when evening came and chores were done we drove the few miles to my brother’s home and the moment I walked through the door, they were calling to me. My little ones. The babies that my brothers and their wives have shared so graciously. The ones they let me hold and cry over.

“Auntie Tashe,” the tiny blond one squealed, “snuggle with me!” And she pats the couch beside her and I sit with her and she chatters endlessly and I close my eyes and bitterness sweetens.

Then they are all around me. Big and little. Touching. Three on my lap. Squealing. Running fingers through the tiny braids in my hair. They’re snuggling and kisses are raining down and God’s voice flows over me:

“You may not bear the children you desire
But I will never leave you empty and in pain.

Then the blue-eyed twin is touching my face, both hands on my cheeks and my eyes meet hers. “You know, Tashe, you must know—that I’ll always be your Zell-Belle-Ella, no matter how big I get.”

And the cup doesn’t taste so bitter anymore.

Here I raise my Ebenezer the song says.

Then Samuel took a stone
and set it between Mizpah and Shen,
 and he called the name of it
Ebenezer [stone of help],
saying, Heretofore the
Lord has helped us.
I Samuel 7:12AMP

My Ebenezer. My stone of help. My God who hears me.
Who sent three beautiful little girls to soothe my aching heart.

The God who takes my bitterness and makes it sweet. 

And sometimes battles come and come and come but never are we left to fight alone.


edited re-post


19 thoughts on “here I raise my ebenezer

  1. So nice to see you yesterday Natasha, How I know the pain of unsucessful pregnacy and barrenness. The frustration of it all, til we come to the place where God shows us He can open the waters, He can help us pass through, and bring us to a place where we have raised our Ebenezer and found filling for our emptiness.


  2. Thanks for the consistency of your testimony, Natasha, and the comfort of your words. I know God is using them in many lives. Thanks, too, for your constant support of my feeble attempts to raise my own Ebenezer through my blogs. You have been a great encouragement to me.


  3. Was just contemplating that verse and remembered the song as well. Thank you for using the gift of writing the Lord has given you to minister to so many. You are a blessing.


  4. My parents always sang that song with great feeling…knowing that He who is faithful will bring us through. May you know this in the deep and aching parts as beauty fills the trenches of pain.


  5. Jehovah-Ropheka…have not heard that before, so beautiful. I also like Jehovah-Rapha: the God who heals.

    As always, beautiful post.

    And I’m just now remembering that you went to Haiti. I’m going there next Thursday and am so deeply looking forward to it. Now I feel even more so, knowing you have experienced it too. 🙂


    • Oh! Do enjoy your time. Kiss a few babies for me. 🙂

      Jehovah Ropheka is another version of Jehovah-Rapha. It comes from the story in the book of Exodus of the bitter water that God makes sweet.


  6. Prone to wander Lord I feel it
    Prone to leave the God I love
    Here’s my heart Lord take and seal it
    Seal it for thy courts above. – I am always moved by this song. You are in my thoughts Natasha – for so graciously, beautifully walking this difficult road with such courage….you are in my thoughts. Be blessed.


  7. This is so beautiful! It really touched my soul. My older brother and sister-in-law have been so gracious to allow me to mother their four little ones these past 10 years and it always helps to fill the hunger in that empty corner of my heart.

    Blessings, Natasha.


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