Special thanks to Emma Bustard of Northern Ireland for sharing this amazing story with us today. I know her story of perseverance in prayer will encourage you as it has me.
It was the dead of night. Darkness shrouded my bedroom and also my heart as I awoke to a disturbance downstairs. I shared the upstairs corridor with my two younger sisters aged 12 & 17 and so I took care to step over the creaky floor board to avoid wakening them. I silently descended the three flights of stairs to the family room and all at the same time my heart also descended within me. I heard dad before I saw him. A catalogue of ill health since the age of 18 he was now writhing in pain with his head buried in a basin. My mum looked up at me with eyes that apologised to her firstborn that I was again witness to dads suffering; but I knew she was thankful for my presence in this desperately lonely moment as she helplessly sat at dads side. Dad had lifesaving surgery for colon cancer 17 years earlier, which had resulted in an ileostomy. Many complications had led to the subsequent removal of more bowel and now, just a couple of days into the new millennium, dads remaining bowel had twisted, causing strangulation and gangrene. As we waited on the ambulance the sights, sounds and smells pierced my senses and I knew that the shadow of death was looming over my dads pitiful body. Finally we heard the crunch of heavy ambulance tires on stones in the driveway. One male and one female paramedic rushed into the room time was of the essence. Dad was put on oxygen and administered pain relief; he was swiftly strapped onto the trolley and placed into the back of the ambulance. As the paramedics were preparing to leave I spoke with mum in the hallway; receiving instructions before she set off to follow the ambulance. By now I had expected to hear the scream of the ambulance siren but instead I heard my dads screams filtering into the house. The female paramedic appeared in the hallway panic-stricken; the ambulance had broken down!
Whilst she desperately tried to call for back up, dads screams were growing louder from inside the ambulance. I ran to the closed doors of the ambulance to offer an explanation and as I retreated through the hallway to hear news about back up I knew that we needed God to turn up! I prayed not eloquent words and sentences but something akin to Morse Code! I stopped in my tracks as God responded to the SOS; an instruction to waken my sisters and push the ambulance. What? God are you serious? Push that ambulance? I was dumbfounded as I glanced over my shoulder and saw the paramedic attempt to resuscitate the dead lump of an ambulance. I scaled the three flights of stairs in seconds and wakened my sisters, barking instructions as only an eldest sister can! Get up! Dad is sick! We called for an ambulance! It has broken down! God says we have to push it! Put on your trainers quick!!! The three of us arrived in the family room with our trainers on. As the female paramedics desperate tones made their way down the telephone line, my line of communication with God was still open and clear; we grabbed mum dragging her through the hallway and into the cold night air. We have to push the ambulance! I told the paramedic, still behind the wheel of this dead metal beast. He looked completely aghast at my suggestion but knew by the determination flashing in my eyes that there was no point arguing! After the count of three, a mother and her three daughters pushed that metal hulk with all their might. Did I mention that the driveway gradually inclined to the roadway? Mission impossible! The ambulance began rolling silently backwards towards us. I prayed I am not sure what, but I prayed! Once more! One more time! I knew that we could not give up now and foolish as I looked, it was not Gods intention to make a fool of me for being obedient! We did push again and this time I believe that God lightly placed His mighty right hand on the back of that ambulance. The metal beast spluttered and sneezed into life and the female paramedic climbed aboard and set off into the night with the precious cargo. God answered SOS prayers that night as dad made it to the hospital for his lifesaving surgery.
Since 2010 I have been praying that God would move another beast; the mountain of infertility. Very graciously He gave me a promise just weeks before I received a diagnosis of Primary Ovarian Failure at 30 years of age. He said ...for truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, move from here to there, and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you. Six weeks after receiving this verse on a little card attached to a gladioli bulb at a praise service, I sat in the fertility clinic with my husband surveying the steep incline of this dark, ominous and looming mountain which was casting the shadow of death over all our hopes and dreams. However, God had made another promise four years earlier in 2006 as my mother-in-law battled through her last few hours on this earth with cancer. God very unexpectedly promised us a daughter and He gave us her name.
Seven years later we still await the fulfilment of that promise; only God is able to move this mountain of infertility. The slopes are perilous with the rocks and boulders of physicians diagnosis, insensitive words of others, impatience of others as we limp along on our journey, pregnancy announcements, scan photos all over Facebook, catching a glimpse of a pregnancy bump, someone striding behind the travel system that I wanted to push my baby in, a baptism in church, the cry of a newborn, the complaints of sleep deprived mothers. The list is endless isnt it? I have never conceived so I have not experienced the heart-sickening trauma of miscarriage or infant death; these boulders have not blocked my path so I do not pretend to understand. What I have understood however is the importance in persevering in prayer. At times it has been a series of incomprehensible dots and dashes that the Spirit translates through His groanings as I spell out my SOS. Prayer has been a tear-drenched bed. Prayer has been a whisper. Prayer has been a gut-wrenching roar. Whatever the shape and size of the prayers I know that God bends low to hear them; He collects my tears in a bottle and the prayers of the Saints in gold bowls.
I love the acrostic P.U.S.H. I am not sure of the origins of this acrostic but I know that Elijah knew how to Pray Until Something Happened. If Elijah had not stretched himself out on the lifeless body of the widows son and cried out for a third time to the Lord, would He have raised that child from the dead? If Elijah had not sent his servant for a seventh time to look for rain, would the Lord have sent that tiny cloud that signalled the return of rains in a parched land? Only God knows. Only God knows the perfect blueprint for our lives. Only God can take pleasure in our child-like prayers, our tears and our prayerful stubbornness. Dear friend, whatever your prayer, do not give up until you receive an answer; it may not be the answer you are expecting and it may not be your idea of perfect timing but know that God does not ignore our prayers. I am so glad that I prayed and pushed that ambulance for a second time; God did that which was humanly impossible and I was witness and testify to it for His glory. I know that He can dismantle every mountain that blocks my path. He is able. When you grit your teeth through the detail of another birth plan from an excited expectant mum, or hear the blow-by-blow account of another delivery, remember that you too have the option to P.U.S.H!
Emma J Bustard
