His Faithfulness Endures with Me Forever

There once was a day these tiny feet were only a desire.

As a little girl, I longed to have a brother to be alongside me, to protect me, and be my best friend.

Now I know this may sound a little cheesy, but growing up, my dad wasn’t in my life every day. I had stepsisters and a half-sister, but they just didn’t create balance for me, as I was a girl also.

I needed someone who I could reason with, even unjustly.

Someone like a brother, who would be required to love me, but who was not a thing like me.

I always got along with the guys better than the girls. They were always better about distracting themselves from reality. I needed that growing up.

So when all hope was lost for my parents to somehow get back together, and for my mom to miraculously be able to have another child — a brother — I began desiring to be a boy mom.

When I was pregnant with my first child at the age of 16 — and married — I was so hopeful to have a boy.

Being so young, I lived in "flabberghastation" at that point; girl or boy, the process was amazing.

Well, she certainly made her debut, and she did not disappoint.

Plus — first round — we will have another later on, and it became expected our next would be a boy.

Lo and behold, very shortly after — all the while on birth control — we conceived yet another girl.

I remember being so anguished at the surprise of another baby so soon, and then her not being a boy. I honestly felt hopeless.

My whole world went asunder. I was in college working on a teaching degree, we already had a baby under a year, and we were still living with his parents.

I didn’t even have time to pray — and who would have prayed for another baby three months after having the first at 17?!

We moved into our own apartment, had everything ready before her arrival, and she arrived five days before her sister turned one — in pure perfection.

When those tiny feet I desired became a prayer.

After our second daughter was born, I didn’t even wait. I began to pray and pray for a boy.

I researched and ordered books related to choosing the sex of your baby.

I would insist my husband try new ways, eat certain diets, and do everything the books said to do, every time — even though we were using contraceptives.

Praying for a boy was in my prayers like a routine: “Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. I pray for my boy to come on earth as he is in Heaven.”

I wasn’t about to be caught off guard again.

With the girls being awfully close in age, we didn’t want to wait too much longer to have our next — and decidedly last — child, boy or girl.

Plus, my second daughter was very babied and needed a baby sister to create balance in her growth.

So when I became pregnant, my granny and I were in such faithful hope for this one to surely be a boy. She brought over a faith seed — a button-down boy shirt she had bought.

At this time, I was in my last two years of college to become a teacher, and my husband was going to the police academy and working full-time.

I had my granny attend the sonogram appointment with me for moral support. Because remember, I was done after three — I was an early mom, so I could spend my time in my 30s doing my own thing — so this was our last hope.

When the doctor said it was a girl, I was shattered. I stayed in bed as long as I could and became depressed.

All I had was sisters, girl cousins, and a mom — at least I had a husband — but he wasn’t my son. He wouldn’t let me dress him up all cute, and my girls wouldn’t have a brother, missing the balance in their family too.

So I thought.

But when she arrived — she was a cupcake of perfection.

My husband and I talked about it and agreed — maybe try again for a boy — maybe not. We left it in the air, and I just held onto my granny’s faith seed for safekeeping.

When a prayer became a promise.

Shortly after our third daughter was born, my granny got really sick and was on her deathbed. I visited her daily, talking about how she had gone to Heaven and seen the Lord, and describing the bask of His glory.

The very next thing that popped into my head was, if she went to Heaven again — through her episodes of dying and then reviving — then surely she must ask the Lord of our hopeful prayer for a boy, and when he would be arriving.

I did not want to try on my own by prayer this time. I wanted to be given confirmation timing to know it was His timing.

So every day I would visit and ask the same question, “Granny, did you go see the Lord again?”

A few days passed, and we were busy with errands and things, so I didn’t get a chance to stop by and visit. During that time, she had gone into another episode of dying, so I made sure to go see her, to most especially be able to tell her goodbye one last time.

When I arrived, she was in and out of it. Then the question came to mind, “Granny, did you see the Lord again?”

She said, “Yes. He said your son will be coming soon.”

Soon. That was not the timeframe answer I was looking for — but it was the promise I needed.

When a promise became a vision.

My granny passed a few months after this episode, and as I was sitting at a stop sign on the way to pick up my husband from work, I received a vision of a blonde boy in overalls, running around with her in Heaven.

Though I lost the one who received the message of the promise, He thought of me — to remind me He will never fail me and His promise will endure.

Because I never received a timeframe, I decided I wouldn’t even try to have any more on my own and eventually gave away the faith seed shirt to another little boy in need of clothes.

Soon means in His time, so soon He will fulfill His promise to me.

Plus, those three girls had a tighter bond than I ever had or experienced. And experiencing this through them was absolutely beautiful — having three girls.

About four years had passed. I was a teacher, my husband was a cop, and all three were in school. I was on another kind of birth control that was supposed to last for five years — but I conceived again.

After three disappointments turned into my greatest appointments in life, obtaining His promise and vision, and drawing closer to Him than ever, I was in no expectation of the gender, but instead His will.

She was a complete and perfect surprise. Our fourth daughter was sent to us, and she was our tiniest blessing at five pounds, thirteen ounces.

We were blessed with four beautiful daughters.

We eventually moved into my granny’s house, as this was one of my favorite places on earth to be.

It was nothing special, only two bedrooms — but it’s the home I chose when I was told by a prophet to go find any home I wanted and the Lord would give it to me.

And so He did.

Then, as I was still teaching, my husband became a lieutenant, and with no expectation of using contraceptives, we conceived our fifth daughter.

Her daddy called her Angel Bug, and she most definitely has the face of an angel. But boy, this child was more work than the four others combined.

Apparently, in my hairstylist’s culture, five girls meant great wealth and luck. So she was a blessing to be number five — even to others in their culture, I presume.

As a schoolteacher, I remembered how a group of four was easy, but when you hit five, it becomes maxed very quickly.

I mean, I could do five — but I preferred four in a group. It’s an odd panic state, but it reflected the same when my fifth daughter came.

My anxiety was through the roof.

When a vision became an effective and fervent prayer of a righteous woman.

I began to cry out fervently, “Lord, five is pushing it at a small group table. If this son You’ve promised isn’t next, I don’t think I could do more than six. I mean, they fill up the entire rainbow at the kidney table.”

So prayers turned more effective in seeking Him. I prayed for a “son” rather than a “boy.”

About a year later, a woman named Carolyn, whom I had known through my Granny’s Outreach Mission, came over to my husband and me at church and told us the Lord had called her to pray over us for our son.

So she did.

Within days, so much had been revealed.

He reminded me of reading in my gender books about how Jews conceived more male babies because of the waiting time for a woman to become clean until they could have intercourse.

He reminded me of Matthew 18:19-20:

“Again I say to you, that if two of you agree on earth about anything that they may ask, it shall be done for them by My Father who is in heaven. “For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.”

It was July when we prayed — both of our birthdays were in July — and this was our gift from Him.

August 8, my menstrual cycle and fourteen days had ended. We prayed before and after intercourse Matthew 18:19-20 for our son.

By September, I had missed my cycle, took a test, and it was positive.

Though it was in us as a knowing that this one was him, we both kept our hearts pure — that we are to love and abound in love with all the blessings He has given us, no matter the gender.

By December, we went to get a gender-reveal sonogram. It looked very different from the girls before, and I wasn’t seeing the usual.

The technician asked, “Do you want me to tell you what it is?”

My husband and I were like, YES!

He said, “It’s a boy!”

My husband, still looking at the sonogram, said, “Excuse me?!”

As if he couldn’t believe his ears, the guy said again, “It’s a boy!”

So of course, Dr. Jay (my husband — not a doctor) started asking how he knew, if he was sure, and had to take a look at the sonogram himself to be sure — as if he’d known what he was seeing.

After that, we went home and were just enveloped in amazement. We threw a gender-reveal party at our brand-new home and burned blue smoke on the bike tires to reveal our promise had arrived.

When the promise arrives and becomes yours to hold — ten years later.

Now we were set. For many years we had named our son Jayden Tate — Jay after dad and Tate short for tater tot.

But after we crossed into our promise, Jordan — the river crossed into the Promised Land — this name was sent to my heart from Him.

Jordan Tate — some prayers are meant to wait.

When the promise arrived and became mine to hold — ten years later — I realized something.

It was never about a boy.

It was about refinement.

It was about the surrender of desire.

The stretching of expectation.

The breaking of control.

The purification of prayer.

I didn’t just pray for a son. I was shaped into a woman who could carry one.

And when Jordan Tate crossed into my arms, it wasn’t just a child that arrived — it was ten years of tears, faith, waiting, wrestling, and becoming.

Some prayers are not delayed.

They are developed.

Some promises are not denied.

They are timed.

And sometimes God doesn’t change the request first —He changes the one who is asking.

So now I ask you:

What have you called “late” that Heaven is still calling “forming”?