I had just given birth to our seventh child, and I’d developed an allergy to the medication I’d been given during labor. It affected my sense of balance so that every time I lifted my head off the hospital pillow, I became so nauseous that I either threw up or wished I could. In my miserable condition, I began thinking of our children at home. The boys seemed to be doing all right. Ah, but the girls, I just didn’t seem to know how to bring up daughters.
“Dear Lord Jesus,” I cried into my pillow, “What am I going to do with another girl? You’ve given me this precious little life, and I don’t know how to look after her. Please give me a promise — some instruction — something — so I’ll know what to do!”
My Bible seemed heavy as I held it up over my prone body. I didn’t dare sit up. I happened to open it to Isaiah 27 and managed to read the first three verses and there, so quickly, was the answer to my prayer. Of course it’s really about Israel, but the Lord made it jump right off that page and into my heart. It was His promise for my little girl, and I’ve treasured it ever since and repeated it to myself many, many times. The Lord Himself was promising to keep and tend to my child night and day.