Yesterday was my birthday…but more importantly it was also my daughter’s birthday. She was born eight years ago on my birthday. Seriously, she was the cutest newborn I have ever seen. And as a parent, I know now that they are not that cute coming out. She was perfect and tiny and vibrant from the start. She makes me laugh and I love spending time with her. She is also strong-willed, and I must remind her that I am the one in charge of her wellbeing. When she was very young, she hated that we shared the same birthday, she didn’t like that it wasn’t just hers, but now, as I hoped and prayed, she realizes what a unique story it is. Each year we blow out the candles together and I am reminded of the story that I am about to share with you. It’s very good so don’t skip ahead and please read to the end. Promise it’s worth it and I will keep it short and sweet.

I got pregnant with my daughter just as we were selling our first home. We moved into my parents newly renovated home that they had not yet moved into, and tried our best to not use anything they hadn’t used first. That was a challenge since our son was three. So he and I went for walks all the time. Even while he went to preschool in the morning, I remember trying to get out of the house a lot and in the quietness of my pacing feet I would ask God a secret request, that I never shared with anyone else. I asked Him to give me the same delivery experience I had with my son. I wanted the same doctor and nurse that delivered my son to deliver my daughter.

I was induced on November 19th, the day before my birthday and my mom came with me to the hospital. Nick stayed home with Mason, planning to come the next morning, expecting a similar experience as we’d had with Mason. My labor came much faster the second time and we frantically attempted to get ahold of Nick all through the night. He finally responded, dropped our son with friends, was pulled over by police on his way in but arrived with ample time to be with me for the birth.

I didn’t realize there would be a shift change in the morning. My nurse that cared for me throughout the night was wonderful, but on my birthday, around 6am a different nurse took over. When she walked in, I recognized her immediately and blurted out “I know you and I prayed for you to be here.” My labor with my daughter was intense so I feel like my eyes were closed for much of it. But I know that my same doctor and my same nurse the delivered my son three and a half years earlier are the same ones that delivered my daughter on my 34th birthday. Nick later told me that this nurse had explained that she only worked one day out of every three months, so pretty amazing that she showed up for that day. She brought me a birthday cake before her shift ended and I never saw her again.

We didn’t have a name for our daughter, she was Baby Girl Hildenbrand for her entire stay at the hospital. The staff finally came in and said you must name her, or you can’t leave. My husband looked at me and said, “Why don’t we name her after the nurse you prayed for, Nurse Sam?” When I heard it, it was perfect, we named her Samantha Grace, and I started calling her Sammie right away. It is really the perfect name for her, and I have always loved that Nick chose it. Ironically, months later, it came to our attention that Nurse Sam and I had a mutual friend who I told this exact story to, and she connected us so I could share that she is Sammie’s namesake.

I love this story, but my friends, as beautiful as this story is, and as big a blessing as it is to tell it, I must share the last part. When Sammie was about three years old my parents, who were practically our neighbors, sold their house. We were a military family and so my parents had done such a good job and holding onto our things and storing them away for us. While they were packing up their home my mom found my “The Romona Quimby Diary” that I had bought at a book fair in second grade. Per usual, I had begun this journal but never completed it. I thumbed through the pages admiring my handwriting and the cute ways I wrote things on the first few pages. I turned to the last page with my final entries on it (only about 20 pages of the 100s in the book). On the very last line of the page it asked a question. It said, “If I have children I’ll name them,” and the first name my eight-year-old self wrote was, Samantha.

At 8 years old, the exact age my daughter turned yesterday I wrote down what was maybe a dream at the time. A dream or prayer that was packed away for 30 years. I secret that only God knew, and me I guess, although I had forgotten. I still love that Nick chose her name, knowing the ending makes that part all the more miraculous. He is the exact father she needs that would give her the name that the Lord had promised to her mother 30 years before. I think about the dozens of moves our family had from when I was 8 until my mom gave me that book. That they had preserved it is pretty amazing and that God saw fit to reveal to me that He never forgets the secret things we ask Him. Honestly, just having the same delivery story for both my children felt like blessing enough. But He always has more in store.

My faith gets shaky at times and I forget to keep things in perspective, forget that He hears me. He saved that blessing for me for 30 years and guess what Samantha means, God has heard.

He hears you too.

Xo-jess