My premature birth came around the end of my mother’s second trimester. Here I was, coming into the world at the end of the sixth month of her pregnancy. As you can imagine, this was an alarming experience for my small immediate family. I was born at 2lbs 2oz. Take a moment to let that marinate in your mind. I weighed less than a telephone book, a bag of sugar, or a laptop computer—everyday items that people pick up without much effort. It’s important to note that babies typically lose weight right after birth before they gain weight, so at one point I went down to 1lb 2oz. It is honestly a blessing from God that I was even able to survive such an improbable hardship as that one. When I reflect back on this time in my life, I realize that I’ve always been destined to overcome obstacles, no matter how daunting they may seem at the time.
My grandmother would later tell me she tried to get my mom to avoid seeing me so much while I was in the incubator. She was afraid my mom would become too attached to me when they all thought it was a matter of time before I passed away. In hindsight, I really can’t blame this mentality. Honestly, what’s the likelihood of a child with a dangerously low birth weight making it out of infancy without birth defects and lifelong disabilities that would have them sidelined their entire life?
My mom refused to give up on me and said no matter what, she would come every day after work and pray for me. And that’s exactly what she did—she kept the faith. And slowly, without much fanfare, both my mother and grandmother would come pray for me each and every day. They would tell the doctor that no matter what he said, I was coming out of this. Simply put, they were speaking my little life into existence. It was a routine they followed: They lived their lives, took care of their outside obligations and tasks, and kept me prayed up. They would not be deterred from this path.
A period of time had passed, and the doctor said I was progressing; however, he said because I was so small, my lungs would never work properly, predicting major breathing ailments associated with underdeveloped lungs during the early moments of my life. It’s important to note that my lungs had already collapsed twice before his prognosis. The doctor also told my mother and grandmother that I would never be a “normal” child and that I’d likely be a special needs child, would probably never speak, and in a worst-case scenario, I’d be a vegetable. My grandmother and mom refused to accept the doctor’s diagnosis.
“Our God and your God must be two different higher powers because we don’t accept this,” they’d tell him. “Our child will make it through this. I don’t care what your science says about him. God will bless him with the will to live, even if you won’t.”
A number of weeks had passed before they were allowed to bring me home. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, and I was still alive and physically progressing at my own pace. My mother and grandmother said I didn’t really talk during the first several months of my life. I also didn’t seem to pay much attention to events going on around me. For example, people would talk and laugh around me, yet I wouldn’t seem to react to them. Pots and pans would accidentally be dropped in the kitchen, and I would always look in the same direction, something that many would categorize as being odd. One day, when I was around 6 months old, the two women were sitting on the front porch of our home when a car drove up and honked the horn. Miraculously, I looked over in the direction of the car. At that moment, they both knew the doctor didn’t know what he was talking about—I wasn’t as bad off as he perceived me to be.
A few months later, my grandmother recalls my grandfather playing with me when she believes she heard me mumble something.
“You spoke, you made a sound, and you haven’t shut up ever since,” my grandmother would lovingly tell me as she recalled those first moments in my life.
She believed in me, my mother believed in me, and after those moments of hope, they were determined to keep their faith in God and me very strong.
As I started to get older, the doctor told my family that there was a slight chance that I would never walk. During that time, I would pull myself around instead of attempting to crawl like many babies tend to do during that stage in life. By 8 or 9 months old, I was still in the habit of pulling myself, and the doctors explained to my family that this was not normal or promising for my development. However, my mother and grandmother had witnessed other miracles during my short time on this earth, so they believed that things would get better for me. After another 4 to 5 months of this abnormal behavior, I was still scooting and pulling myself around. Finally, one day, I just got up and started walking. I never crawled as a baby; I just started walking! I was proof that faith “as small as a mustard seed” was strong enough to keep me and my family moving forward, only looking at the positive progress I had made. What was the point in focusing on my delayed development?
Years later, when I started school, the “experts” said I was not going to learn as fast as the other kids because they believed I was developmentally delayed. By the time I was in first grade, I was making straight A’s. I later went on to graduate in the top of my class at my high school and was accepted into one of the top tech universities in the nation. They’d later go on to say that I would never be able to play sports like the rest of the kids because they predicted I would have asthma and other breathing issues. I played baseball from the age of 5 until I was in high school, along with football and basketball. Overall, these major life wins proved to me and all my naysayers at the time that I was mentally, physically, and emotionally strong enough to overcome statistical odds. My will and motivation were too strong to be torn down. I was on a mission to succeed, no matter how much outsiders doubted me.
When my grandmother and I recall this part of my life, I am immediately comforted knowing how much she and my mother were in my corner, allowing me to blossom far beyond my wildest dreams. I reflect on those formative years and remember that it doesn’t matter what everyone out there says about you or what they believe you can achieve—the only thing that matters is what you believe. For me, my faith in God and my ability to press on through trying times is what got my family through my challenges.
Throughout my life, I remained centered with the Word of God and how He wanted me to live despite my circumstances. I won’t lie, there were numerous times when I tried to challenge God. “Why must I always work harder than the other kids?” I would ask. “How many more obstacles do I need to face before I face no more?” I would wonder. Little did I know that countless other people ask these same questions when they’re going through difficult times in their own lives.
I must admit, without having a father there to help me during these difficult moments in my life, I was secretly sad and bitter. I sometimes dreamed of having a father like other kids—a man that would stand by my side offering words of encouragement and teaching me how to dismiss the naysayers while becoming a man. I wanted a man there to tell me about the complexities surrounding girls and someone to tell me I was doing a great job in school, on the baseball field and basketball court, and in life. Although I knew I had the greatest Father of all, I still yearned to have my biological dad, my blood, to walk beside me on my journey. Regardless, I still had faith that things would work out for me and mostly kept these feelings to myself and told no one.
My mother and my grandmother modeled what it means to walk by faith not by sight. They taught me to believe in God always, knowing He will always provide. They showed me how I am a living testimony, even if my father was nowhere to be found. During my formative years, I had to have faith in myself, knowing that, one day, I would be great—so great that I’d be able to pass that knowledge on to others to show them their potential. With that being said, here are a few steps to help you keep your faith alive during challenging times:
1.Always surround yourself with positive, forward thinking people.
