It was a difficult time for me.
I was five months pregnant, yet I felt no joy. I was going through intense culture shock in Japan. Everything around me seemed wrong: my home, the neighbourhood, the food, the people. Everything felt distant, strange and difficult, as though I were somewhere nothing fitted.
Sadness overwhelmed me, and I cried every day, longing to return to Brazil and believing everything would be better there. My husband, with his unwavering faith, constantly reminded me that God had placed us there and that we would not give up despite the difficulties. He stood firm, praying and helping me see beyond the pain.
When my parents came to visit, I tried to focus on the joy of seeing them again. They wanted to help me feel better, and we visited different places, discovering more of Japan and trying to ease my mind. But an unexpected pain began: intense pain around my previous Caesarean scar, increasing as I walked. At first I thought I was simply tired, but the pain continued. After a more detailed examination, the doctor told me that the wall of my uterus at the Caesarean site was very thin and at risk of rupturing.
I was admitted to hospital that day. The doctor spoke of two weeks of rest and observation, but to my surprise I remained in hospital for almost three months. It was a struggle of physical and emotional endurance. Japanese food was the only option, and I found its flavours very difficult to adjust to. Harder still was the loneliness. I could receive only one visitor a day for thirty minutes. To my sorrow, my daughters could not visit, apart from the eldest, who occasionally came with my husband. Even then, seeing them was an immense struggle.
Seeing Lucas doing twice the work to take care of everything at home while I was in hospital broke my heart. I knew observation was the best way to protect our baby, but inside I felt lost, as though I were in the wrong place.
I shared a hospital room with other Japanese women. Contrary to what I had expected, there were no conversations or interactions, just constant silence. The language barrier separated me even further from them, and the hours dragged by between thoughts and prayers. Sometimes it felt as though the world were turning while I stood still, waiting. The physical pain was great, and the fear of losing the baby was greater still.
At thirty-four weeks, my body could no longer cope. The pain became unbearable, and the doctors decided to perform an emergency Caesarean. Pedro was born prematurely and rushed to intensive care. When I was told that he had a small perforation in his lung and would need to be intubated, my heart almost stopped. Fear of losing him consumed me.
Despite the pain, God gave me strength to continue. I could visit Pedro for an hour each day. Although that time was short, it renewed my hope. Every time I looked at my fragile little son, I felt that God was caring for him, even when everything seemed uncertain.
Those months were the hardest of my life. I experienced pain I had never imagined facing. Yet it was in that dark valley that God’s presence became most powerful to me. He wiped away every tear and gave me courage I did not have.
During that time, I could not miss the sacrifices Lucas was making. While I was in hospital, he handled everything else. He was clearly exhausted but never complained. Instead, he kept sending encouraging messages, trying to lift me up even when he was at his own limit. His love and strength touched me deeply. I knew he was giving everything without expecting anything in return, and it made me love and respect him even more.
My father and mother were giving us all the support we needed. My father had to return to Brazil, and my mother stayed to help us. I know it was not easy for her, but her presence brought immense relief. She gave herself wholeheartedly, with such deep and generous love that I cried with gratitude.
In each of her acts of care, I felt God’s love being poured out on us. Her dedication constantly reminded me that God was present, caring for every detail, meeting our needs and strengthening us. Even amid the difficulties, he used my mother to be his hands and heart in our lives.
Even far away, my father found a special way to be present, always sending messages and asking about me. Every day without fail, he sent prayers and words of comfort, like an embrace made of words. Each message reminded me that, despite the distance, his love and faith were with me and sustaining me. That was precious to me, a true foundation amid pain and loneliness.
On the very day my mother left, my parents-in-law arrived. It was a wonderful time of care and reunion. We saw God’s hand with us throughout it all!
Above all, knowing that so many people and churches were praying for us meant so much. People I had never met or spoken to sent messages saying they were praying. Relatives and close friends were interceding too. With every prayer, I felt protected, surrounded by God’s care through each of them. It brought tremendous peace to know I was not alone, but held in the love and intercession of so many.
Today, looking back, I see a miracle. My little fighter, Pedro, survived and is strong and healthy. The sadness I felt became peace. God did more than sustain me: through that suffering, he showed me that Japan really is my place. What once felt strange and distant now has meaning, because I know he prepared me to be here and live out his mission, even amid challenges.
If you are facing your own struggle, I want to tell you: trust. God never abandons us. Even when everything seems lost, he is working towards something greater. My birth story, pain and miracle bear witness that with God there is purpose, even in the darkest nights. Even if the pain had never gone away, God would already have accomplished his greatest miracle in my life. Christ will always be my joy, even when pain overwhelms me. Living for him is the least I can offer.