At first, I wasn’t pregnant; then, I was.
At least, that’s how it seemed when I first found out I was pregnant with my first child.
As my pregnancy progressed, however, I began reading books on how my baby was growing. I learned more about the workings of each delicate part that was forming inside my womb, and the complexity of conception.
By the time my beautiful baby boy was born, my beliefs had shifted. I was in awe of the miracle of life. I knew my child was a precious gift from God.
(Check out this detailed description of the miracle of life at https://embryo.asu.edu/pages/miracle-life-1983-nova. WARNING: This website describes human reproduction. May not be suitable for young children.)
The Miracle of Life: A Growing Family
Years passed. My husband and I had a second little boy, and then two years after that, I was pregnant again. I was ecstatic about our growing family.
Near the end of my second trimester, however, I was beginning to feel quite grouchy. This third pregnancy was much more challenging than the first two had been. I was more tired, more emotional, and those pesky pregnancy pounds were climbing steadily. I began to resent the sacrifices my body was making to grow this baby.
Until one afternoon, when everything changed…
The boys and I had plans to go out for lunch, but I was having trouble getting us ready on time. I sat down on my bed, worn out from my morning of washing floors. I leaned over to pull on a pair of plush socks. From my second-story bedroom, I could hear the boys below, cackling and running circles around the dining table. I was so tired, and they were so hyper. Would we make it?
I checked the clock: we were late.
Snatching a necklace off my nightstand, I hurried out of the room and skipped down freshly washed stairs – all while yelling for the boys to get their shoes on and fiddling with the necklace clasp at the back of my neck.
My fuzzy socks slipped. My feet flew up, my butt landed on the edge of a stair, and I proceeded to bump down the steps like a broken slinky.
“Oh, no… Lord, not my baby. Save my baby!” I whimpered.
Landing in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, I Instantly gripped my belly with both hands and clamped my legs shut – as if that would prevent me from miscarrying. Tears streamed down my face. My back felt bruised from scraping along the edges of the stairs. My left hip and entire rear-end screamed after the rough ride. But all I could focus on was my baby.
A Shift in Perspective
In one harrowing moment, I realized how selfish my attitude had been of late, and I knew that I would do anything to keep this baby. I would willingly gain every pound required. I would weather the mood swings and exhaustion. I would give up lofty dreams of keeping the house clean. My baby was worth every sacrifice.
Once I felt brave enough to get up off the floor, I called my husband at work to inform him that we needed to go to the hospital. Then, I called my mom.
“Please pray,” I cried. “I’m so scared I’ll lose the baby.”
After several uncertain hours, we arrived back home. According to the emergency doctor, my baby seemed well; but I was instructed to rest for 72 hours and report any bleeding or cramping. My good husband took care of me and our boys all weekend. After the danger zone had passed, I thanked God for my miracle baby who was still growing safely in my womb.
I’ve always loved babies. From the time I was a child, I gravitated towards them: their soft skin, their chubby arms, their innocent trust.
Today, every time I hold a newborn baby, anybody’s newborn baby, the awe returns tenfold. I cradle their fragile bodies and stroke their sleepy faces. I smell their downy fuzz-heads, and I think:
“You are a beautiful little miracle. A perfect little miracle.”
There are differing beliefs on what constitutes a miracle. This is why I realize that not everyone would agree with mine, and that’s okay. I still believe, however, that every child is a miraculous gift from God – from conception to birth. I see miracles every day, in every person I meet.
Do You Believe in Miracles?
Think of a moment, a season, or an event in your life when you felt certain that you had just received a miracle from God. Then, thank him for his gift.
If you enjoyed this story, click to read my posts Thanking For Joy and A Tank of Grace For the Morning Sloth.
Sara Jane Kehler