Do You Believe in Miracles? I Do. Here’s Why.

(Names and details herein have been changed to protect identities.)

A Visit to Friends

My eight-month-old boy was sliding down my hip. I shifted him higher, then hopped up three deck stairs to get to our friends’ front door. My husband followed close behind, lugging the bulging diaper bag and playpen that I had packed for our short visit; we were first-time parents, and now our friends Bob and Amber were, too.

I rang the doorbell. Bob answered.

Miracles happen every day. Do you believe? Click through to find out why I do!

In the living room, I set down my boy so he could crawl around. Then, Amber passed her newborn into my eager arms. I cradled her son, wondering at his handsome features. His fragility filled me with awe.

“You are a beautiful little miracle,” I said, stroking his sleepy face and smelling the black downy fuzz that covered his head. “Yes, you are,” I cooed. “A perfect little miracle.”

“He’s Not a Miracle”

Glancing up, I saw Bob smirking. “He’s not a miracle,” Bob said from across the room.

My eyebrows shot up. “What? Don’t you know how many things have to go just right, just perfectly, for conception to even happen? It’s a miracle anyone ever gets pregnant!”

“It’s not a miracle.” Bob shook his head. “It’s just nature.”

We soon found a new topic of conversation and enjoyed the rest of the evening together as friends.

A Growing Family

Years passed. Because life got busy, we didn’t see Bob and Amber as often but we remained friends.

In the meantime, my husband and I had 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 Fall

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, and leaned over to pull on a pair of plush socks. From this 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 the 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.

Bad News

A few weeks later, our friend Bob happened to stop by our house. We hadn’t seen him or his wife Amber in quite some time, and it felt good to catch up.

Several minutes into our conversation, however, Bob shared with us that he and Amber were struggling to conceive a second child.

“Doctors say it was a miracle she got pregnant the first time,” Bob said.

Shivers crawled up my arms. I put a hand on my belly, feeling a little self-conscious about the ball of baby filling my t-shirt.

Bob went home.

After Winter, Comes Spring

Winter passed, and in spring, I gave birth to a healthy baby girl.

Then, later that summer, my husband and I invited Bob and Amber to our house for a barbeque. When they arrived, I picked up my chubby baby girl and scurried outside to greet our friends. Bob came up the walk first, smiling. Their five-year-old son ran past him, heading straight for the backyard play structure. Amber came last. She was wearing a long blue sundress that hugged a growing baby-belly. It appeared their second child was due in just a few months.

Differing Views

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.

With love,

Sara Jane Kehler

2 thoughts on “Do You Believe in Miracles? I Do. Here’s Why.

Add yours

  1. Thank you for your feedback. I’ve taken a few days to consider your response in order to look more critically at my writing.

    Although part of my purpose in writing this particular article was to share what I believe, it wasn’t my intention to imply that others should agree with what I believe, or with how I interpret the world around me. I had hoped to paint a picture of a friendship that was stronger than differences in beliefs, but beyond even that, this post was about those beautiful children and how thankful we are for them.

    In my writing, I include conversations and interactions that I have been personally involved in, as I remember them – moments that have impacted me and become part of my own story.

    Please feel free to send me an e-mail at saralivingfree@gmail.com.

    Like

  2. “Amber and Bob” are most interested in how their story was appropriated and distorted to fulfil some kind of agenda. Amongst a few creative liberties noted, doctors never told “Amber” it was a “miracle” she got pregnant the first time, nor did “Bob” impart any such narrative to you or anyone else. Someone else’s medical issue should not be used as a cautionary tale. The birth of their second child was a result of western biomedical intervention, it did not defy natural or scientific law thereby it was not a “miracle” by definition. Look it up in the dictionary if you feel inclined.

    Believe in miracles, believe in divine intervention, believe in the tooth fairy for all anyone cares, but don’t believe for a second that it is okay to take someone else’s story and twist it because it suits your needs. You have not earned the privilege of defining their experience.

    This story was never yours to tell.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: