Miracles are self attesting. The miracle speaks for itself. Christianity is a life of the miraculous. Everything about the Christian is supernatural. A self righteous Pharisee gets converted and becomes a humble servant of mankind. A drunk becomes sober. A harlot begins to love and be loved. A rascal teen becomes a serious student and starts to show respect to his teachers. A thief steals no more but gets a job and gives to those in need. A child who is difficult, gains a conscience. A rebel nursing student becomes a hard worker and learns to get along with those difficult doctors. Each life changed by Jesus Christ is a miracle. I’d like to begin sharing some everyday miracles I have experienced.
John and I were one week away from completing Lamaze training. We had learned to breath and concentrate on letting the body do its work of contracting without tensing up. We had learned how to breath through the pain of child birth and to breath short breaths when told, so as not to push when the doctor would ask you not to push. This is all theoretical at this point, right?
We had only lived in the area for about two and a half months. We met the doctor once, and had never been in the hospital. Not even for a tour. To say I was naive and a novice is an understatement. I only knew enough to ask the doctor if he could deliver without an episiotomy and he answered that he only gave them when necessary. I believed him. This hospital was so small that I’m not sure they could give anything for pain. Maybe some pills. No epidural. No cesarean. Only everyday, average, normal birth. Our first birth was to take place in this small town of 500 people.
My water broke in the night and a woman(whose fourth child was born the same year as my first) had told me to wait until contractions were 5 minutes apart before leaving for the hospital. I did what this more knowledgeable Mom told me. We left for the hospital after I’d experienced a few that were 5 minutes apart and by the time we arrived and was settled enough to count them they were 3 minutes apart. I was in the hospital about 3 hours before I transitioned. I sent John out to get a nurse. My breathing technique was no longer working and I became like a deer in the headlights. I didn’t know what to do.
In comes the nurse to check me, then usher me into the delivery room. Transition. Time for the delivery. Time to push. What? How? When? All that wonderful Lamaze training disappeared into thin air. Then this lovely young nurse got in my face and told me what to do. She proceeded to breath, hold breath, count etc. I just copied what she was doing. I could no longer think about how to breath or when. I could only parrot what I saw her do. The doctor did his own thing while I was dependent on that nurse to guide me through this very scary time.
Then the doctor said, “quit pushing.” I had no idea how I was supposed to suppress this irresistible urge? My dear nurse bent her head into mine once again, breathing the who ha, who ha, who ha. I mimicked what I saw and our little Hannah was born without complication. I was immediately thankful to those who helped. An overriding feeling of gratefulness was charging through me. So even though I thanked the doctor and the nurse, I knew this nurse saved the day for me personally. She was my hero!
OK where’s the miracle? Our second daughter was born 16 months later and we still lived in Pekin, seven miles from the hospital in McVille. One day near my due date I saw that hero nurse and asked her if she would come to my second birth. She replied, “No, not unless I’m on duty.” I was utterly shocked. I thought she’d be honored to attend baby #2’s birth. My heart sank. I could not imagine having a baby without her expert care. What to do now? All I knew was that I knew the “God who sees,” and I took this matter to Him.
Let’s fast forward to labor and delivery. I went into labor at 9:30 p.m.. I followed the same piece of advice I’d used the first birth. “Go to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart.” I cannot remember exactly what time we left or arrived. What I do remember is that when I got to my room a different nurse was there to care for me. Already, protocol had changed since my first birth and this nurse gave me excellent advice and care. Things at the hospital were different but the pain was the same, transition was the same and my breathing was no longer working. Now what?
When I once again became a deer in headlights, John called for the nurse. She checked me and off to the delivery room we went. This nurse had been concerned about when I would begin to deliver because there was no doctor at the hospital in the middle of the night and the doctor on call was known to be slow at coming in when summoned at odd hours. She did call him at least half an hour before I birthed…but he came into the delivery room just after birth!
My miracle is tied up in these circumstances. While I was bewildered and wondering what to do…in walks my hero nurse. She helped me just like the first time around and again I was exceedingly grateful for her assistance. Maybe even more so this time as nurse #1 needed to catch the baby. She had been trying to get me to not push until the doctor showed up, but how can you stop what God has created us to do? I found out that hero nurse had been called in because of a very sick woman who needed special care and nurse #1 was tied up with me. So when said doctor wasn’t there on time…I was the beneficiary of her being called in on an unusual night. I was so thrilled to do what I was told as she again coached me through that birth. Our second daughter, Ruth Louise was born December 15,1980.
A small miracle. Nonetheless, a true answer to prayer and a miracle performed by the “God who sees” for a frightened little North Dakota girl dependent on Him for help.
‘Till the next miracle, Ann