It was a sultry September afternoon when I first laid eyes on Beau. I had been in labor all day, but things were not progressing, so the nurse was lobbying for a labor-inducing drug to speed things along. I wasn’t fond of the idea, and neither, apparently, was baby Beau, because things immediately began moving forward.
We had been stalled for so long that my obstetrician was relaxing in the doctors’ lounge and eating dinner. Now, suddenly, delivery was imminent, and I was not at all on board with the nurse delivering my baby. While I didn’t doubt her competence, I knew in my momma heart that we were going to need the doctor’s expertise and slim fingers. Our most recent sonogram had shown Beau’s umbilical chord wrapped around his little neck, so there was concern that delivery might be dicey. My doctor had assured me that “babies go in and out of their chords all the time,” but I wasn’t convinced.
The nurse switched on the intercom and calmly said, “Dr., we need you..” Then, from the depths of my normally reserved and sedate being came the low, gutteral, urgent command, “NOOOWWW!!!”
The doctor beat a quick path to the room just in time to glove up. She checked my progress and, sure enough, little Beau was ready to make his entrance.
“Push!” she encouraged me. Then, more urgently, “Stop pushing! He’s got a very tight chord.” There were several breathless seconds as my baby’s face turned blue. Finally, the doctor managed to wedge her fingers under the chord and pull it over his head with no small amount of effort.
Beau began to breathe, and after pounding his little back a bit to help him, the nurse laid him in my arms. In those moments, my sweet, strong husband leaned near and whispered, “God is here.” He felt prompted to say those words, and I as I gazed into the beautiful face of my new precious son, I knew that God’s presence did, indeed, fill that room. It was His hand that had removed the wrapped chord from Beau’s neck and His arms that cradled my baby and all of us.
It is still His hand that holds my boy. He is over six feet tall now, but I still see that tiny face when I look at him. He is still my baby miracle, a reminder of God’s ever-present help, and he still fits perfectly in the Father’s hands.
Today, he is eighteen. I am still trying to wrap my mind around the reality that my precious son has grown up. That first life-threatening encumbrance was not the last, but God has always been there to deliver him and fill his lungs with His breath. I don’t have the ability to foresee the challenges and joys that lie ahead for him, but that’s okay. I know Who does, and I know that He loves my precious boy infinitely more than even I can. I know He will be His hiding place, His strength, His protector, His redeemer, and His guide.
I have no doubt that this son guitar-playing, wise-cracking, compassionate, tender-hearted, Jesus-loving son of mine is here for a profound purpose. He is stronger than he knows, and His future is brighter than he can see from here. Every day is a miracle as we watch God mold and build him into a man after His own heart. What a privilege it is to have a front-row seat. I can’t wait to see what comes next!