Miracle Baby to Miracle Worker

I walked into the baby's room, uncomfortable as I tried to bend over to straighten the stuffed toy in the crib. Eight months pregnant and feeling every bit of it, I smiled as my hands gently caressed my swollen stomach. I looked over the details of the room -- something I seemed drawn to do several times every day! Wanting everything to be perfect for the day I'd lie this perfect little baby down in this crib. This is was my first baby and I was experiencing a model pregnancy. I never had to endure any of the morning sickness and other discomforts that were so common among my friends. I'd felt fantastic every day and believed for the perfect completion of all that the Lord had promised me. The glow on my face and the sparkle in my eyes was the source of many comments throughout the past months. I could hear the voices of our company coming down the hall from the living room, calling me back to them. I hesitated, was there ever a mother who cherished her unborn child as much as I cherished mine? I wondered. I was touched with such boundless measure of love and adoration that I'd never before experienced. I'd better get back to my guests, I thought, as I turned to shut off the light. Suddenly a warm liquid flowed down my legs. Confused and embarrassed, I quickly headed towards the bathroom to grab a towel and clean up the mess. The water wouldn't stop coming though. I had no idea what was happening -- after all, the baby wasn't due for another six weeks. I called for my husband and he came quickly, followed by our friend Karla. "Your water broke!" she exclaimed excitedly. And within a few minutes we had phoned the obstetrician and were told to come to the hospital. We quickly threw some things into a little suitcase -- I hated it that this had caught me unprepared, but was swept up in all the attention and excitement of all our friends as we headed out the door.

After the doctor's examination, confirming that it was amniotic fluid, he explained that there was no turning back -- the baby would be born soon. A monitor was hooked up and assurances were given -- there was no need for concern. The bouncing waves on the screen showed the baby was healthy and under no stress. The excitement level fell as the time went by. The following hours were quiet ones -- Mark returned home to get some sleep, our friends had left long before. I was left alone in the hospital room with my thoughts. Strange, just a few hours earlier this evening, we had been at our natural childbirth class. I remembered how the instructor went around the room from expectant parent to expectant parent, asking them to talk about their fears of labor and delivery. "Facing fear head on is the best way to beat it" she had explained. I clearly remembered the conscious thought, 'I have no fears!' I was excited about this baby, was thoroughly enjoying being pregnant and looking forward to a pain free labor. Claiming scriptures of my being redeemed from the curse (of pain in childbirth) and with the knowledge that the Lord was forming the baby within my womb, I had perfect peace and my soul was totally at rest. But still, everyone else was participating. Soon it would be my turn. Just think how it would make everyone else feel if I boosted of having no fears! Surely it would be better to fit in -- and so, as the instructor faced me and asked me what I was fearful of, I spoke the first thing that came into my mind. "I'm afraid of my baby coming early." "I'm afraid of my baby coming early?" -- what a coincidence I mused, that now, just four hours later, my baby was coming early. Still, there was absolutely no fear -- the blood of Jesus was over my little one and me. What possibly could go wrong?

Having spent the night in the hospital, with nothing happening and bored with the waiting, the doctor returned in the morning to suggest that they induce labor. I hesitantly agreed -- this was supposed to be a drug free delivery! Still, I was anxious to get this over. An IV was started and the action soon followed. Twenty two agonizing hours of labor pains later, I decided that I had had enough! The baby was posterior, already in the birth canal and stuck -- too far down to try for a cesarean section, the doctor explained. Exhausted and disoriented from all the drugs and two days without sleep, I decided I was going home and I didn't care what the rest of them did with this baby! As I tried to get out of bed, pulling wires and IV's along with me, the baby turned and within minutes, was born. I was so distraught, still suffering with extremely painful contractions, that I paid little attention to the baby. It was a boy and I'd heard him cry. I just wanted out of my suffering. 'What had gone wrong?' I angrily asked the Lord. 'Why didn't I receive what I'd believed for?' And why were they rushing my baby out of the room? Hadn't we made it clear that he and I weren't to be separated after the birth? The nurse was giving me another shot, this one to make me sleep -- and questions were never answered.

Groggily turning towards the light as the door of my hospital room opened, two men walked in, carrying a small black bag. 'What are Jehovah Witnesses doing here?' was my only thought. One of the men spoke up. "Carole, I am Dr. Williams and this is Dr. Anderson. You've had a rough experience with this birth and we're very sorry. Your pediatrician called us in to work on your son. There's just nothing else we can do. He isn't going to live much longer -- we were going to fly him to the children's hospital in Salt Lake City, but there just isn't time to get him there. Would you like to come and be with him?" 'Whatever are they talking about?' I wondered as I clumsily climbed out of bed, groping for my robe. 'Why isn't my baby in here with me? Why hasn't anyone brought him in here to nurse?' I never said a word to the doctors as I followed them into the Intensive Care Unit. I had no idea what they were talking about.

Bright lights, whirling machine noises, babies in incubators and nurses looking at me with pity, I stumbled along in a daze, finally stopping in front of a machine that had a baby lying inside. 'Winston A IV' read a colorful, handwritten sign overhead. Wires ran in and out of his umbilical cord. Wires attached to his heaving chest, wires attached to his little white feet, tubes in his nose, patches over his eyes. I stared in shock -- unbelief -- 'this isn't my child! My child was protected by the Lord!' Hadn't I sat hour after hour listening to scriptures on tape, believing that the anointed word of God was being poured into his spirit as well as mine, releasing divine health into our bodies...and after all, I was a believer. I knew we were redeemed from every curse and that sickness and disease had no right to our bodies. Why, I'd lived in divine health for years. Didn't even own any aspirin -- and now, this? No way!! Psalm 91 was written for me, no calamity could come near my dwelling place -- no weapon formed against me could prosper! I had 'laid hold of' the faith message of Kenneth E. Hagin over ten years ago -- and I'd picked up on Brother Copeland's confession the first time I heard it and faithfully stated daily that 'we were a family without tragedy'? Something was terribly, terribly wrong. This just couldn't be happening!! Yet, there he was, crying and yet without noise, as the tubes blocked his throat. His little wrists were taped to the sides of the unit. "We just gave him a shot of morphine to calm him down" a nurse was saying. "He's a fighter -- he kept pulling the tubes out so we had to tie him down." So tiny. So innocent. "Dying"...

I wanted to fall to the floor and cry. I felt like I was going to be sick. I wanted to cradle my son in my arms and have the biggest pity party of my life. Unfair! Unfair! I'd waited ten years for this baby. The temptation to react was so strong. But as I looked at this little child, a surge of supernatural courage came upon me. incredible strength and clear thinking came suddenly. "No way devil! You are not going to steal this baby from me, in the Name of Jesus!" I reached into the machine and took his little hand in between my thumb and forefinger, gently stroking it as I whispered a prayer. "Lord, this is all my fault. I let peer pressure influence me to do something I know better than to do. I gave the devil the foothold he needed to stomp in and mess up our plans. I'm so sorry Lord! Now Father, please come and rescue us from this mess! Thank you for bringing us the healing power of Jesus." Peace. Peace that passes all understanding came. I knew it was all going to be OK. There was no reason to cry. No reason to fall apart. God was back in control.

Bad news travels fast -- by morning friends and family swarmed the hospital. "No visitors allowed" was finally posted on my door. Forced back to bed by the weakness and pain in my own body, I didn't need the doubt and unbelief I was hearing. I was wearing myself out trying to encourage others to believe God's word -- and quickly recognized the futility of my faith statements as their faces looked at me with pity and sadness. "She's in denial" I heard someone say, "She's been through so much here, it just hasn't hit her yet." Mark tried to stand in faith and believe God, but when his mother arrived the two of them consoled each other with gushes of tears and began planning the funeral. I became impatient and angry. This wasn't a time for fooling around. This wasn't a time for living by what we were seeing, hearing and feeling. And this wasn't the time to worry about being popular. I shut them out too. Only my mother stayed with me, refusing to talk doubt and unbelief. "He will not die Carole! He will not die." A friend called, saying the Lord had given her a dream in the night as she fell asleep after interceding for us -- the Lord showed her Winston as a lively little boy -- full of health and life!

The doctors and nurses made frequent visits to my room -- bringing reports of his gradually improving condition, but still, the prognosis was death. "even if he were to live" said Dr. Williams, "he'd be a vegetable. He's been on 100% oxygen, has suffered brain damage, is no doubt blind and deaf as well." Explaining that at six weeks premature birth, his lungs had not finished forming. He was unable to live without life support. "We're keeping him alive, but don't expect him to be with us for more than a few more hours." My heart and arms longed to be with him -- a mother should be with her child! Yet, maybe being confined to bed myself was a benefit -- I wasn't having to face the sight. It was easier to keep the picture of my healthy baby in my thoughts. Praise and worship tapes filled my room with the peace and presence of God. Good reports, bad reports, doctors who were encouraged yet doubtful. There was just no chance for a natural healing. "It's a miracle he's hung on this long" the doctor stated after examining Winston late that evening, "but we'll probably lose him during the night." I felt the assurances of God's infallible word. "Sleep in heavenly peace Carole, all is well."

I had Mark bring a portable tape player from home and we put it in Winston's incubator. Healing scriptures round the clock. The nurses protested. We insisted that it was to be left alone. I was able to go and sit on a stool beside Winston from time to time -- holding his little hand in my fingers, I'd talk to him and sing to him. He was so beautiful! God had ordained his life, and He wasn't going to let my sin stand in the way. After all, it was so far removed, that God had forgotten all about whose fault this was. He just knew what He was going to do about it NOW. For eleven days we stayed on God's side in the battle for Winston's life. Up's and down's, major victories and major "crashes," yet every day a little stronger, every day another day to testify of God's sustaining power of life. They had a new name for Winston, among the doctors and nurses in the ICU -- "the miracle baby."

The day arrived when the doctor gave permission for Winston to be taken out briefly, tubes still attached, so that finally his Mama could hold her son! Joy, great joy as they placed this delicate symbol of God's love into my arms. So tiny. So helpless in and of his own strength. But there were bright little eyes looking back at my eyes! As I cooed over him and gently cuddled his tiny body, I noticed something else as well, "look, he's smiling at me!" I exclaimed quietly. Yes, he was responding to my voice ... and my face -- after all, isn't that what babies are supposed to do! Every day the amount of time we got to hold him was lengthened. The tubes finally came out and he was able to breathe with an oxygen tube held near his nose.

"I want to nurse him" I bravely told the nurse in the early morning hours of the 13th day -- "I don't want him drinking formula any longer." She was reluctant and protested about him not being strong enough, "What would it hurt to just try?" I asked. After successfully proving that mom and babe were not only capable but willing, I was able to sit and nurse him frequently from then on. (My own physical condition was improving slower than Winston's, and I was still a patient in the hospital -- my own needs were rarely remembered in the prayers and praises!) On the 15th day, they unhooked Winston from everything but the heart monitor and brought him to my room. He spent the night with me, with Mark sleeping in the arm chair in the corner. One content little family! The next day, we received the news that we were both being released from the hospital -- with the heart monitor to accompany us, of course. "For peace of mind" we were assured. I laughed. "I've already got the peace of mind that knows there is no need for any heart monitor! We'll save us the trip to bring it back by leaving it here!"

Walking into the nursery of our own home, carrying my whole and healthy 'miracle baby,' it seemed that sixteen years, not just 16 days, had passed since I had stood here. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I held this little life up to the Lord. "Lord, you have given me the petition that I desired of you! Thank you for sustaining us through the valley of the shadow of death. Here is my son, my only son. He belongs to You Lord. May I be faithful to praise You for his life each and everyday!"

Winston turns 15 years old in just a few days. No sickness nor disease has ever come near him again. He asked Jesus into his heart when he was four years old. A 'child protg', Winston spent hour after hour every day as a youngster, singing praises to His Lord and composing songs of worship on the piano. On the high honor roll at school and enrolled in the Excel program for gifted students, he has an IQ of 136. Winston sees 20/20 without assistance and hears the softest brushes of his bow as he draws it across the strings of his viola as he plays in honors orchestra. An anointed pianist, his heart is like that of the psalmist David who penned the words from Psalm 91, "He who dwells in the secret place of the most high, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty! I will say of Him, You are my God and in You do I trust ... and no calamity shall come near my dwelling." Winston starts every day with God's Word and his Faith to Faith daily devotion book. Fifteen years of receiving seed by the anointed teaching of men and women of faith in God's Word has been sown into good ground. And reaping a good harvest. Could anyone have a better start in life? Called to teach God's people and minister to the Lord through music -- the miracle baby is well on his way to being the miracle worker as the hand of God moves through him.

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