Bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh, bleh. Bleh and bleh, worry and fear, sad and mad, shame and guilt and regret. And yet— What if? I have the power to rewrite my story. What if? My words and thoughts have creative power to transform. What if? I think on noble things: health, wealth, and love, faith and gratitude, peace and hope and joy. What if I believe? Life is good and generous, and miracles are in motion beyond my wildest dreams. What if I say? Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Once a child bride, I married a man child. During the first year or so of holy matrimony, we partied like it was 1999. But it was 1989. Then suddenly, we had a toddler. Somebody had to grow up. With the help of my mother, I packed my things, loaded Drew into his car seat, and left the Rocky Mountains and my husband in my rearview mirror.
During the 700-mile, cross-country trek from Denver to Tulsa, I prayed to God. I wanted to do the right thing, and I said, “Send me a sign. Amen.”
In the weeks that followed, I found an apartment and a church. I enrolled in community college and started summer classes. Meanwhile, Kody called. He missed me and Drew. He asked if he could visit.
I said, “Yes.”
All it took was one visit, watching Bambi as a family, a failed spermicidal sponge, and I had my sign. I called Kody long distance when I missed my period. “I’m pregnant,” I said.
From there, we committed to a new beginning. Kody moved in and found a job. Together we enrolled in eighteen hours each that fall. In December, we moved back to Norman to continue school at the university. By then I was almost seven months pregnant. I had just turned twenty-two.
I suppose I lifted one box too many. Mother’s guilt.
I was taking a bath one day in our new home. 134 1/2 S. Reed. A bungalow with a dirt driveway on the half acre behind another bungalow. As I toweled off, water continued to drip down the insides of my thighs.
My water. Broken. Seven-and-a-half weeks early. At the hospital, I learned my baby was breach. They transported me by ambulance to the university hospital in Oklahoma City with the neo-natal unit. The surgeon performing the emergency C-section was Dr. Payne.
And that’s how Lauren Elizabeth entered the world. January 11, 1992, at 12:22 am, 4 lbs. 11 ½ oz. Too little to cry. It’s not a pretty story, but she was a gorgeous tiny bundle of love despite the tubes in her nose. She had ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. And she fought for life from her first breath. She was destined to be just fine and come home just one week later.
And today my beautiful miracle baby celebrates 30 years and other miracles along the way, God’s presence and new beginnings of her own. Destined for her best decade yet.
Does a person need a crystal ball? What if she is Crystal? With a good long gaze inside my whole heart, I see with Crystal clarity— the Almighty, who listens, who plans to prosper me, give me hope and a future. And I see miracles for both of us— you and me. That's what I believe. In response to Eugi's weekly prompt Crystal Ball.