Two years ago this evening (right about this time in the afternoon in fact) Anita and I drove to Baptist East here in Montgomery hoping that Anita was in labor. We were eager and excited to welcome our third son into our family. Anita was prepared to refuse to leave the hospital no matter what they told her about labor. She was ready - and so was I. Little did we know that our lives would be forever changed (I know, that sounds strange, but it is true). Since this day, Anita and I have gradually been eclipsed by Silas.
Anita, it was confirmed, was in labor. And so, with much anticipation and excitement I began calling family and friends. Anita was admitted. And I began praying intensely for God to be with her and our son during delivery (thank God for mothers, by the way … without them none of us would be here because there is no way fathers could give birth).
Everything went very well. We were old pros – and Anita, as always, was awesome. The nurses in the delivery room were very sweet and helpful, and the doctor provided professional care during a relatively routine delivery. And when Silas was born … well I cried of course. He was handsome and strong … just like his older brothers. The nurses seemed somewhat concerned about one of his numbers, but I didn’t care. Here was a newborn son, crying, grabbing my finger, he was “fearfully and wonderfully made.”
I do remember, reflecting as I have often since, noticing one thing in the delivery room: Si’s big toes. I remember thinking that his toes were more prominent than I remember from our other children. But I also remember thinking that they were very cute.
Si stayed with us for a little while, but then he was taken away to the “well baby” nursery. Anita was headed to recovery, and I headed down to take pictures, and take another look at those cute toes. 8 lbs 8 ozs was the official weight. He was crying (an often wonderful sound from a newborn’s mouth). And his official footprint put on paper the beauty of his toes. The nurses said that they wanted to keep him for a while … so I headed down to see if Anita needed anything.
I remember Anita’s relief. Si was here. But I also remember a certain sense of fear (on my part) … a realization that we have four children now (and two boys under the age of two). What have we done? (that kind of fear). But Anita was beautiful, and calm. So of course there was nothing to worry about. Thank God, I remember saying, for delivering us through this trying season. Thank God, I remember saying, for our healthy son.
Anita asked me to go back and check on Si. It was sometime around midnight. The nurses were gathered around Si in the “well baby” nursery. I remember using my phone to take pictures of Si over their shoulders. They were talking, and I did not care. They were busy, and I did not notice. All I could see was my son, the one with the beautiful toes.
And then, one of the nurses, the one who seemed to be in charge in the nursery, proclaimed to her colleagues, “there is something wrong with this child.” She had apparently not noticed that I was standing behind her taking pictures of my son.
It was one of those moments that you read about. A time standing still moment. A moment seared into my memory. I remember thinking, “she’s got her hand on my son, but I wonder who she’s talking about?”
I looked around for another unhealthy baby. But Si was the only one around.
Maybe she’s concerned about his toes? I wanted her to know that I didn’t mind the toes. They were cute, I thought.
“I’m his father,” I said, “can you tell me what is wrong?” Looking back, I now realize that she had not know I was in the room. All the other nurses took a step back. It was now just this RN (doing her job) and me (doing mine). The RN seemed to gain renewed confidence and conviction, and there in the nursery, surrounded by “well babies” and nurses (no doctors were present), this RN began to give me her diagnosis.
“Your son has low blood oxygen levels. He also has some problems with his blood work. His platelet levels are very low. Also, some of his features indicate a probability of Down Syndrome. These symptoms, taken together, indicate a possibility of heart problems. Surgery may be required. Also, the blood issues indicate a possibility of leukemia, and possibly liver failure. We need to take him to the NICU for additional testing.”
But aren’t his toes cute? Isn’t he beautiful?
My son was whisked away, and I headed back to Anita’s room. I walked in, and I remember realizing that somehow she already knew. In fact, many years ago, Anita once told me that we would have a child with special needs. And for all of our lives God has been preparing her heart (and mine) for this gift.
I began praying … and I could not. What could I say? Thank God that His spirit searches us, and his Son is equipped to carry our concerns to his throne. Be still and know that I am God. That is all I could think of. And, for the next few hours, with all my heart, I yearned for God’s name to be glorified in my life, and that he would magnify His glory through the life of my son.
That night I encountered the true meaning of prayer. It does not consist of a litany of magic words. Prayer is unashamed of tears. Prayer is, oddly, a moment when there are no words. Prayer is faith in a real time and place – a complete, trusting submission to the will of the Father – even when, or especially when, accompanied by concern for those the Father loves.
Over the coming weeks, months, and now two years later, God has revealed many times that he has heard my prayer.
Silas magnifies God’s name wherever he goes – and Si’s toes are witness to God’s glory.
Thank you, son, for teaching me how to pray. Happy Birthday Si!
