miracle

K and I were talking about miracles a few days ago. At one point he asked me outright if I believed in them, in miracles.

I thought about it a moment, and said, "Not as much as I should".

Now, I have no trouble believing in the miracles in the Bible. I believe Jesus turned water into wine. I believe by just touching Jesus' cloak, a woman could stop bleeding after twelve years. I believe a little girl, thought to be dead, could awaken when Jesus called out to her.

But what is it about miracles to me, for me that I find hard to believe?

Maybe it's because in all my years of school, I've been taught to prize logic and rationality. Maybe it's because in the only job I've had, I had to produce logical, rationally thought out analytical papers as a matter of course.

Is that a poor excuse?

The call finally came from my doctor's clinic yesterday morning.

The baby is normal. No Downs, no Edwards.

I called Keith and our parents straightaway. But then I didn't tell anyone else.

A part of me, the doubting part of me, was unsure. After all, we had been handed an almost certain dire prognosis a little more than a month ago. Could it really be? Could God really have worked a miracle for me, for my child?

I confess I called the clinic up again in the afternoon. Yes, I felt a little silly, but I wanted to hear the words again. The nurse must have thought I was wasting her time. But she told me what I needed to hear again anyway. I hung up the phone, just thankful that she hadn't made a mistake.

I am relieved, grateful, thankful, filled with awe. For the family and friends who have prayed for us and over us. For the people who waited as anxiously as we did for the test results.

Most of all, I am thankful and grateful to our God, who worked a miracle for us.

Ask me again if I believe in miracles.

Oh, and it's a she.