EXPRESSIONS OF FAITH
Son's birth renews dad's faith in prayer
Jill was eight months pregnant with our first child, giddy with anticipation and joy. After a routine doctor's appointment, she told her doctor she hadn't felt the baby move the night before. The doctor ordered tests.
The baby was in distress.
They induced labor. Soon, things got worse. Monitors showed the baby's heart suddenly stopped beating. They whisked Jill away for an emergency C-section.
It happened too fast. Barred from the emergency operating room, I paced the sterile hallway. I scrolled through my phone to ask people to pray. Jill's family offered reassurances that several very skilled people were in the OR. Everything that could be done was being done. Relax. But no one felt comforted.
I continued to pray, convinced that the doctor's hands were in God's hands. I asked him to work a miracle. My brain fast-forwarded with fear. What would happen to Jill? What would happen to our baby? I wouldn't let myself consider the harsh alternatives. With tears streaming down my face, I cried out to God: "Please, God, save this baby. Don't let him die. Give the doctors wisdom."
A blue-garbed doctor slipped through swinging doors and brought the news. The umbilical cord was wrapped six times around the baby's neck, there was no heartbeat, he was not breathing. CPR started immediately after birth and was continued far longer than normal.
My brother-in-law, a pediatrician, earlier came to support us. He had dashed into the OR to observe. God gave him a dose of wisdom, and he suggested they extract the breathing tube just a few inches to open the airway and try again. It worked. After 12 minutes without motion, the little heart began pulsing.
At 8:21 that night, we gave birth to a baby boy and named him Noah. The name chosen weeks before seemed so significant now. He would be a survivor.
A gurney pushed open the swinging doors and I saw my son for the very first time. They wheeled him down the hallway still squeezing puffs of air into his lungs. I walked alongside and prayed for healing and whispered blessings over his pale, unconscious body. I sensed a small whisper in my mind, "He is going to live, and he's going to be just fine."
Anxiety melted as I felt God's comfort. I no longer worried about Noah. The medical team at The Queen's Medical Center continued its skillful work on Noah and carefully tended to my recovering wife.
Once Noah was moved to another hospital, doctors said Noah was the sickest baby in the NICU. Initial estimates for recovery stretched into months, but six days later, Noah was well enough to come home with us.
Doctors said in disbelief, "Doesn't this baby know how sick he was?" They admitted we had witnessed a miracle.
God rescued this tiny life from the brink of death.
We gave Noah the middle name, Keolahou, "The Life Again," or "The Resurrection."
God is still doing miracles today. I don't mind hearing my son, now 4 months old, cry. In fact, I'm thankful for it as it reminds me of the gift of his breath and life. Next weekend, on Father's Day, I will be grateful for the answer to prayer from one father to another.
Jon Heileman, who lives in Kailua, is an area pastor at New Hope Christian Fellowship Oahu. Expressions of Faith welcomes written works by pastors, priests, lay workers and other leaders in faith and spirituality. E-mail faith@honoluluadvertiser.com or call 525-8035. Articles submitted to The Advertiser may be published or distributed in print, electronic or other forms.
