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In 1988, I was sitting at the maternity ward window marveling over our newborn 10-1/2 pound bouncing baby truck, er...I mean boy. I noticed another man standing a few yards down equally in awe of his own newborn child except he wasn't in awe. He was standing there with one hand on the glass and trying to brush back a cascade of tears with his other.

I approached him, offered him a cloth diaper (hey, they made great hankies) and asked him if he was okay. I didn't want to pry but you just can't ignore the emotions he was going through.

He told me everything was just fine. Everything was remarkably... just fine. He must have seen the puzzled look in my eyes so he started to explain why he was so overly emotional. His wife had a number of setbacks during the pregnancy (I'm sorry I don't recall what the technical terms were) and the doctors had told them that she was in danger of losing the baby. They went home and prayed.

Around the seventh month, the doctors told them that the baby was not showing any positive signs (I'm guessing that meant very weak heart rate, unusually underdeveloped organs, etc... but for whatever reason the baby was given absolutely no chance of survival) and they regretted to inform them that it would be in everyone's best interest that they "terminate" the pregnancy.

He gave me the same shocking stare as he and his wife must have given the doctors. He told me that there was no way in God's name would they take the life of their baby. If God wanted his baby, God would take it. In the meantime, they were God's stewards and would do whatever they could to see that this precious little soul was not wasted. This young man told me that each night he went home and prayed like he had never prayed before.

Soon after they refused the doctors advice the weekly checkups started showing more positive results. The turnaround in the babies health left the doctors a little skeptical but they couldn't deny that the baby was showing very little signs of the previously terminal diagnosis. 2 months later, a full term, their baby boy was born. He was above average on the APGAR tests, had all his fingers and toes and showed absolutely no defects. He was a perfectly happy and healthy baby boy, and the doctors were left scratching their heads as they went back over their 7th month diagnosis.

I had never given a complete stranger a hug, but after that tale, he didn't quite seem so strange. I wished him well, and quickly turned to walk away so he wouldn't see the tear forming in the corner of my eye. Miracle? You bet.