Miracle Maggie

As our entire community rejoiced in “Haiti’s Miracle” this week, I privately rejoiced in the memory of another miracle that happened just one year ago. This miracle wasn’t as flamboyant as the deliverance of five precious orphans, but it was a miracle of deliverance, nonetheless.

On January 16, 2009, our fifth child, Magdalene Hope, entered the world in a flurry of hurry and prayer. The obvious miracle was that of a healthy baby girl despite indicators that had warned us of potential problems right before Maggie’s birth. But the greater miracle, in mind, was this:  as Maggie was lifted from my womb by the steady hands of a surgeon, I was lifted out of my own narrow pit of doubt and fear by the mighty hand of God.

We’ve fondly dubbed Magdalene “Miracle Maggie” for many reasons; the first being the breath-catching way she arrived.  I woke to a bitter winter’s day on the morning of January sixteen and mentally ticked off my countdown to due date:  fifteen days (but who’s counting?) After dropping off my school-agers, I headed to my routine Friday OB appointment. 

In the course of the 38-week check, my doctor became suspicious of the baby’s position.  One week prior, the head had been down with the baby’s feet tickling my rib cage.  But on this day, it appeared that the baby’s feet and head had switched places.  Having never had a breech baby, I was disappointed in the change of circumstances, but clung to the hope that we could flip the little one inside and proceed with a natural labor. For a woman whose previous four labors had rarely lingered past the two-hour mark, the prospect of vaginal delivery was far more inviting than the c-section alternative. After praying with my doctor, I headed down the hallway for a quick ultrasound to confirm the baby’s position. The ultrasound revealed a sweet round head right sitting beneath my heart.

Over the years, I’ve realized that one of the burdens of a being a doctor’s wife is sometimes knowing too much.   As I tried to process the quick change of circumstances, Rob gave me a list of all the things that could be wrong with our littlest one if the “warning signs” were indicative of other abnormalities. The list was overwhelming. Shell-shocked, I left the clinic with a promise from my doctor to schedule a c-section for the following week. However, by the time I arrived home, my answering machine blinked with three messages from the obstetrics department.  The nurse on the other end of the line insisted that I return immediately. My doctor had consulted with a maternal fetal medicine specialist who had recommended that we get the baby out as soon as possible.

I’m not sure why it took nine months of fighting the Holy One to finally surrender to His perfect plan, but on the afternoon of January 16, 2009, I took God up on His plea. I trust you, Lord, I whispered as I pulled into the parking lot and walked through the hospital doors with no promise that the baby inside of me would be healthy and whole. I trust you.

One hour later, under the bright lights of a sterile white surgery room, Magdalene Hope Bruxvoort broke through my prayers with a gasp and a cry. And, just as God would have it, she became the unexpected answer to the cry of my heart. As the able hands of the surgeon lifted my last-born from a bone-dry amniotic sac, the Lord, in his mercy, lifted me out of a season of bone-dry faith. The wrestling match was over. When Magdalene was placed into my arms, I knew immediately that God had given me the desires of my heart long before my own heart had even known what it wanted. My hands were FULL, and I was ready to trust Him to write the story of my life even if it wasn’t the script I’d once thought I would follow.

That evening, as I lay in my hospital bed with swaddled pink bundle in hand, my doctor stopped in to rejoice with me. With a sigh of relief, he confessed that Maggie’s breech position just may have been her saving grace. If my little girl had not been “upside down,” we would have had no reason to check the fluid levels, no way of knowing that the fluid my baby needed to survive had virtually disappeared. “And if she had waited until full term to arrive…” my doctor said grimly, “well, there’s just know way of knowing what might have happened…”  That’s how miracles work.

We celebrated Magdalene’s first birthday last week with an ice cream sundae and a crowd of doting grandparents, while I privately celebrated one year of life in the fields of faith. Turns out, I was right- I can’t possibly parent five children well- at least not on my own. Thankfully, I’ve got a Partner in parenting who loves my children more than I.  He fills in the gaps that this imperfect mom leaves. And each day, my  “handful” of blessings continue to point me to the Hand who is scripting a story far beyond my dreams.

Today’s Treasure:  [The Lord] heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire.  He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along.  He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. -Psalm 40: 2-3