Read Online A Treasury of Miracles for Women by Karen Kingsbury - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karen Kingsbury
Tags: BIO022000
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“God heard our prayers. He's going to let me have my little blonde, blue-eyed angel after all.”
“Honey,” Angie teased, her voice filled with mock warning. “Don't get yourself worked up about a blonde, blue-eyed girl. Look in the mirror and ask yourself if your daughter could have anything but your beautiful dark hair and dark eyes.”
“Never mind,” Ben said, teasing in return. “You can be a doubter but I know she's going to be a blonde, blue-eyed little angel.”
Weeks passed and then months. At the end of Angie's eighth month of pregnancy, another ultrasound was per formed and this time the results were perfect.
“There is no difference between your ultrasound and that of a perfectly normal pregnancy,” she was told. “Surgery will not be necessary.”
Angie and Ben were not surprised. The prayers contin ued.
Finally, one morning, a week before Angie's due date, she went into labor. Although the baby seemed normal on the ultrasound tests, Angie had been warned she would probably still have a long, arduous labor. Instead, Maggie was born May 17 at 8:01 A.M.—just forty minutes after ar riving at the hospital. Tests were done immediately and her physical examination proved her to be completely healthy.
Two weeks later the blood work came back. Maggie's chromosomes were completely normal. When the doctor received the results, he held one final meeting with the couple.
He played with Maggie's tiny fingers and tickled her under her chin. Then he turned to Ben and Angie.
“I want you to know,” he said, his eyes misty, “Maggie has changed the way I'll advise patients with this disorder in the future. I agreed with the specialist about aborting the pregnancy. If you'd followed my advice …” His voice trailed off. “I just thank God you didn't.”
As Maggie grew, the only sign that remained of her or deal in the womb was a slight thickening at the base of her neck where the sacs had once grown, filled with fluid that could have choked her to death.
Once, when Maggie was five, Angie was doing up the buttons of the little girl's blouse and she found herself strug gling with the top button. She smiled then and studied Maggie's face.
“You'll always have a hard time with those top buttons because your neck is a little thicker than some,” she said. “That's God's way of reminding you that you were a mira cle.”
Maggie nodded. “God looked after me when I was in your tummy, Mommy,” she said. “Daddy says I'm his mira cle baby.”
Angie pulled her daughter tight and smiled through her tears.
“Yes, honey.” She tugged lightly on the child's blonde ponytail and looked intently in her deep blue eyes. “You're our little blonde, blue-eyed miracle baby.”
Whatever It Takes
O n Sunday, July 24, Olivia Riley looked at her wrist watch and saw that it was exactly twelve noon. Time to pray for Laura. She found a quiet place in her house and for the next thirty minutes—sometimes with tears in her eyes—she spoke to God in hushed tones, pleading with him to spare the life of Laura West.
When thirty minutes had passed, Olivia's husband, Brad, began praying. He, too, had committed himself to take a shift praying for Laura.
The hours wore on and the prayers for Laura contin ued.
Sandy Billings: 1:30 P.M. Tricia Rosenblum: 2:00 P.M. Earl Stockton: 2:30 P.M. Rita Hayden: 3:00 P.M.
Sunday evening came, and with it Scott Schwartz and Robert Trenton at 7:00 P.M. Alice Tyson: 7:30 P.M. Ruby Jansen: 8:00 P.M.
Night turned into the wee hours of the morning and still there was constant prayer. Tom Mendoza: 1:30 A.M. Greg Harrison: 2:30 A.M. Jason Waters: 5:00 A.M.
And so the prayer chain for Laura West continued. All across the town of Bartlesville, Oklahoma, the people of Hope Community Church kept up the chain: twenty-four hours of continuous prayer uttered in thirty-minute segments by forty-eight people who had willingly signed up earlier that morning.
Never had the church prayed so
“Honey,” Angie teased, her voice filled with mock warning. “Don't get yourself worked up about a blonde, blue-eyed girl. Look in the mirror and ask yourself if your daughter could have anything but your beautiful dark hair and dark eyes.”
“Never mind,” Ben said, teasing in return. “You can be a doubter but I know she's going to be a blonde, blue-eyed little angel.”
Weeks passed and then months. At the end of Angie's eighth month of pregnancy, another ultrasound was per formed and this time the results were perfect.
“There is no difference between your ultrasound and that of a perfectly normal pregnancy,” she was told. “Surgery will not be necessary.”
Angie and Ben were not surprised. The prayers contin ued.
Finally, one morning, a week before Angie's due date, she went into labor. Although the baby seemed normal on the ultrasound tests, Angie had been warned she would probably still have a long, arduous labor. Instead, Maggie was born May 17 at 8:01 A.M.—just forty minutes after ar riving at the hospital. Tests were done immediately and her physical examination proved her to be completely healthy.
Two weeks later the blood work came back. Maggie's chromosomes were completely normal. When the doctor received the results, he held one final meeting with the couple.
He played with Maggie's tiny fingers and tickled her under her chin. Then he turned to Ben and Angie.
“I want you to know,” he said, his eyes misty, “Maggie has changed the way I'll advise patients with this disorder in the future. I agreed with the specialist about aborting the pregnancy. If you'd followed my advice …” His voice trailed off. “I just thank God you didn't.”
As Maggie grew, the only sign that remained of her or deal in the womb was a slight thickening at the base of her neck where the sacs had once grown, filled with fluid that could have choked her to death.
Once, when Maggie was five, Angie was doing up the buttons of the little girl's blouse and she found herself strug gling with the top button. She smiled then and studied Maggie's face.
“You'll always have a hard time with those top buttons because your neck is a little thicker than some,” she said. “That's God's way of reminding you that you were a mira cle.”
Maggie nodded. “God looked after me when I was in your tummy, Mommy,” she said. “Daddy says I'm his mira cle baby.”
Angie pulled her daughter tight and smiled through her tears.
“Yes, honey.” She tugged lightly on the child's blonde ponytail and looked intently in her deep blue eyes. “You're our little blonde, blue-eyed miracle baby.”
Whatever It Takes
O n Sunday, July 24, Olivia Riley looked at her wrist watch and saw that it was exactly twelve noon. Time to pray for Laura. She found a quiet place in her house and for the next thirty minutes—sometimes with tears in her eyes—she spoke to God in hushed tones, pleading with him to spare the life of Laura West.
When thirty minutes had passed, Olivia's husband, Brad, began praying. He, too, had committed himself to take a shift praying for Laura.
The hours wore on and the prayers for Laura contin ued.
Sandy Billings: 1:30 P.M. Tricia Rosenblum: 2:00 P.M. Earl Stockton: 2:30 P.M. Rita Hayden: 3:00 P.M.
Sunday evening came, and with it Scott Schwartz and Robert Trenton at 7:00 P.M. Alice Tyson: 7:30 P.M. Ruby Jansen: 8:00 P.M.
Night turned into the wee hours of the morning and still there was constant prayer. Tom Mendoza: 1:30 A.M. Greg Harrison: 2:30 A.M. Jason Waters: 5:00 A.M.
And so the prayer chain for Laura West continued. All across the town of Bartlesville, Oklahoma, the people of Hope Community Church kept up the chain: twenty-four hours of continuous prayer uttered in thirty-minute segments by forty-eight people who had willingly signed up earlier that morning.
Never had the church prayed so
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