Happy 13th Birthday, Eli

Eli wasn't supposed to be born on this day. But he was. And the story of his birth is one of my favorites, because it so well illustrates God's ability, His tendency, to take our best-laid plans, turn them upside-down (despite our groanings and lamentings), and delight us with something better.

Eli was supposed to be born on Aug. 2. Having delivered his older sister by c-section two years earlier, the doctors were watching me closely. I'm a small woman, and they could tell this was going to be a big baby. I wanted to deliver vaginally, not by another c-section, and the doctors were a little concerned by the baby's size. "Need to induce," said my hero-doctor Bill McKenzie, "not let this baby get any bigger." So plans were set in motion: Hospital pre-admitted me, and family scheduled the day off of work. For more than a week, we knew our baby would be born on Aug. 2.

I worked my final pre-natal day of work on Aug. 1, and arrived at my mother-in-law's home late that afternoon to pick up Emma, then 2. And that's where we received the call. At 4:30 p.m. the day before I was supposed to have this baby, my insurance company blocked my induction. Too late to appeal. We would not need to be at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. the next day; we would not be having a baby that day.

For three days we fought the insurance company. I begged them to let me talk with their doctors (they refused); my doctor pleaded my case (large baby, small woman, VBAC); BellSouth's vice president of benefits (who oversaw my communications department as well) even got involved. Finally, late Friday afternoon (three days later), Dr. Mc's office called. Now past my Aug. 4 due date, the insurance company had approved an induction for first thing Monday morning. I was to be at the hospital at 5 a.m. on Aug. 7.

Our plan had been to take Emma to my in-laws' house the night before, so we took her over on Sunday evening, dressed in her little pink pajamas, with her baby stroller and baby doll in hand. We returned home, got our things in order for the next morning, and went to bed. And can you guess what happened next? Just after midnight, I awoke, not experiencing contractions, but feeling rather funny. And then the contractions came. And God gave me the moment I had truly longed for, the moment of gently nudging my husband awake to tell him it was time.

We were at the hospital by about 2 a.m., and I received my epidural right about the time I'd been scheduled to arrive at the hospital for the induction. Eli came three hours later, just after 8 a.m.

My chronically ill mother, the only one who had arrived at the hospital for what she thought was to be a 5:30 a.m. induction, was alone in the waiting room. She joined us just minutes after Eli's birth, the first family member to see him. And she saw the nurse measure and bathe and swaddle him. And it was the delight of her life.

We named Eli after my grandfather (Elliott) and after Steven (Gerald), but we called him the name we'd come to love because of a song sung by our favorite musical artist, Rich Mullins. Here's a link to the song. (Click on Play Song in the window where my link takes you.)

Happy birthday, son! I pray that the eyes of your heart shine bright with the hope to which you're called, And may you know with all the saints the height, the depth, the width, and the length of the love of God for you.