Fog. Drizzle. Incessant gray. December in northwest Ohio. As a passing truck sends one more blinding spray of smudge across my windshield, I pray, "Jesus, you're the only light I have today. This darkness is overcoming me. Be my light which this depressing darkness cannot overcome."
To someone is born this day a baby. The time is not right. It fights for its life in a hospital incubator.
As I drive, I release my dismal spirit to the Lord, and soon feel a quiet peace moving the shadows away. By the time I reach church 45 minutes later to lead my Bible study, I am ready, eager to mine God's Word with the faithful women who attend despite the fog, despite the busy season. Their presence alone blesses me.
To someone is born this day a baby...
Later, as I drive another hour back through the fog to Toledo to keep an appointment with the Red Cross, I recall the woman who called asking me to donate blood this week saying something about "preemies." I make a mental note to ask the receptionist what that means.
Through the drizzle and holiday traffic, I finally arrive at the appointed place. I am ready for the procedure, looking forward to the few quiet moments of rest I will be given as my blood slowly fills the pint bag. I am always struck by the miracle of being able to give of my life without actually giving my life in order to help someone else.
To someone is born this day a baby...
As the receptionist takes the required information, I remember to ask my question. "The woman who called me said something about preemies. What did she mean?"
"When we tested your blood last time you gave, we discovered you are CMV-negative."
"What does that mean?"
"CMV is a kind of virus most adults have in their blood which, if active, produces flu-like symptoms in adults. They may have picked it up from another person, or even from handling dirt, or by getting sick themselves. We have to screen those because if CMV-positive blood is given to premature babies, whose immune systerms are not working yet, it could be fatal. When we find someone like you, who is CMV-negative, in addition to being O-negative, making you a universal donor, well, you can probably expect to be called pretty regularly to donate for the preemies from now on!"
To someone is born this day a baby...
Awe gripped my heart. I sat in stunned silence for a moment, taking in what she had told me. "I'll share something very personal with you," I said after a time. "My husband and I struggled for 10 years trying to have a baby. For reasons medical science could never explain, we only seemed able to have miscarriages. Both sides of our families have been 'fruitful and multiplied,' but not us, and for no clear reason. Now you are telling me there is something rare about my blood that can save the lives of premature babies -- after all those years of trying to give life..." My throat closed, tears welled as four of us -- two receptionists, another donor, and myself, let the miracle wash over us.
To someone is born this day a baby. The time is not right. It fights for its life in a hospital incubator. Its parents wait the agonizing wait of helpless love and passionate hope. The baby, dearly loved of God, is desperately sick. She needs blood.
As I lay on the table giving my blood, blood which will bear life and power for a premature baby eagerly loved by her parents and by her God, I am facing a window. I stare out into the fog and drizzle, and tears of awe and joy sweep over me again.
And I swear I hear the voice of a single angel whispering, "To you is born this day a baby..."
No comments:
Post a Comment