Why Sam Believes in Miracles (Now)

Not long before we got married, Sam and I were talking about my church. He'd started attending a few months before and really liked much of what I like about it--the humility and authenticity of the pastors, the pragmatism of the sermons, the emphasis on social justice. But, he announced, he did not like the way we all talked about miracles. "I just don't think those kinds of things happen anymore," he said.

"Fine," I said, "but if we have a baby within a year, you'll have to believe in miracles."

"Fine," he chortled, "THEN I'll believe in miracles. Because THAT is never going to happen."

Sam had good reasons for this assertion: he had been informed that he could not have a child naturally. An infertility specialist had told him, "A woman on the pill has a better chance of getting pregnant than you have of getting a woman pregnant." Insensitive perhaps, but confirmed with second opinions and such.

I teased him about his position while we were traveling in Greece: "You know, if I did get pregnant, you'd have to carry the heavy bags. And we'd have to eat really often."

Eventually tiring of this commentary, he replied one day, "Well, why don't we get a pregnancy test tomorrow?"

Now I was the scoffer: "Because I'm not pregnant! Why would we waste money on a pregnancy test?"

This conversation in jest was enough to get us snickering as we stood in the Greek pharmacy the next day waiting for a prescription refill, unable to read any of the labels and speculating about which would be the appropriate product. Our junior-high-health-class behavior drew the attention of the pharmacist, and after some improvisational Greek on Sam's part ("My wife and I, having been married two months [a slight exaggeration on his part], and now, maybe, the baby?"), we walked out with our little pink box.

I wasn't even going to take it. I didn't have any signs, after all. Yes, I had been nauseous, but that was the carsickness from our long bus ride. And I had been lightheaded, but come on--it was 115 degrees out! As for the other usual indicators, it was hardly even time to get suspicious yet.

But then again, we weren't going to carry this test all over Europe with us, were we? So I went ahead and dutifully took it.

When we saw the result, we dropped that hot potato onto the bed and jumped away from it. Then we zoomed around the room like two balloons that had had the air let out of them too fast. Then we changed our tickets, and then we headed for home.

A few weeks of stunned surprise later, my doctor at home nonchalantly confirmed the results (you'd think he did this kind of thing every day).

And just two weeks ago, we heard the beating of a brand new heart.

Welcome to the Vineyard, honey!