If one was to select the four most sobering, life-changing words in the English language, they might be the announcement of a wife to her husband, "I think I'm pregnant."

Margie has said those magic words to me ten times.  The first time brought me great joy and excitement.  The second time did, too.  All of the subsequent announcements ultimately brought me joy, but the announcements themselves were accompanied with questions and doubts.—Are we capable of handling this?—Can I support a large family?—What is this going to do to Margie's sense of well-being?—How is this going to affect her natural cheerful disposition?

The realization that she was pregnant usually depressed Margie initially.  She had to get herself geared up mentally for the ordeal ahead of her.  There would be morning sickness to endure.  There would be a cessation of her ability to take care of her garden, and a decrease in her abilities to do other things.  There would be the "kinks" that would bring her upright from a sound sleep and cause her to get up and pace the floor.

Margie has an even disposition.  She rarely gets down in spirit.  She rarely gets mad.  She never cries.  As her husband, I greatly appreciate these qualities.  I always know where I stand with her.  I never have to wonder what she's really thinking.

In 34 years of marriage, we've never had a fight.  Once in a while we can each get blue, however.  We both manifest our blue mood by going silent.  The moods are temporary.  While they last, the unblue spouse performs little acts of kindness for the other, and shortly everything is fine again.

Danny was born in 1984.  He was baby number eight.  Up until then a new, perfect baby had arrived in our family every other year like clockwork.  But after Danny, things changed.  Three whole years went by.  For the first time in 16 years Margie had no diapers to change.  She had a new-found sense of freedom, and dared to think that maybe she was through having babies.

Shortly after Danny's third birthday, however, Margie started to notice the telltale signs.  "I think I'm pregnant," she told me.

We kept the secret as long as we thought we should.  I finally told my father and his twin sister, Aunt Peggy.  I told them to keep the information confidential for a while.  Two days later Aunt Peggy reaffirmed that she was keeping the secret.

"I haven't told anyone but my hair dresser," she said.  "I hope that was all right."

"Sure," I gulped.  "What can it hurt to tell just one person."

One day thereafter I couldn't find Margie.  I ranged through the house looking for her, but she wasn't there.  I finally found her in the back yard where she'd taken a chair and sat down to have a cry.

It melted my heart.  There was nothing I could do, so I went back inside and took up the slack with children and the household until things were right again.

The mood passed.  Margie quickly reconciled herself to her new status, and we were ultimately rewarded with Ivy—a gem of a baby and a perfect girl, if there ever was one.  Such a prize is worth any sacrifice.

Margie was 40 years old when Ivy was born.  Few women give birth after age 40.  Five-and-a-half babyless years passed, and we dared to again think that our family was complete.

Then came those words again.  "I think I'm pregnant."

This was cause for alarm, and was a trial of our faith.  Margie was 46 years old.  She'd be four months shy of 47 when the baby arrived.  Risks for both the baby and the mother increase when the woman is that age.  Downs syndrome, for instance, is more prevalent in babies born to older women.

Margie became very quiet.  There were no crying episodes, but for week after week Margie just quietly went through her routine.  That routine included caring for her invalid, bedridden mother who we had moved into our home several years before.

With all of the lifting involved in caring for Grandma, how would Margie be able to continue caring for her as the pregnancy progressed?  That was one worry.

Another was the matter of Downs syndrome.  Margie had gone through her entire life without coming into contact with anyone with Downs.  Suddenly, however, during the first four months of her pregnancy, she was brought into contact with four different Downs people.

This was a sign to her.  God was preparing her for the Downs baby that she was going to have.

She said nothing to me, her husband, of her worries.  She simply knew that she was having a Downs baby.  How she'd manage to care for her invalid mother, a retarded child, and all of her other children she didn't know.  She just quietly went about her duties, praying for strength, and having faith that she wouldn't be given more than she could handle.  Somehow things would work out.

When she was particularly blue, she'd sit down at the piano and play hymns.  "How Firm a Foundation" was of particular comfort to her.

"How firm a foundation, ye Saints of the Lord,

Is laid for your faith in his excellent word!

What more can he say than to you he hath said,

—Who unto the Savior for refuge have fled?

In every condition—in sickness, in health

In poverty's vale or abounding in wealth,

At home or abroad, on the land or the sea—

As thy days may demand, so thy succor shall be.

Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,

For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.

I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,

Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.

 

When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'erflow,

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,

My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.

The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design

Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.

The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose

I will not, I cannot, desert to his foes;

That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,

I'll never, no never, no never forsake!"

Twice in those four months she went to the temple looking for comfort and guidance.  A Downs syndrome young man who spent his days doing temple work ended up in the same endowment session on both occasions.

Margie and I both spent much time in prayer.  I was worried about the situation.  Margie was worried about the baby.

After four months of being blue, Margie came out of her mood and became her normal, happy self.  Things would, indeed, work out.

And they did.  On the very day that she could no longer lift Grandma, turn her over, and bathe her, Margie's sister arrived.  She moved in for a month, took over Grandma's care, and helped Margie with the cooking, cleaning, washing and other household chores.

When the sister's month expired, Margie's other sister took her place.  In the sister's spare time she painted our living room.

Her month passed, and Margie's niece, Debbie, moved in with her two children for an extended stay.  The house was full to overflowing, but what a blessing Debbie was.  She cooked, cared for Grandma, gave Margie company, and was always cheerful.

We introduced Debbie to her future husband, and got to observe their courtship firsthand.  Debbie stayed until her marriage, which took place three months after our baby's birth.

The baby, Jamie, arrived November 9, 1994.  Perhaps he had actually started out as a Downs child.  Perhaps prayer changed the situation.  We won't know in this world.  We did know, however, months before Jamie arrived, that all would be well, and that he'd be normal.

Jamie was a beautiful baby with a great disposition.  He was born an uncle.  His sister, Katie, was already married and had a one-year-old girl.  Katie was also expecting a baby boy who was destined to become Jamie's best friend and inseparable companion.  This nephew, Levi, would be born less than four months later.

Jamie had been a test of our faith.  A second test of our faith again centered around him at age five.  We were at Levi's birthday party.  Levi was opening presents.  Most of the presents were encased in plastic wraps requiring help from someone with a knife to open them.  Jamie ran up to the table just as the knife suddenly emerged from the plastic around a present.  The knife went directly into the center of his left eye.

The accident blinded Jamie's eye.  A series of surgeries and trips to Portland began which lasted for three years.  At first Jamie could only see light with his left eye.  Each day he had to put a patch over his good eye to force him to use and exercise the injured eye.

With his good eye patched, Ivy took him to the living room and played hide-and-go-seek.  She stood in the center of the room—and he couldn't find her.  The vision in his left eye was an unmeasurable 20/8000.

Gradually Jamie's sight improved.  After five surgeries and twenty-two trips to the Casey Eye Institute in Portland, Jamie reached the age of eight, the age at which a child's vision becomes fixed and no further improvement can be obtained by exercising a lazy eye.  Jamie went from being blind in that eye to being able to read a newspaper headline with it.  He has vision in his left eye of about 20/150.

The little guy was totally uncomplaining through the whole ordeal.  He hated having to patch his good eye and spend his days in blindness, but he was really good about doing it.

The ordeal was perhaps more of a trial for his parents than it was for Jamie, but we all emerged from it stronger.