begotten, not made

image by hfrost


My friend is holding as steadfast as ever to her clerical ambitions, but she’s no dummy. She doesn’t waste her time. Like you or me or anybody else, she inhabits the world of the flesh. I didn’t mention before that her son was adopted. It wasn’t relevant then, and it’s only relevant now because there was talk of a second child, a girl. An infant. A Godsend for her because her son was adopted at an advanced age, as adoptions go; there were lots of years of being screwed up in innumerable and immeasurable ways that she undertook to resolve. It remains a demanding enterprise, to say the least; rewards for her efforts, when they come, are modest. Who in her situation wouldn’t want to start from scratch and watch a child’s full potential unfold? A child of her own, with a name she picked out, raised in an environment within her control. Other parents take these things for granted.

The adoption fell through. And she fell apart. She really wanted that baby. The amazing part is this: she fully expected to nurse. So not only is she grieving the loss of the baby, but also, like so many mothers, the inability to nurse. As the due date neared and the stress mounted, she tried one doctor after another: they all put her off with excuses, delays. She made a list of things to pray for. The first -- before the resolution of legal matters (which ultimately gave rise to irreparable disagreements), even before the safe and healthy birth of the child itself -- was spontateous lactation, without the intervention of doctors or drugs. Call it a miracle, but it could have happened.