Tiny Voices

She kicked her little legs in what was the beginnings of a huge fit. With nose crinkled and mouth open wide, she gave the first cry I'd heard escape her small lips in 71 days. It was a pathetic little cry, really- more like a croak- but, it was the best cry I'd heard all night. It was everything she'd been trying to say for the past 2 months, and it was proof that miracles do happen.

I remember, rather vividly, her birth. I was in the operating room for her mother's emergency c-section, and I watched as her tiny, one-pound body was taken from the womb that had been her protection for the past 5 1/2 months. The delivery was medically necessary- the only chance that either mother or baby had for survival- but, I still had that all-too-familiar tug of emotion and I wondered if I was witnessing the end of life.

But, that night she gave just enough fight to convince us that she may be a 'beat-the-odds' kinda girl. And, despite all doubts, she survived her first hours of life.

Her survival, up to this point, has been dependent on a tube down her throat connected to a breathing machine. But, last night, after deciding that she may be ready to breath on her own, we removed the tube from her throat, and gave her the first chance she's had in 71 days to find her voice. It took her, however, several hours to croak out that first feeble cry.

In that moment, I realized that hearing a baby cry for the first time- whether immediately upon delivery, or several months after the fact- was a sound that I never grew tired of hearing.

Surprisingly, in spite of the constant reminders I'm shown of life's miraculous nature, I frequently forget to stop and acknowledge it.

But, I am always awed by the tiny packages that God uses to remind me of what I've already learned a thousand times over: Life happens for a reason and life is a miracle.

Sometimes it's the smallest voice that communicates the biggest truth.