Our surgeon daughter phoned recently. There had been an extremely ill child, who had internal bleeding and was close to death. The surgical team worked non-stop until 4.30 am, when at last the patient stabilised. Exhausted and traumatised, the surgical team went home to bed.
Her consultant phoned her the next day. He said that the situation had been extremely rare, and in his experience patients did not recover. He said that he could hardly believe the child survived. He had no faith, he said, and did not believe in God, but the only word he could find to describe her survival was ‘miracle’.
Daughter confessed she had been praying like crazy. ‘Thought you might’, he said.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, I was holding our newborn baby grandson. He had just been fed and my youngest daughter had given him to me to get his wind up, but he had gone to sleep instead on my shoulder.
I bent my head down, so I could feel his baby breath, coming and going on my cheek.