Summer (33 page)

“Yes.” Landon kissed Devin’s cheek. “That’s your baby sister.”

Cole stood on his tiptoes again and peeked at Sarah. “She likes you, Devin. See that look in her eyes? She likes you a lot.”

Ashley realized she was crying but only from a place of joy that knew no limit.

And through all of it, every precious minute, Brooke kept the video camera aimed at baby Sarah. When she had footage of each person holding her, whispering to her, and praying over her, she switched cameras and took dozens of still shots. No question they would have much to remember this time by.

As the second hour passed, Landon brought Sarah back to Ashley. His look was solemn. “I don’t think she’s doing well.”

Ashley looked at her daughter, and she could see the difference. Sarah’s face had gone from pink to a washed-out gray. Her eyes were still open, but she was blinking them more than before, the way Devin did when he was fighting sleep. Only Sarah wasn’t fighting sleep.

She was fighting death.

And Ashley knew that this too was a miracle. Because she felt inside her the strength to help Sarah let go. She looked up and met the eyes of each person in the room, and only then did she realize that Elaine hadn’t yet been in. “Dad, could you tell Elaine I’d like to see her?”

Her father left, and when he returned, he had Elaine at his side. A picture that looked right to Ashley, more right than she could’ve ever imagined.

Ashley held out her hand. “Elaine . . .”

The woman came, and though she was not Ashley’s mother and could never take that place, she had brought a sort of love to the day that only a mother could bring. Elaine took her hand and smiled first at her, then at Sarah. “Your baby’s beautiful, Ashley.”

“Thank you.” Ashley couldn’t say much. Her emotions were almost more than she could handle. But as her eyes met Elaine’s, she hoped Elaine might understand what she was trying to say, the words filling her heart. The thanks for loving her father when he was his most sad and lonely and the thanks for allowing the transition to happen slowly, in God’s timing. But most of all, the thanks for loving Sarah enough to buy her a gift, to understand that she deserved a party the same as any other baby.

Though she couldn’t find the words, Ashley was certain deep in her heart that Elaine understood at least some of what she was trying to say. As she was handing Sarah to Elaine, the door opened.

A deliveryman walked in. “This the Baxter party?”

Ashley smiled at the question.
The Baxter party
. “Yes.” She laughed even through her tears. “This is the Baxter party.”

“Well, I’ve got more flowers and balloons than I know what to do with.” He looked around. “No way they’re gonna fit in here with all of you.”

A chorus of laughter came from everyone in the room.

“I guess just bring in what you can.” Landon took Sarah from Elaine. He nodded to the delivery guy. “You can leave the rest out in the hallway.”

The man brought in four bouquets of pink helium balloons and three vases bursting with pink roses. When he was finished, he wiped his brow and looked at Landon. “I got lots more out there. Looks like congratulations are in order.”

“Yes.” Landon grinned. “They are. Thank you.”

“Who are they from?” Ashley asked the question almost as an afterthought. Everyone they knew and loved was here.

The guy looked at his clipboard. “Says here they’re from Dayne and Katy. No last name.”

Ashley noticed then that her older brother and his wife were in the corner, grinning.

“I told them this was one special little baby girl and to bring us all the pink balloons and roses in the shop.” Dayne’s eyes grew deep, and they locked onto Ashley’s. “Because this is the sort of welcome every baby should have.”

A sob caught in her throat, and Ashley closed her eyes tight. Another miracle was at hand. The idea that Dayne—whose first child had been lost to an abortion, an abortion he had known nothing about—would find healing in celebrating the short life of little Sarah.

Once more, Landon handed Sarah to Ashley. His expression told her that things were worse, and immediately Ashley noticed it too. Sarah’s little chest was working harder than before, rising dramatically with each breath. Her eyes would close, and then she would startle, her hands jerking out to the sides and her eyes opening wide once more.

“She’s fighting it,” Ashley whispered. She brushed her cheek against Sarah’s and kissed her nose, her hands. “She doesn’t want to leave us.”

All along, Landon had been telling Ashley that she was the brave one and that he admired her courage. But here, with Sarah slowly slipping away, Landon cleared his throat and stood straight by her side. In a voice both calm and compassionate, he explained what was happening. “Sarah’s leaving us.”

A somber air fell over the room, and the quiet conversations grew silent.

“Wait!” Cole ran from the room, and when he returned, he had a folded piece of craft paper in his hand. He was out of breath, panicked as if he might’ve missed his chance. “I made this for Sarah!”

He worked his way past Ashley’s father and Kari and Ryan and their kids to the spot between Ashley and Landon. Then, suddenly, he seemed to notice that all eyes were on him. For a moment it looked like he might hide behind Landon and wait on the gift altogether.

But Cole set the homemade card on the table, and he motioned for Ashley. “Come closer. This is private.”

She slid over in the bed as best she could. Sarah wiggled in her arms, and again she let her arms out in a start. “Shhh, Sarah.” Ashley kissed her daughter. “It’s okay, baby.”

When he could reach, Cole cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them on either side of Ashley’s ear. “I was praying to Jesus last night.” His words were breathy, but they were clear enough to understand. “And Jesus gave me a picture in my head. A really happy one. I’m not that good a drawer, but I colored it the best I could, okay?”

Ashley was touched. Her competitive son taking the risk of drawing something for Sarah even when drawing wasn’t his strongest gift. And a picture in his head from Jesus? Ashley was curious. She leaned back. “Can you show me?”

Cole nodded. He took the paper from the table and opened it up.

Across the top in crayon, he’d written,
I love you, Sarah. Tell Grandma hi for me
. Beneath that was a picture of an older woman, a smile stretched across her face. And in her arms was a tiny baby girl, wrapped in a pink and white blanket.

Ashley felt her heart skip a beat as she stared at the picture. “Cole?” She lifted her eyes to his. “Jesus gave you this picture?”

He looked around the room again, clearly embarrassed. And once more he cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned close. “Because He told me Sarah’s going to be with Grandma.”

In a rush, the Bible story came back. Ashley had asked for a miracle, and there had been many today. But here was the Lord . . . in the gentle whisper of her oldest son. His drawing would be more precious to her than anything else that could mark Sarah’s life. And later, when she was ready, she would put the image on canvas—where all things that touched her heart eventually wound up.

Sarah coughed, and Ashley felt the urgency of the moment. She handed the picture back to Cole. “Thank you, Coley. Sarah loves your picture. Hold on to it, okay?”

“Okay.” He cast a worried look at Sarah.

At the same time, the others moved in closer, watching the baby, holding on to the moment.

Cole blinked. “She’s dying, isn’t she?”

“Yes, buddy.” Landon sighed and picked up where he left off. “Ashley and I would like us all to pray for Sarah.”

Around the room, the Baxter family held hands. One at a time the voices filled the space, asking God to give Sarah a painless journey home and praying that she would know how much she was loved. Even the children prayed, thanking God for Sarah and telling Him that they wished she could stay here. Hayley added, “But heaven is so much better.”

When they finished praying, Landon started to sing. It was the song Ashley had sung again and again over the years, one that the CKT kids had sung in the face of the worst possible announcement.

And now, others joined in. “‘Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with Thee. . . .’”

Every word rang out true and right. And as their song built and filled the room, Ashley leaned close to little Sarah. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to fight anymore.” Her tears fell onto her daughter’s cheeks, and she brushed them with her own. “Go to Jesus, baby. . . . Go to Jesus. He’s waiting for you, Sarah.” She remembered Cole’s picture, the picture God had given him. “And Grandma’s waiting for you, sweetheart. Tell Grandma we love her, okay?”

Sarah took a long gasp, and one last time, their eyes met. She seemed to hold on another few heartbeats, and in Sarah’s eyes was all the love that would last Ashley a lifetime. They told Ashley thank you . . . thank you for giving her life and thank you for giving her love. And finally, they told her good-bye.

Landon leaned in closer and kissed Sarah’s cheek one last time.

The others were still singing, most of them with tears in their eyes. “‘Morning by morning new mercies I see; all I have needed Thy hand hath provided. . . .’”

As they reached the last line, as they sang about the greatness of God’s faithfulness, Sarah finally closed her eyes. She breathed one more time, and then she was still. Forever still.

One at a time, the people she loved filed past and bid farewell to the little girl they’d known for only a few hours.

Cole was last, tears streaming from his eyes. But he gave Ashley a shaky smile. “She’s with Grandma now. Grandma and Jesus.”

“Yes, Coley.” Ashley kissed her son and hugged him with her free arm.

When Ashley and Landon were alone with Sarah, Landon put his hands along either side of Ashley’s face. “People worried that we couldn’t do this, that it would be too hard and it would change us.” His eyes were filled with equal amounts of pain and joy. “And it has. It’s changed all of us. That’s the miracle of Sarah’s life.”

“Yes.” She looked at her daughter. “The Lord was here today. He was in the gentle whisper, just like He promised.”

Landon gave her a look like he didn’t quite understand, and she realized that he hadn’t heard about Cole’s picture yet, that Jesus had given him that picture and told him that Sarah would be with her grandmother. She smiled.

Ashley’s mother loved children, loved being a grandma. But now she would have a grandbaby of her own, one she could rock and love and sing to until it was time for everyone else to join them. Sarah Marie belonged to Jesus, and she belonged to Ashley’s mother. That was what God wanted Ashley to understand.

Long after they’d taken Sarah, yet another miracle happened. Dr. McDaniel confirmed that against the odds, Sarah’s heart valves had been saved and flown to New York, where they would save the lives of two babies. Then and weeks later, when only a small picture in a silver frame sat on the kitchen counter as a reminder of Sarah, Ashley remembered the message God had given her. It was her way of knowing that the Lord had heard her prayers and that indeed something good had come from their unforgettable summer. And that He was with them through it all. The proof wasn’t in a dramatic healing or a misdiagnosis. That wasn’t where they had seen God. Rather, He was in the dozens of miracles that Sarah’s life had brought about all around them.

And most of all, He was in the gentle whisper.

A Word from Karen Kingsbury

Dear Friends,

Whew . . . that was a tough one! Even halfway through the writing of
Summer
, I wasn’t sure if I was going to let Ashley’s baby die. I thought about going back and having the diagnosis be something less serious—something where a misdiagnosis might be more possible. But every time I doubted myself, I went back to my research.

In writing this chapter of the Baxters’ story, I studied the cases of real babies diagnosed with anencephaly. I looked at photos and read personal accounts. I learned that many times these precious souls are aborted at the suggestion of a well-meaning doctor—a doctor like Brooke—because the experience of embracing life and death in a single afternoon is a daunting one, one that without God could very nearly destroy a person.

But my research found many couples who decided to let their baby live, to enjoy the pregnancy and celebrate the child’s life—however short. Life is God’s to give and God’s to take. This was the message repeated again and again by these couples. I spent days crying as I read about the treasured short lives of these babies and the impact they made on the families who loved them.

Anencephaly happens to one in a thousand babies, but most of them miscarry before a diagnosis can be made. Only one in ten thousand live to the sixteen-week mark, when the birth defect is most commonly found. I didn’t write about anencephaly because I thought you could relate to it. In fact, very few of us will ever know a real experience with this type of birth defect.

Rather, I wrote about anencephaly because it forces us to look at life.

In our day, people take life very lightly. Whether the issue is one of euthanasia or abortion, cloning or stem cell research, life and its value are being called into question, redefined by our legal system.

My father, Ted Kingsbury, is in a skilled nursing facility as I write this. I want to tell you a little bit about him. Three months ago, his doctor gave him a choice. My dad’s kidneys were failing, and he could either let the failure happen—a choice that would give him a month or two at the most—or he could choose dialysis.

The doctor was brutally honest. “Dialysis is painful and difficult. It leaves you cold and weak, and it will be wearying on you emotionally and physically.”

And so for a short while, my dad thought about forgetting the whole thing. “I’ve lived a good life. . . . Maybe this is all God has for me,” he told me.

All of us siblings—four girls, now that my brother is up in heaven—agreed that Dad had to fight this thing; he had to choose dialysis. Now it was a matter of convincing him. His birthday came up around that time, and I gave him one of those blankets with an enormous photo silk-screened onto it.

A color photo of all his grandkids.

My dad’s chin quivered, and tears filled his eyes as he looked at that blanket.

“It’s to keep you warm,” I told him, “while you’re at dialysis.”

And then we talked about my dad’s earlier days. One of my first memories of my dad is back in the early seventies. I was maybe eight or nine years old, and I remember him coming in on a rainy afternoon soaked to the bone. He set a stack of wet brochures on the counter, and I picked one up. On it was the image of an unborn baby.

“What’s this?” I asked him.

“Some people are thinking of making it legal to kill babies.” His voice was soft, kind. It held no judgment. “I helped some friends from church pass out brochures so people would understand better. So they would want to choose life for every baby.”

The realizations for me that day were many and lasting. And decades later as my dad held his photo blanket, I reminded him of that rainy afternoon. “You taught us to choose life, Dad.” I hugged him. “How can you do anything but choose life now?”

His change of heart was fast and sure. He made an appointment with his doctor and had a shunt placed in his arm, where it will stay as long as he lives. Three days a week he must go in for up to five hours of dialysis, so a machine can clean his blood the way his kidneys no longer can.

The doctor was right. Nothing about dialysis has been easy. Three times my dad’s blood pressure dropped so low that he went into seizures and had to be rushed to the emergency room. And six weeks ago he was finishing up with dialysis when he passed out and fell. The fall broke the tibia bone in his right leg.

And so now he lies in a skilled nursing center, praying along with the rest of us that his leg will heal.

Across the hall is a man with early signs of Alzheimer’s. When no one is nearby, this man often yells out, “Harry? Harry, are you there? Harry, come on in! Harry?”

A few doors down is a woman whose frail cries punctuate the afternoon. “Help me! Someone help me!”

“What do you need, Beth?” we’ll hear one of the nurses say.

“Weeds . . . there’re weeds everywhere.”

“Okay, dear. . . . We’ll take care of the weeds.”

A skilled nursing facility is the sort of place where you are forced to take a hard look at life. But my father has no qualms whatsoever. He beams at me and my family when we visit and makes no reference to the days we’ve missed. He holds my hand and tells me how he’s finally finding time to read my books—the large-print versions.

“And I’m reading Acts in the Bible!” His tone is happy and upbeat, his hope endless.

The reason? Because he has recommitted himself wholeheartedly to the truth that life is God’s to give and God’s to take. I treasure this time with my dad, time we wouldn’t have gotten if he hadn’t chosen dialysis. If he hadn’t chosen life.

If you’ve struggled with this issue, and if you’ve made choices in your life that don’t line up with God’s mandate to choose life, then please . . . don’t despair. God is merciful and gracious. He waits even now for you to turn to Him, run to Him. As long as you have a heartbeat, you have the chance to make a new start, to seek forgiveness the way all of us must seek it, and to choose life.

If you’ve found hope in Jesus Christ for the first time while reading this book, then please know that I am praying for you. Your next step is to find a Bible-believing church in your area and get connected. Go to a Sunday service, take in a Bible class, attend a small group. And if reading Scripture is new to you and you can’t afford a Bible, write to me with the words
New Life
in the subject line. I’ll make sure my office sends you a Bible so you can get started on that new life in Christ.

I pray that this finds you well and walking in His truth and light. And most of all, I pray that you will join me in looking for the miracles around us and in celebrating life! Remember, sometimes His greatest message to us comes in the most gentle of whispers.

Until next time, in His light and love,

Karen Kingsbury

PS—I still love hearing from you! Your prayers and letters remain a very great encouragement to me as I write stories that God might use to change your life and mine. You can contact me at my Web site—www.KarenKingsbury.com. While you’re there, catch up on my latest journal entry, see photos of my family, and connect with other readers. You can also learn about the next installment in the ongoing story of the Baxter family. See you there!