Saturday, September 6, 2008
One of the most beautiful memories I have of our NICU experience has to do with our faith. And the faith of the families around us.
On more than one occasion, we would all grow silent as we listened to a gentle Mennonite man play the flute for his tiny infant daughter. There was something haunting about the lovely tunes he would produce at her bedside.
Late in the evenings, I adored hearing the father of another micropreemie sit by his daughter's isolette and play her songs of worship from his Baptist church. His soft strumming on the guitar comforted me in ways that words did not.
And I also frequently attracted a small audience as I sang hymns from my Catholic upbringing to my itty-bitty little C. I learned later on that when we were in "isolation", the nurses would turn the speaker on so others could hear my voice...
We didn't really "talk religion" while we visited our babies. We each just did our own thing. But there was so much community and so much appreciation and, well, so much belief in the room. We fed off of each other's unwavering faith.
That unity in faith... it's a beautiful thing.