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.
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2 comments:
That is beautiful! It's such an important part of things. I remember our daughter's NICU nurse being so blessed by the fact that our pastor visited The Bean in the NICU after she was born and not only prayed for her but for the staff there in the NICU. It still brings tears to my eyes.
We are LDS ( Mormon) and that was one thing I relied on constantly. He had blessings from his father many times. I prayed nightly. I read by his bedside. Our nurses were of the same faith.
In the end I think my faith changed a lot. Sometimes I blamed God sometimes I blamed myself. All in all I found His miracles in many things and many places.
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