"Timing is crucial," I told myself as we got ready for baby number three on the remote farm where we live. "We're five miles from the nearest town, and 35 miles from the hospital where the delivery is to take place, so my husband has got to be within calling distance. The rutted, dirt roads must be passable. The car must not break down. Someone must be available to stay with the other kids at short notice. And, if possible, after two lovely and lovable girls, it would be so nice if this one was a boy!"
We had a "due date" on which I had to see the doctor. He was a really kind and thoughtful man, who said he would give me a week "before we do something medically to get this labor started." The ultrasound scan showed this to be a big baby, and lateness usually means bigger still, which was a bit scary for someone as small as I am. The nurses whispered that a natural birth would be all but impossible in such circumstances, and some of their fear carried over to me.
I had prayed with a Christian Science practitioner throughout the nine months, and had been wonderfully inspired by several of our discussions about my relation—and the baby's relation—to God, who knows only perfection. Gradually, I came to trust that, because of the security of that connection, the whole experience ahead of us could safely be left to God's control. Timing was not an issue with God. No one could manipulate or induce God's timeless, harmonious activity.
