A Sweet Sound in His Ear

We have all been there.

Sunday morning, settled comfortably in your usual pew. The songs have been sung and the preacher is just getting into the swing of his message.

Then over the heads of the politely hushed crowd comes a sound.

Just a slight fussing at first. Then a little louder, a bit longer. The grunts and whimpers tune up to a full blown wail.
A baby crying in church.

The embarrassed mother rocks and bounces and soothes, all to no avail. The preacher is preaching ever louder and the mother scoots from her seat to do that quick, hunched over shuffle out of the sanctuary.

Finally, peace reigns again and we can get back to what we came here for. 


Except, the more he fussed and grunted, the bigger I grinned. When he started crying, I almost laughed.


Because the doctors told his mother on the day he was born that he would not live to the end of the week. No hope they said. Sorry.


Pick out a tiny casket. Kiss your son goodbye.

But the church began to pray.


His grandfather came to the alter and stood before the Great Physician. We asked for His grace and healing virtue to pour out on this tiny boy.

 At the end of the week, the doctors said he wouldn't make it to the end of the month. And at the end of the first month they said he would never be able to get off the ventilator.  

And the church continued to pray.


By the end of the third month they said, "Well he can breathe on his own, but he will always have a feeding tube."

And God continued to answer prayers.

So when Austin Lane kicked up a fuss in the middle of his first church service, it was hard to believe those lungs ever refused to work.  And he scarfed that bottle like he never knew what a feeding tube was.

So cry loud, sweet baby boy. God is not through with you yet.


It sounds like a cry of victory to me.