From Miles to Go: A Memoir (by Karen Jordan)

December 4, 1992. Tara's doctor predicted her baby would arrive on December 3, but the sun rose and set without any sign of labor pains. I awoke before dawn the next morning with a familiar Christmas poem skipping through my mind like a broken record. I couldn't rest again until I wrote down the strange new words which began to emerge as I wrestled with my thoughts.

'Twas the day after her due date and all through our house,
Not a soul was mentioning it; I was as quiet as a mouse.
Baby things were nestled, all snug in their place;
Visions of diapers through our minds did race.
The crib was placed in the nursery with care,
In hope that our little one soon would be there.
Then what to our wondering eyes did appear,
But a few new symptoms; time was drawing near.
With some contractions coming, so quick and so strong,
We knew in that moment, it would not be long!



Labor. Tara woke up early, and by sunrise, symptoms of early labor developed. We grabbed all the bags we had packed in preparation for the event and headed to the hospital before the rush hour traffic began. By the time we arrived at the maternity wing, Tara's labor was evident. I spent the next few hours massaging Tara's back and coaching her through the birthing process. Several unexpected guests arrived, and the birthing room literally filled up with curious onlookers—our pastor and some friends. My husband Dan was the nervous one. But as time drew near for the birth, Dan ushered the guests out of the birthing room to preserve Tara's privacy and dignity.

Birth. Miles arrived at 3:29 p.m. Stillness calmed the room as the nurse placed my first grandson, Miles, on the stainless steel table, draped with hospital linens already soiled by his life fluids. Bright heat lamps illuminated his little wrinkled brow that refused to pose for the camera—loud wails, shivering, shaking fist—then, muffled weeping. A strange silence swept over us as God visited this holy space, admiring His newest creation. Miles had arrived, and his God was with him.

When the doctor handed Tara her precious little boy, we forgot the anguish of her pregnancy. Proud of her beautiful newborn son, Tara wanted everyone to see him. "I can't believe he has actually been growing inside of my body," Tara mused. Later, she said, "The minute I saw Miles' face, I knew we would be fine."

Peace. With Miles' arrival came peace. Those who dared to observe his birth—the doctor, the nurse, and me—joined God in His beaming pleasure with Tara and Miles. Through Tara's travail, Miles drew his first shallow breath, all red and ruddy, as God's gift of promise. Mercy and grace, twin faces of hope, comforted all hearts as his storm-dark, blue eyes greeted those who already loved the mystery in which he was cloaked.

Joy. The first glimpse of my grandson Miles brought me great joy. We were all caught up in a moment of ecstasy. Dan was fascinated with this little boy and with his daughter. When my son Adam arrived at the hospital, his response was to weep at the sight of this child. All of his grief and sadness were drawn into a cloud of indescribable emotion. When my photographs were developed later, they had captured Adam's first emotions. God delivered more than one miracle that morning. All of us were dramatically changed.

The doctor's butt-slap was loud applause, and Miles' screaming response was a misunderstood song of angels lauding his birth, giving glory to his Creator—blood bought and blood born. All in Heaven pressed close, standing on their balconies with raised hands and voices shouting "Hallelujah to the King!" in honor of His newest earth-child, as He ushered him into the family with a command to all believers to "Welcome Miles!"

Just days earlier, this faceless little boy had been considered an interloper. He quickly progressed to intruder status, and then he burst forth on the scene as the hope for all creation—new life! None of us expected the joy that accompanied Miles' entrance into our controlled, religious worlds.



Legacy. Miles' name came from men of the family tree, three and four generations deep, worn by two great-grandparents: a Santa Fe engineer, and his father, a badge-wearing, Texas county sheriff. Would this Miles, the newest branch, be rooted and governed by genes unwittingly volunteered? Would other family members stand in silent objection to this claim of their sacred family name? As coming days would dawn and dusk-away, a thousand hints of Miles' personhood would be revealed. Certainly, this "Miles" would chart his own destiny, but now he was relying on those who were already heart-prepared and committed to investing their lives in him.

Welcome. A soft, yellow teddy bear hung on Tara's hospital door warmly greeting every visitor who braved the ice storm on that cold December day in 1992. Two baby blue streamers sprinkled with glitter dangled below the bear’s feet and announced, "Welcome Miles!" These hand-lettered banners accomplished two important things that week—they proclaimed Miles' name, and they declared he was welcome.

Happy 18th birthday, Miles!

Love,

Nonnie



Photo1/TaraRoss
Photo2/DanJordan
Photo3/DanJordan
Photo4/KarenJordan