By Rachel and Her Parents
The loosely woven curtain to the right of my cherrywood sewing cabinet were fully drawn to let in as much light as possible this late afternoon, Tuesday, January 24, 1978. The ancient black motor, faintly resembling a giant mosquito, hovered motionless over the blue baby's bubblesuit that was beginning to take shape under my swift fingers from some leftover scraps of matching Christmas cardigans that I had made for my husband and son. In my private communication with eternity, I knew my unborn child was a girl whom I would name Rachel, "the beloved." She would be my parent's first granddaughter. Be cause my yearning for her was so deep-souled, I outwardly pretended, even to myself, that this one would be another boy. I could not bear my "premonition" to be wrong, and I must confess that I tend to be a "doubting Thomas".
Rachel's spirit was with me in the temple that evening "Lamaze kit a voluminous "Save-Our-Trees" ning. The memory of the sweetness of that experience sustained me during a very uncomfortable pregnancy and delivery. And when she was born, my spirit nodded assent - yes, of course it was a daughter, Rachel Ann. Having a precious child like her and having Chad is worth all the distress in giving birth.