For the first part of this story, click here.
Update: WE GOT OUR MIRACLE!!! Less than a minute into our drive to the appointment, my husband slowed down to allow another vehicle to go in front of us. He noticed immediately that the minivan’s license plate included the number 222, his personal you’re-on-the-right-path code. Still, it could have gone either way. Learning “the hard way” could have still been the right path. But so many little synchronicities occurred along the way, it began to feel ridiculous.
And then the moment of truth. We reached the front of the line, the clerk looked over our paperwork, and she noticed the missing signature. “The doctor was supposed to sign this,” she said, as she continued looking through the papers. I explained what little I could about how I’d had the doctor’s assistant type up a specific letter just for this purpose. She repeated, “But she was supposed to sign it.” I remained silent. What could I say?
“Well, let me make a copy of what you do have,” she said, and sent us out to wait in the lobby. In a few minutes, she brought us the forms to fill out exactly what we wanted on the birth certificate.
While we were filling that out and waiting, a cute little Armenian woman came by and began flirting with our baby, as Armenian women inevitably do, After a bit of a chat, she gestured toward my husband and said, “You have a good marriage.” I instantly flashed back to the huge fight we’d gotten into a couple days earlier, and I said, “It requires a lot of prayer.”
She looked at me funny and asked, “Did you say ‘prayer‘? That’s what I’m doing!” And she showed me the papers she’d been holding in her hands, laminated and curled up and obviously well-worn. They were photocopies of prayers she’d collected over the years, including one from The Power of a Praying Wife, which I recognized instantly.
She gave me a big hug–a long, tight hug–and she didn’t let me go. She began shaking just a little bit, like a Holy Spirit quiver, and kept holding me. In the lobby of the Los Angeles Public Health Department. She was whispering in tongues and smiling the whole time.
When she finally let me go, she went back into her office–the office of Vital Records where we were applying for a birth certificate, mind you–and made me a set of the same prayers, highlighted the “most important” parts, and laminated them for me.
And a few minutes later (or maybe a lot of minutes and several trips to the restroom later–nothing happens too fast in that building), we held in our hands two official copies of our son’s birth certificate.
Joel Osteen won. And in a way, Eckhart Tolle did too. 😉