In the fall of 1996, my wife was pregnant with our second child. Our first child, Emily, had been an uncomplicated pregnancy. In fact, I remember my wife turning to me a few minutes after she had given birth to a X lb. X oz girl, without the use of any drugs, and saying, “That’s was fun. Let’s have another.” The second one was promising to be a little more challenging. There were signs of trouble, but I was not expecting the call at work that fall afternoon. “Meet me at the hospital. Something’s wrong.”
The placenta had torn. We needed specialists. They were able to stop the bleeding, but we were off to Johns Hopkins to understand what that meant for the mother and for the baby. I remember specifically praying for my wife. Not allowing God to be the big God that He is, I informed Him that He could take the life of my son if He spared the life of my wife (insert “Lance is a big fat jerk” comments here). I guess that’s how life has always worked for me. I expect God to fulfill my plan instead trusting in His plan. I have an uncanny ability to know what’s best for God and am not shy about informing Him of what He can and cannot do.
After lots of pictures, tests, examinations, and stress, the doctor came into the room to talk to us. I can still see that examining room in my mind, etched there in fear and confusion. The doctor starting talking and pointing at pictures of my unborn son, pointing at spots in his brain, pointing at shades of gray and more gray and different gray colors of his kidneys and told us, somewhat matter-of-factly, that we needed to strongly consider an abortion. Travis may have kidney problems, and he very likely has problems in his brain stem that will present as Down’s syndrome. “Of course, it is your choice, but we would recommend that you abort this child.”
I was probably in a state of shock. Time moved slowly as the doctor moved toward the door and I prepared to have the hardest conversation with my wife that I could ever have. Dawn and I would have to slowly go through all of the emotional pain associated with this decision. As the door closed and I turned to Dawn, I was shocked to see she was not in tears. Anyone that knows Dawn knows that she will cry at a good commercial for Rice Krispies and here she is, not in tears. I started to speak but before I could, she blurted out, “I’m starved. Can we stop at Taco Bell for a taco salad?” I started to ask her about what the doctor just said, and she looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m having this baby.” Dawn was immediately certain that Satan didn’t want Travis but God did and he was going to have a special purpose on earth. There were lots of discussions after that, but the conclusion from Dawn, who listened to God, seemed far better than from Lance, who lectured God.
Every night of the pregnancy after that, I would go into my basement to pray for my son and my wife. And I would play a song by Steven Curtis Chapman called “Hold on to Jesus.” Every night.
“I have come to this ocean
And the waves of fear are starting to grow
The doubts and questions are rising with the tide
So I’m clinging to the one sure thing I know
I will hold on to the hand of my Savior
And I will hold on with all my might
I will hold loosely to things that are fleeting
And hold on to Jesus, I will hold on to Jesus for life”
Before Travis was even here, he was teaching me to hold loosely to things that are fleeting and to hold on to Jesus for life. And now that he is the amazing young man that he is: athletic, kind, smart, and funny—he is still encouraging me to trust God’s plan instead of my own.
And my wife? She is still teaching me who Jesus is. And she is the greatest example to me of what it means to hold on to Jesus. And she gets Taco Bell whenever she wants.
Lance Barbe