85: A Green and White Dixie Cup

85: A Green and White Dixie Cup

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Hope & Miracles

A Green and White Dixie Cup

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

~Author Unknown

It happened on a Wednesday evening. I stood before the stove preparing supper for my husband and two-year-old son. One minute I was stirring buttered corn, and in the next, I felt the life of our ten-week-old embryo escape my body. My husband called the doctor, and as directed, he scooped up what was to be our second child in a paper cup and headed to the hospital.

Only an hour before, I had cradled this baby within me, and now he or she was being transported in a green and white Dixie cup. I held the cup tightly as I stared at this warm tiny life. Tears fell as I wondered what his or her face would have looked like and what his or her future might have held. After arriving at the hospital, I went through the normal procedures that follow a miscarriage. Soon afterwards, they sent me home to recuperate for the rest of the workweek. As much as I enjoyed my job as a secretary for the head nurses at a local hospital, I was relieved to get a break, both emotionally and physically.

On the Friday following my miscarriage I found myself alone at home, being pestered by one particular question, “Where is my baby?” I couldn’t help but wonder if the embryo was old enough to go to heaven or if he or she had simply vanished, never to be seen again. I believed in God but I didn’t know much about him then, and I knew nothing about the future of the baby we’d just lost. Questions about this baby’s whereabouts consumed my entire day.

When I returned to work the following Monday morning, Steve, my second cousin and chaplain-in-training, tapped on my window and asked, “When you have a minute, can you come down to my office?” He wasn’t wearing the happy-go-lucky smile I was used to seeing so I quickly made my way down the hallway to his office.

He shut the door and sat directly across from me. He shared how he was sorry to hear of our loss, but it was obvious there was more going on than just sympathy.

“Can I ask you something, Cathy?”

“Sure.”

“What was on your mind last Friday? I mean, were there any specific concerns you had that day?”

“Steve, I thought about only one thing on Friday. I wondered where my baby was.”

I’d barely finished my sentence before he began sobbing. I quietly sat on the red leather chair, confused by his tears.

“Here’s why I ask. I was on call last Friday night. It was a busy day in the ER so I decided to take a nap on one of the cots in the back room. At some point, I was startled. When I opened my eyes, I saw what appeared to be God standing in front of me. He was so real I felt like I could reach out and touch Him. He pointed and told me, ‘Go put Cathy’s mind at ease. Tell her the child is with me and she will see him one day.’ With that, I sat straight up on the cot. My clothes were soaked and dripping with sweat. My wife could tell you that I’m not a dreamer, and this was no dream. I’m still shaken from the experience.”

I’d barely opened my mouth to speak when Steve interrupted me.

“There’s one more thing, Cathy. God was holding a baby in his arms when he spoke to me.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I made my way back down the hall to my office that Monday morning. I recalled how I’d felt just minutes earlier—broken, sad, and full of misgivings. Although still sad, my questions and doubts began melting into peace and confidence. Because of the miraculous appearance that Friday night I now live with hopeful confidence.

I know now, without a doubt, that one day I will see the face of the tiny baby who once inhabited a green and white Dixie cup.

~Cathy S. Baker

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