At 44, the last thing I expected to hear from my doctor was that I was pregnant. Both my husband, Ray, and I had grown children from previous marriages. I thought our life together would be like our courtship: the two of us having fun, dancing to our favorite song, Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You.”
“It’s a blessing,” Ray told me that night when I broke the news. “Whatever happens, I know God will be with us.”
Tests revealed I had a condition that could cause a pre-term birth. I tried to remember Ray’s words, but it wasn’t easy. Then our doctor said I needed an early C-section. Our carefree days dancing to Stevie Wonder seemed far away now.
Soft music played over the loudspeaker in the operating room, but the soothing sounds did nothing to comfort my nerves.
Finally, our baby girl came into this world. Just as Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You” came on over the loudspeaker. Ray leaned in and whispered, “I told you God would be with us. He just called to say he loves us.”
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