Miracles Hurt

It happens every other day. Someone shares a story on Facebook about a child who survived against all odds. This evening it was about a little girl who was born at 25 weeks and was not expected to live. But she lived, she survived.

Sometimes the survival against the odds is attributed to divine intervention.  God was petitioned and God came through.  He intervened.

So where was our intervention,  our miracle?  As soon as my sister-in-law found out you were in danger,  she sent a text to all her friends saying "Start praying now". Your granny prays every day and she certainly wanted you here. I prayed all the time the doctors were preparing us for the brutally awful reality; we weren't getting to keep you.

Were we less deserving than the parents of the survivors?  Were we too far down the queue when they were giving out miracles?  Were we selected to receive the harshest punishment a parent could receive?  Or is this place just a series of accidents where some children live and some children die as randomly as the roll of the dice?

I am happy for the recipients of the miracles,  I really am. I'm glad they won't know this pain. But miracles Hurt because we didn't get one.