Four times now I have been privileged to witness the miracle of birth.

I experienced it three times, but I kept my eyes pretty much closed throughout. Entering into the labor/delivery room for the births of four of my six grandchildren has provided me with a different perspective altogether, hence the term "witness."

The first two journeys into the rarified atmosphere of labor and delivery were unintentional. I arrived at the respective hospitals to provide moral support and prayer cover for each of my daughters-in-law. I ended up staying for the main event. I had found a way to be helpful.

When it was time for Alycia's birth, I was an official member of the team, as I was last week for the birth, one month early, of my sixth grandchild, Lucas, Alycia's younger brother.

As Lisa bravely weathered her contractions, for the first time I remembered, really remembered exactly how that all felt 31 years ago. Danny and I were 500 miles from home, bringing Benjamin, our firstborn into the world, a month early.

Deja vu, all over again.

As Lisa's labor intensified, so too did my memories and I learned again a lesson repeated throughout this adventure we call parenting. I am helpless.

My daughter was in pain and there was nothing I could do to change that. She would have to endure it. Oh, she had more than her fair share of cheerleaders -- as the ultimate moment drew closer you could have as easily been at a high school football game so enthusiastic were the cries, "You're doing great!" "Keep it up!" Perhaps birthing attendants should all wear Husker red. However, in the final analysis, for all of the years of training, for all of the fancy degrees represented in the room, for all of the medical accouterments available, this was Lisa's show. By God's own design and our own foolishness in the Garden, she would bring forth this child, even as her pain increased. And there was nothing anyone could do except encourage her.

Hearing scant hours later that Lucas would be transferred to Kearney for more careful observation while his lungs caught up to their new responsibilities, I was once again a victim of deja vu, again relegated to the sidelines, able only to encourage and pray.

When Ben, scant hours old, was transferred to St. Vincent's Hospital in Billings, Mont., from Washakie Memorial Hospital in Worland, Wyo., they let Danny fly up with him.

Left behind, with family 500 miles away, I recuperated in the hospital, alone. My roommate's husband thought to bring me a milkshake when he brought his wife one, and she was as kind a person as I'd ever met, but I was still alone, in a way I'd never been alone before.

It wasn't any easier for Danny. He, all of 19, was in a town he'd never seen before, surrounded by medical professionals and sentenced to a term of unknown duration in his least favorite place in all the world, a hospital. Waiting in the fathers' lounge he, too, was as alone as he'd ever been.

It was during my first shower after giving birth that I finally gave way to the tears born of fear. Under that steady stream of warm water, I was deluged by a cascade of tears. And was strangely comforted by a Presence I had only barely acknowledged in my life. Renewed there, by fresh, clean water and by what I now know as Living Water, I was strengthened to face all of the unknowns of the coming days.

It was in the father's lounge that Danny also encountered the same Presence, perhaps even at the same time, in the form of a new grandmother, who interrupted her prayers for her critically ill grandson to pray with Danny for his son.

Again, I would spare my children any pain possible, that of childbirth and that of fear. And I would have spared Lisa and Aubrey this particular heartache of a surety. But I am as helpless as ever. There is no transfusion of faith possible. That first head-on collision with fear birthed in Danny and me the beginnings of faith. If my children are to have their own faith, they, too, will have to discover it, in moments like these.

"And without faith, it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him." Hebrews 11:6 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven: Intensive care nurseries

Post Script: After an eventful week in Kearney, Lucas, Lisa, Aubrey and Alycia should be home Saturday.