I spent Wednesday morning at Ryan’s (my son) school. It was chapel day. Parents are invited. One grade puts on chapel for the whole school. This time is was the third grade’s opportunity, so I went to watch and be a part of it. The school is a small Christian academy tucked away in southern Maryland. It has a total of about 300 kids from K through 12 (and growing each year).  They teach “Christ crucified” as the foundation for everything.  I like that. 

I arrive a little early. Chapel starts at 9:00. On this day, my son is playing the piano. It is his first time ever playing the piano in front of a group of people. He plays our keyboard at home and the piano where his music lessons are, but I have never seen him perform in front of a group. I want to be there to encourage him.  He is what is considered a highly functioning autistic child.  Piano is one of the things he gets naturally and enjoys doing.

I walk into the gym and walk to the top of the bleachers where I can lean against the wall.  Some of the kids are running around getting things set up. They look like high school kids. The third grade, where my son is, sits in chairs quietly as their teacher goes through what will happen. My son sees me and waves. I smile back.  He has to sit on his hands otherwise he will touch other things. He puts his hands back under his legs quickly.  He is a good kid.

The Praise and Worship team, a combination of about 20 high school kids all get into position and start testing mics and tuning instruments.  One by one the classes start coming in and take their seats in the bleachers. There are some parents here. Not a lot, but some are here with me.  Chapel isn’t for the parents. It is for the kids and it is run by the kids.

It is time to start. One of the third graders comes out and asks us all to stand. We say pledges to the Christian flag and the Star Spangled Banner, then we sing the national anthem. One of the kids leads us in prayer.  Then one of the third graders gets up and walks over to the piano.  She plays a song, then walks back followed by another.  Several follow one at a time, play their song, followed by another. Some are advanced, some are beginners. Each plays with their whole heart giving God glory in what they are doing. Then it is Ryan’s turn.  Just as he sits down, he scans the crowd and our eyes lock. I smile. I am not sure if he is nervous or not. Then he plays and for two minutes I hear nothing but joy coming from the piano. Ryan is still a beginner, but a symphony was played.  When he was done, he looked up at me and smiled. I raised my hand with a big “thumb’s up”. He returned to his seat followed by another third grader.

After the piano playing is complete, the Praise and Worship team stepped in and led us in several songs.  My mind drifted back to when we found out we were going to have a third child. My wife, Ann, and I had wanted a big family. We already had a boy and a girl.  We were so excited to find out that we were going to be blessed with another little one.  Although our heart was for a big family, we got started pretty late, and because of her age, Ann qualified for special care through the pregnancy. We kind of liked that because we got ultrasound pictures every month and knew by the end of the first trimester that we would have another little boy. We named him Ryan which means king. He would be our little king.

In about the fourth month the problems started. In one of the ultrasounds they found what looked like a lump forming under his chin. They referred us to University of Maryland Medical Center. They did more tests, more ultrasounds, more scans.  By the time they were done with the tests the growth had grown so large that Ryan’s head was pushed upwards and pressing hard against his back. They were certain there was no way he could be born normally this way and they were concerned that he may be terribly deformed.   They set up counseling sessions to discuss our options. I guess we were pretty naïve because they all came at us with advice to abort the baby.  The nurses, the doctors, the counselors all advised us to abort. Fortunately my wife and I were in agreement on the issue, but it still hit us hard. Here we were bringing a little one into the world and all the people who were suppose to help us were telling us to kill the baby.  When we told them with scripture how that wasn’t even an option, they told us that our “crutch religion” wasn’t going to help the baby. It might help us get through this, but we should consider the baby’s life afterwards.  We were, but they weren’t, and they didn’t see it.  After two weeks of meetings, counseling sessions, and discussions, they decided there was nothing more they could do for us and referred us to Johns Hopkins. At Johns Hopkins they have a special team that deals with difficult deliveries. It was a good move all around because we had lost confidence in the University of Maryland’s ability to help us.

Since we weren’t going to “do anything” except bring this baby into the world, Johns Hopkins didn’t need to see Ann until about five weeks before the due date. We notified all the different prayer chains we knew and went in front of the church to ask for prayer as well.  When that date came, Ann made the trip to Baltimore to meet the doctors, discuss what they would be doing, and get an update on how the baby was proceeding.  The first thing they did was take more ultrasound pictures to see how little Ryan was doing and to get a read on the growth.  I am sure many of you ladies know the drill. Fill the bladder, then lie down on a cold table and let someone push down on your stomach. Certainly isn’t one of the most pleasant experiences, but worth it to see your baby.  They are very thorough at Johns Hopkins. The technician spent about 30 minutes getting everything set up, then another 30 minutes taking lots of pictures. We could see all the pictures from the University of Maryland hanging on the wall. The technician would get up, measure things from those pictures, then return to scan Ryan some more. Then the technician told us to wait while he went and got his boss to come and check out what he had done. She came in and spent another 30 minutes looking over Ryan. Next they both left and brought the doctor in.  This lady was one of the most professional doctors we have ever met. She immediately made you feel at ease and immediately got down to business. She asked lots of questions, took lots of notes, and took a bunch more pictures of Ryan. She told Ann that she knew she was probably uncomfortable, but wanted her to stay on the table for a few more minutes. Then they all left Ann and I there alone for a while. We talked about how much we thought these folks were real professionals and dedicated to making sure our little boy had every chance to live a healthy life.

When the doctor came back in the room, she explained to us what was going on. All three of them, the technician, his boss, and her, could not find anything wrong with Ryan. According to everything they were seeing, Ryan was a perfectly healthy little baby boy who would be making an entrance into this world in a few weeks.  She told us that the University of Maryland had never made a mistake on any referral before, so she had spent some time validating that they had indeed referred the right patient.  They had. Nobody could explain what happened to the lump from a medical perspective.  The doctor looked at us and said, “I bet you’ve been praying haven’t you?”  Ann cried. Three weeks later, Ryan made his entry into the world. It was a very normal delivery in every sense of the word, and just as she had with the other two, when they laid Ryan on Ann’s breast, she sang to him.  Our little king had been born.

As the chapel service proceeded, the kids put on skits. Today’s lesson was about the different names of God. Each kid would hold up a sign with a name on it and then recite a scripture verse (written on the back of the sign) that supported that name. When it was Ryan’s turn he held up a sign that read “King of kings and Lord of lords”. How appropriate, I thought, since his name means “king”. He didn’t have to read the scripture. He looked up at the audience and recited it from his heart. 

When the chapel service was over, the kids left to go back to their classrooms one grade at a time. I sat and watched. I thanked God that we didn’t give in to those who wanted us to abort our baby.  If we had, he would have never played his song and would have never stood before us all and stated who the King of kings was.  How sad it would have been if Ryan’s song had never been heard. How wonderful it is that it was.  Ryan’s song. One two minute performance in an hour chapel. One little boy playing a symphony for our Lord. One small king praising the King.  May it ever so be that no stone will have to cry out for him.