A couple of days ago, early in the morning, I awoke from a dream. It was not a nonsensical dream, mixing things together that may or may not have happened during the day or days before. It was a memory from many years before, forty-five of them to be exact.

The year was 1976, the Bicentennial year, and Diane was in the hospital giving birth to our first child. I was there with her, of course. We had been in that room for many hours. It was very early in the morning. I don’t know if the sun was up or not. I was standing next to Diane’s hospital bed, a nurse was on the other side, looking at one of those monitors that measure contractions. Diane was in the middle of one, a very big one. It was obviously very painful. We had taken Lamaze classes and did all the breathing/blowing exercises but those techniques were not working at the moment. She was moaning and twisting around in the bed.

She was about to lose control. I could see the panic in her eyes.

I leaned over the bed, took her face in both of my hands, and pressed my nose against hers. I stared right into those glazed-over brown eyes.

“Look at me,” I said. “Look at me. Diane, Look at me!”

I focused all my energy on that command, given with love.

“Breathe, breathe, Honey, like this, with me.”

I took a big breath and let it out slowly, then quickly right into her face, which I was still holding. Then I leaned down even closer and intensely whispered some words to her, all the time keeping my eyes locked on hers.

“Again,” I said. “Once more….another one,”

The panic started to leave her eyes, she finally timed her breathing to mine and the long contraction started to ease. Then it was over. Diane became still, she closed her eyes and rested.

We made it through that big transitional contraction. There may have been a few more, I don’t remember. I do remember at some point the nurse left the room and came back with our doctor. He examined Diane and then said it was time to go to the delivery room.

At seven something in the morning our daughter, Christine Marie, was born.

Later back in the room, with Mom and baby, both sleeping, our nurse said something to me. There were tears in her eyes.

“I thought Diane might not make it through that contraction, but the way you looked at her, the way she looked back, and that prayer you said, it really worked. God bless you both and your beautiful new baby.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

I thought about this dream for a while. Diane had to go through pain, but keeping her eyes on me, and prayer, helped.

We all have painful times. Life provides plenty of them. What should we do to get through them? How do we keep breathing and not panic when life hits us hard?

There is a simple answer to that question.

Keep our eyes on Jesus. Peter learned that when stepping out of the boat on the Sea of Galilee during a storm. Don’t panic. Don’t take your eyes off the one who loves us the most in the world.

Remember the words of that old hymn:

O soul are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There's light for a look at the Savior
And life more abundant and free

Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.

I lift up my eyes to you,
to you who sit enthroned in heaven. Psalms 123:1

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. Hebrews 12: 2-3