As the nightingale instinctively flees from
the sound of a hawk, so does the beauty
of humility vanish in the presence of pride.

William A. Ward

All noise is waste. So cultivate quietness
in your speech, in your thoughts, in your emotions.  Speak habitually low.  Wait for attention and then you low words will be charged with dynamite.

Elbert Hubbard

Chris Widener is an internationally recognized speaker, author and radio host. If you are interested in booking him to speak at your next event, go to http://www.chriswidener.com or send an email to speaker@chriswidener.com or call 877-929-0439 and ask for Hilary.

In thinking about the special bond between grandparent and grandchild, I remember a birth that I attended long ago.  The baby's father, a first-generation Mexican-American, was a graduate student at the university where I worked.  He had married another student, a young woman from Boston whose family had been here for several generations.  This was their first baby, and they wanted the very best of care.

The university clinics were prepared to offer that.  The young couple had gone through childbirth training together and had attended parenting classes as well.  They were ready and so were we with the full power of contemporary obstetrical and pediatric medicine to support us.  But things had not gone well.  The labor was long and very difficult.  After many hours, the obstetricians offered the couple a surgical intervention.  But the young woman had been fearful of having a c-section and they had refused.  Several more hours went by, during which the obstetricians called me in as a pediatric consultant.  It was decided to offer the couple surgery again.  Despite her exhaustion, her pain, and the pleading of her husband, the young mother was adamant.  She would not have this surgery.  She was too frightened.  Another hour passed without much progress, and in desperation the young man called his mother-in-law on the East Coast and asked her to speak to Jennifer, his wife, about having the surgery.  While they spoke, he went with me into the waiting room to tell his own father what was happening.

Although he had come to California from Mexico long ago, Michael's father spoke little English.  He was a man close to the land, weathered and strong, at first a migrant farmworker and then, with the help of his sons, the owner of a small farm in the Santa Clara Valley.  Michael was his eldest.  He had been sitting in this room for many hours awaiting the birth of this first grandchild.

He listened carefully as Michael told him what was happening, his face growing serious and thoughtful.  Then he nodded and said a few words in Spanish to his son and put an arm around his shoulders.  I could see Michael relax a little.  Afterward, we went back to the labor room to find that after speaking with her mother, Jennifer had at last decided to go ahead with surgery.

Jennifer, her eyes filled with tears, lay back in her bed, exhausted.  Most of the obstetrical team went to prepare the operating room for the c-section, and I went up two floors to my office to let them know that I would be attending the surgery to care for the baby.  I had barely reached my desk when I received a stat page from Jennifer's obstetrician.  Before she could be taken to the operating room, Jennifer had rallied and with three great pushes had delivered her baby.  "Everyone is fine," said the obstetrician, and over the phone, I could hear the baby crying.  It was a boy.

Afterward, I asked Michael what he thought had happened.  He replied that the obstetricians had offered him several explanations, but he actually thought it had something to do with his father.  Seeing my look of surprise, he smiled.  "My father is a great man," he told me.  When he had gone to tell his father that the baby had been born without the surgery, the older man had smiled and nodded.  "There had been much fear," his father had told him in Spanish.  He had heard about his daughter-in-law's fear, and he had also felt the fear in his son Miguel.  So he had known that the baby, too, was afraid.  And so, sitting alone in the waiting room, he had spoken with his grandchild in his mind, encouraging him to come and be born.

He had shown the baby his many memories of the beauty of the land, its dawns and sunsets, the new crops and the rich harvests.  He had told the baby that he looked forward to walking together on the earth.  He had spoken of the goodness of life, of friendship and laughter and good work.  And lastly, he had spoken of his love for the family.  He had remembered his own father in Mexico and his wife, both now dead.  One by one, he had spoken of the baby's uncles, his sons.  Of their goodness and their strength.  Of his pride in them and in the women they had married.  He shared memories of Christmas and birthdays and weddings.  Of the joy they took in each other's lives.  He had offered the baby his heart.  And the baby had come.

Over the years, I have attended many births, as a pediatrician or a birth coach, a family member or a friend.  I sometimes suggest to parents in labor that they reach out to their unborn child in just this same way, showing their baby mental images of the world's goodness, sharing their love of life to strengthen and encourage their baby in this difficult passage.
   

Jeff Keller is the President of Attitude is Everything, Inc. For more than 17 years, Jeff has delivered presentations on attitude and motivation to businesses, groups and trade associations throughout the United States and abroad. Jeff is also the author of the highly acclaimed book, Attitude is Everything. For more information, go to http://www.attitudeiseverything.com