Forgive the family photo, but 11 years ago today, an amazing thing happened. I delivered a baby. Not just any baby. My baby or, rather, our baby. Really you could argue that my wife has more ownership since she did all of the work, heavy lifting, pushing, etc., but when it came time for our daughter to enter the world, I was there to receive her.

We used a nurse midwife to help us deliver Caroline and it was an amazing experience. When Anne was pushing and Caroline was crowning, it was only the two of us (well, three, if you count Caroline) and our midwife, who was sitting there as calm as could be. I kept thinking that someone should be doing something important, something medical, because my wife is about to deliver a baby. Instead, when it was clear the time had arrived, the midwife turned to me and said, “Do you want to deliver her?”

“What?” I asked. “I’m sorry, but, what?”

“Do you want to deliver her?”

All kinds of scenarios (many of them negative) ran through my head until I said, “Absolutely. Do I need to put on gloves, some kind of special gown?”

“No,” she said. “Just wash your hands.”

So I washed my hands and not much later, I literally brought Caroline into the world. I will grant you that it is unbelievably unfair that I got to do this amazing thing after all my wife went through, but I like to think that’s what grace is all about. And, indeed, it was grace.