After Marshall died, I wanted so much to have another baby.  Although the doctor had told me that all my children would probably be premature and would likely die, it was a difficult thing to really believe.  We were both willing to simply bring their bodies into reality, but we could not let go of the hope that we would be able to raise our children in this life.  Neil had given me a blessing and told me that the experience we had with Marshall was unique.  It was one that Marshall and I agreed upon in the Preexistence.

Each month I eagerly awaited a sign that a new little one was growing within me.  Each month nothing happened.  I would plunge into renewed grief, near depression.  Then I would shake myself and decide that there was always next month.  Still, those tears would flow month after month.

In reality it was only a few short months, but adding that disappointment to the grief of my son not being in my arms, it seemed like forever.  One evening we were at Neil's parents' home.  Neil and I both asked his dad to give us a blessing.  I have so much respect for my quiet father-in-law and felt it an honor to receive a blessing of comfort from his hands.

He laid his hands upon my head and the blessing began to come forth.  He spoke of my teaching my children.  At that time, I had no idea that I would spend my mothering years homeschooling my children.  However, the blessing did impress me with the importance of teaching them in my home and of teaching them the gospel.

He started to mention the children who would come to me and then he became silent.  The pause was painfully long.  I thought to myself, "He sees something."  When that thought entered my mind, I heard dad say, "In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."  It seemed such an abrupt ending.  Neither Neil nor I dared to question him concerning that blessing at the time.  However, Neil visited with his dad the next day to see if dad had anything to say about it.

Dad told Neil that he had seen a beautiful young daughter.  Behind her he saw two powerful young sons.  There were other priceless impressions that had flooded his heart and mind.  As Neil related Dad’s impressions to me, I knew that the young daughter was Chani, the oldest girl I had seen.  I also knew that the two sons were the next sons but they would not necessarily be born in that order following Chani.  All the years that our Ben struggled with various illnesses Dad never worried.  He would say he had seen Ben and knew he would be OK.

That blessing was given in the summer.  Still, no Chani was being sent to us.  I became ever more discouraged.  Finally, one night shortly before Christmas I found myself in the middle of a nightmare.

In my dream I was walking with Neil and a beautiful young lady.  They were singing and I was singing with them.  The sounds of hymns filled my mind.  All around me were those spirits who followed Satan.  They were trying with persuasive strength to get me to listen to them.  As long as we continued to sing, I could not hear them.  I knew the young lady was my Chani.  She and Neil were oblivious to the attack upon my spirit and mind.

At one point all the other spirits seemed to withdraw and I was left facing Satan himself.  He wanted my life and was preparing for a direct assault.  I awoke immediately in deep fear and nearly unable to speak.  I woke my dear husband and asked for a blessing.

Neil laid his hands upon my head and commanded Satan to leave.  In my mind, as clearly as any other vision, I saw the wicked one leave our home and walk to the driveway and stand there, waiting.  Neil told me in the blessing that Satan had no power over us except what we allow, and that he could enter our home only when we lose the Spirit of the Lord.

He then said, in all seriousness, that if I did not stop mourning my dead son I would lose all of my children.  Instantly, all depression left me.  It was swept away in the very real warning that otherwise I would not raise any of my little ones.  I found out right afterwards that Chani's little body had begun to grow, that the joyous process of creation was already happening.

This pregnancy was so different from Marshall's.  I never again found myself in that dreamlike cloud floating high above the earth.  Reality had hit with my son's birth.  The impact left an envelope of caution surrounding each following pregnancy.  However, I believe there could never be a heart more full of the song of gratitude as mine was while my little daughter grew within me.

I knew this child.  I had seen her in that grand vision before our marriage.  At the time of my vision, I did not know who was older, Chani or Marshall.  Both seemed to carry the responsibility and mission of the eldest child.  Now I knew.  Marshall was our firstborn but this daughter would be our oldest.  She would be blond.  She would have a glow of spirit and a love of music.  I knew she would bring a healing that my very heart needed due to the loneliness of empty arms.

We decided to have our Chani at home.  This was an easy choice for us.  We knew right from the start that if she were premature she had to be born in the hospital.  We knew all that prematurity entailed.  We knew that excepting that or any other high risk that might develop, birth for me was an easy matter.

The midwife who had delivered our nephew was pregnant at the time and due right when our baby was due.  So, instead, we went to meet the midwife of that midwife.  Following directions, we pulled up in front of this grand, beautiful old home.
From the upper balcony stepped this woman dressed all in white with a white turban wrapped around her head.  She called down to us, asking if we were the Logans and then told us it would be a few minutes before she would be free.  We sat in our car and looked at each other.  What have we gotten ourselves into?

We met with hesitancy.  The dear lady could tell right away that we were uncomfortable in the unusual surroundings.  She talked to us and we laughed.  She had a confident and easy spirit.  She was a Sikh by religion.  She was also a very skilled midwife.  We met her assistant, Lynn.  Over the following years Lynn became a very close friend who we helped to bring into the Church

Not long into the pregnancy my midwife began to watch me very carefully for signs of premature labor.  That should be expected due to our first experience, but the big difference was in how perceptive she was to my feelings.  She carefully listened to my intuition.  She constantly showed respect for the life within me and for the upcoming birth.

All went fine then until the 32nd week of my pregnancy.  Suddenly I had to be on complete bed rest.  It was hard emotionally because of I was fighting my fear of another premature birth.  It was easy physically because of knowing what that birth would mean.  They allowed me up to shower every other day and to use the toilet.  I was not to stand or sit for anything else.  I watched TV, read books, and slept.  I slept a lot hoping that the waiting time would disappear.

My backup doctor ordered wine for me.  In those days, alcohol was the preferred medication to put off premature contractions.  It was so embarrassing to go into a liquor store and buy wine!  Of course, we knew nothing about wine.  I called my mother and asked her opinion.  I needed something that I could actually swallow.  She bought the prescribed beverage for us.

I took the dose the doctor ordered.  It had such a powerful effect on me that I felt all strength leave my arms and legs fairly quickly.  After the first week of drinking the "medicine,” my midwife came and took vitals on the baby and me.  Then followed the decision to cut the dose in half and to double the time between drinks.

We set up a television in our bedroom, stacked half a dozen novels by the bedside and hooked up a telephone.  No walking, no standing, no shopping, no cooking and no romance.  I settled in for six very long and tedious weeks.

Finally the day came that I could get up!  The doctor told me that I would have my baby within twenty-four hours of getting out of bed.  The midwife thought the baby was large enough that she would not simply fall out of me.  I was over 5 centimeters dilated and nearly entirely effaced.  For the next three weeks I lived a normal life and wondered when my little one would arrive.

I had asked my mother to be present at the birth.  She was about to go on vacation and so we became anxious to get this event started. One day Mom, Julie with her baby in a stroller, and me with my nine-month belly, were walking around an outdoor mall.  Julie took her daughter into the restroom while we wandered around the shops pushing Julie's empty stroller.  We were getting the strangest looks when somebody mentioned that it looked like Grandma was ready for my baby to drop right out and into the stroller.

We were concerned about how fast my first labor had been.  It was only one-and-a-half hours, very short for a first baby.  My midwife lived forty-five minutes away, and we were all worried that she might not make the birth in time.  I was under orders to notify her of any little twinge.  Once the twinges got regular enough, although not at all uncomfortable, we called everybody out to the house.  We ate pizza and played Uno and had a great time not having a baby.

The anxiety to have the baby grew.  I was thrilled to be having a full term baby and to be healthy and able to have her at home.  However, I did want my mother to be there with me.  Her vacation time had arrived.  It was Wednesday and she would be leaving the next morning.  I knew within my heart that my baby would be born the next day after my mother left unless I forced the labor that Wednesday evening.  My midwife agreed and we all met at our home.

She broke my water and labor began.  I lost myself looking into my husband's eyes and knowing how much I loved him.  After only an hour and a half I heard, "It's a girl!"  She put my little Chani on my belly and I was ecstatic.  She was so pink.  "Hot pink," her daddy kept saying.  My midwife was happy as all went well and she could sneak off to the television while we bonded as a family.  She had finished in time to watch Shogun, a mini series in she had been watching all week.

Neil and I could hardly believe our eyes, or our hearts.  Here was our child, healthy, crying and then quietly cuddling with us.  She looked like our Marshall only filled out beautifully.  We were safe at home; warm in surroundings of that heavenly environment we had created together.  We slept as a family that first night aware of the presence of angels, and most especially of one angel in the form of our lovely daughter.

Everything was perfect, except the little dear was not interested in nursing.  My heart nearly broke with the desire and need to nurture my baby.  She wanted to cuddle and she was so peaceful.  She was not at all hungry.  I found out that my baby needed to learn to nurse.  That didn't really surprise me, but I also found out that I needed to learn as well.  With the following children it was never as bad because I was already an expert and only they needed the lessons.  But with my dear little Chani, we both struggled those first few days.

Chani was born about 8:30 Wednesday evening.  In tears and trepidation I followed the counsel that she would nurse when she was hungry and I did not give her a pacifier or a bottle other than an occasional ounce or two of water.  In what seemed like an eternity, she finally got hungry and then she nursed vigorously and continued to nurse with her mommy for the next thirty-five months.

Every night as I held my Chani and nursed her, I sang to her, remembering the young woman who helped protect me from spiritual attack.  Every night as I held and nursed her, I prayed.  Gratitude flowed from my heart and tears from my eyes.  Gratitude that the Lord had sent a child, this child, to be raised by me, and tears because my arms were filled with joy.

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