Obviously I'm not unbiased about this writer or her subject. I found this touching, however, and wanted to share it, with her permission, of course....

Your name is Samuel Obed. We selected your name soon after the sonograms showed you would be a boy. Your father was absolutely set on adding another sequential vowel to the family list and insists that he had thought of the name Obed long before we knew you were coming. It made sense because the sermon for our wedding was based on Ruth, and Obed was the name Ruth gave to her son.

[The oldest of the Withnell children is Abigail. The second is Esther, and the third, Isaac. Get it? All Biblical and all vowels, in order. Which means the fourth would begin with O. Not an easy project.]

Obed was also the grandfather of David. I particularly wanted to name you Samuel. Like his mother, Hannah, I had prayed many years for you -- first that God would give me a husband, and later that he would give me a baby. We changed our minds regarding the order of your name several times. I was concerned that other children would not be kind to you with a first name as unusual as "Obed." On the other hand, having Samuel first meant that the initials would spell SOW, another point that could be an embarrassment.

We settled on Samuel Obed.

At first, I had not wanted to know your sex until after you were born, because it seemed like it would ruin a great surprise. On the sonogram, both your father and I thought we had figured things out, so when the technician asked if we wanted to know, we said yes.

Afterward, I was glad. From then on, I could think of you as my boy and pretty quickly, would start calling you Samuel.

You were born on a warm day in August 2003, about a month or so before the doctors expected you. I had been fighting off a lassitude for a week or so before August 20, and was dismayed by the pile of cucumbers and tomatoes from the garden that were piling up in the kitchen.

Your sister Abigail was preparing to start her first year of college at Mary Baldwin in Staunton, Virginia, and needed to be at school August 21, a week or so before the rest of the students, to participate in wilderness training, part of the ROTC and Virginia Women's Institute for Leadership.

Your father and I had been out near Staunton, at Churchville, for a short holiday. We stayed in an old inn, and I enjoyed sitting out on the second floor balcony reading and watching the many ruby-throated hummingbirds that were attracted to the inn's hanging baskets and nectar feeders.

I ended up driving on the way home, and though I love to drive, found the trip exhausting. Because your father was going to a men's retreat without a reliable way to reach him, I was apprehensive about that, and your grandparents Withnell offered to come spend the weekend with me. After the trip to Churchville, I also realized that I would be unable to drive Abigail out to start college, so they offered to do that as well. As it turned out, I was so grateful that they were arriving August 20.

Your father was in a flurry doing the last-minute rush-about for Abigail's departure to college. With the possibility that the contractions were becoming more regular, he asked Esther to start timing them. Unknown to me, he had given Esther a pre-determined set of criteria to determine when to call him, along with orders to ignore me if I said I didn't need any help.

Well, that's exactly what happened. With the contractions coming regularly, she said she'd call your father, I said she didn't need to, and then I found out she was under orders to do so.

Your father came home, called the doctor's office, and they said it was time for me to go to the Birthing Inn at Loudoun Hospital. Everything seemed so unreal to me.

I hadn't packed yet. When I did get my stuff together in a large blue duffle, I felt more in control of the situation. It sat over in a corner of our room for some time, and assured me that I was ready. It had a little zip-up outfit to bring you home, clothes for me, shampoo and the usual shower items. Of course the bag included items, like tennis balls to rub on my back and a lovely grain sack that could be heated in a microwave to soothe muscles during labor, but we never used them.

[Even after walking around for an hour or so, nothing happened, and Jean and Brian were sent home where Brian's parents had arrived to help out. Jean's contractions resumed and very soon her water broke.