Brett and Lynell Miller live in an unpretentious home at the end of a quiet residential circle in West Jordan. He is an LDS Church seminary teacher, she worked for the state until two months ago when she became a stay-at-home mom. They do little to draw attention to themselves or go public with their lives.
But then they decided to have children.
In the history of modern man's never-ending quest to populate the Earth, few could match the Millers in terms of effort, persistence and heart. If you don't appreciate their story, you never had kids, and you never were one, either.
It all began when Brett decided he wanted to serve in the military. At least that's Lynel's point of view.
As patriotic as he is spiritual, Brett — "Brother Miller" to his high school seminary students — decided he could no longer teach about the Book of Mormon military hero/prophet Captain Moroni unless he also served his God and country. So he signed on with the National Guard.
This past April he was told that Uncle Sam wanted him in Bosnia.
The Millers, who had been trying for 11 years to have children to no avail, were in the process of in vitro fertilization. They debated whether to finish the procedure, with Brett leaving, but after a $10,000 investment and a good deal of skepticism — this hadn't worked twice before — they went ahead.
Immediately, Lynel — wouldn't you know it — got pregnant. Two weeks later, she learned she was carrying twins.
Few things are as cast in stone as pregnancy and military orders. Brett was going to Bosnia; Lynel was going to prenatal class by herself.
I can't do justice to the ordeal that followed in this short column, but the short version is this:
One and a half weeks into Brett's deployment, Lynel is diagnosed with pregnancy-induced hypertension and is classified as high-risk . . . eight weeks later she is diagnosed with pregnancy-induced diabetes . . . four weeks later she is told she also has cholestasis of pregnancy, meaning her liver can't handle bile from both babies and mom and tries to send it through her skin . . . by Nov. 20, 13 weeks shy of her delivery date, she is diagnosed with hemolysis elevated liver tests and low platelets (HELLP), the ugly stepsister of toxemia. She has just zoomed past high risk. Her doctor tells her, "You're having these babies tonight."
Thanks to e-mail, none of this is old news to Brett, whose company commander is not Gen. Patton and tells Sgt. Miller, "You're going home, soldier. Now!" The Red Cross steps in and makes sure Brett is on his way. He stays awake traveling 40 straight hours, arriving at Lynel's hospital bed minutes before the scheduled delivery.
He holds her hand, she delivers Devin David and Hope Lynel — definitely not identical, but exactly the same weight. Two pounds each. Lynel calls them "the two cutest babies ever" before the liver disease almost kills her.
But she survives, thanks to great doctors, great medicine and her husband's hand, and almost two months later so have the babies. Devin is 3 pounds 8 ounces and Hope is up to 3 pounds 4 ounces. On Feb. 19, their original due date, they're scheduled to leave the hospital and come home to the unpretentious home on the circle in West Jordan.
Brett has applied for a release from active duty — as if this hasn't been — so he can get on with the raising of the Millers' two miracles.
"We are so very, very blessed," says Brett, and few there be who would deny it.
Lee Benson's column runs Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.