Sacred Mundane: The Blog

Yesterday, I drove a familiar route and a flood of memories filled my mind.

It was the first time on that road since September 16th of last year, when I drove home in a wild mess of bewildered, angry tears.

It had been a long 9 months. We’d lost two babies through miscarriage (I wrote about HERE), and walked through an incredibly intense season of trial. There was outward grief and hidden, inner grief. There was sorrow and shame and then, after the miscarriage on Aug 7th, my sweet friend’s precious 16-year-old son passed away. A team of us had prayed, fasted, interceded, believed…and now I sat in silent shock.

September 16th was his memorial, and that seemed to break the dam of pent-up grief, anger, fear. I already wrote about it HERE, realizing that He holds a map I cannot see. Little did I know, when I wrote that post, that just two days later Jeff’s dad would die tragically, suddenly, and the river of grief would deepen, widen, for us both.

But friends, as you know, sorrow may last for the night, but joy DOES come in the morning.

Our morning came in early November when two little pink lines confirmed my suspicion. I was pregnant. Hope is an indefatigable thing, and it swells quickly into a wave you can ride forward into the future. I felt it. I felt certain, somehow, this baby would live.

But there were bouts of fear to overcome. I shared HERE about the scare on Christmas day that brought the blessed dream of our boy, and was later confirmed that indeed, Justice was coming.

And so, we eagerly anticipated the arrival of this child. One of the interesting things I sifted through was how many prophecies seemed to surround his coming. For example, there was reason to believe he might be born on May 14th. Though this seemed unlikely, I felt obligated to prepare myself in case this was a reality (NICU, etc.). It also seemed that somehow Justice’s arrival had something to do with justice coming to the nation of Israel, to the Jews, God’s people. In my own heart and mind, I prayed that his birth would bring Justice for Oma, and that perhaps she would be healed. I won’t go into them all, but it seemed everywhere I turned there was some layer of significance seeming to surround his birth.

While this is most certainly wonderful, it was a lot to process. I found myself trying to figure out just why God would so clearly call us to birth a child named Justice, I analyzed and evaluated, sorting through so many dates, ideas, verses, prophecies. I share this because I want to paint a realistic picture of following God. Usually, we don’t get a clear and detailed explanation. I did not want to despise any prophecy, but test all things and hold fast to what is good (1 Thess 5:21), so I tried to hold these things loosely. Believing God, but not putting too much stock in my own ability to figure things out.

That was good, because I figured exactly nothing out. 😉 Which is totally fine. Usually God shows us things in the rearview mirror.

Alongside the spiritual aspect of Justice’s coming, there was the physical aspect. Not only had it been almost 10 years since birthing a baby, we were opting for a natural, unmedicated, birth-center delivery. This was most certainly a new experience, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Friends generously dropped two key books into my lap (Mama Natural’s week-by-week guide and Hypnobirthing) and another friend invited me to a 10-week video course and FB community on natural childbirth by Karen Welton. These things were hugely helpful! I watched the videos and read the books, although I admittedly spent way more time thinking about the spiritual aspects, than the physical.

In other words, I didn’t have a clue how hard the labor process would be. 😉

Not only that, but I still very much saw myself in control of this process. I had clear expectations and requests on how I wanted things to go. And some of that is fine, Karen Welton talks about relating to God your heart’s desires for your labor process. That’s part of intimately relating withe the Father. I don’t regret a bit of it. I prayed for a specific day. I wrote out an idea of how I’d like it to progress. All of these things were fueled by a desire to make it as stress-free for others involved in our life. I didn’t want to put strain on our church, on Jeff, on the kids, or on my parents. I didn’t want to make others work around me.

I wanted Justice’s coming to slip seamlessly into our life, without a wrinkle.

(You’re smiling, right?)

As you all know, this didn’t happen. When prodromal labor began at 39 weeks, the unraveling began. But each point of frustration was a critically important adjustment, and I would soon realize, a necessary preparation for what was ahead. First, I learned HERE that Our labor is never in vain, then HERE that the certainty enables us to wait joyfully, and finally, the most critical lesson, How to calm and quiet your soul. This one was especially key because it freed me to relinquish any and all expectations and release myself into His care and perfect timing.

That very next night, I had the most intense false-labor yet. I really thought it was real. My kids went to my parents, and I labored for almost 4 hours before everything stopped. Monday morning I was at an all-time low. For some reason I was left super puffy and sore from the previous night’s labor (I learned more about this later), and delirious with fatigue. I went for a walk, and let loose the torrent of tears to God.

“What do you WANT from me?! Haven’t I already died to myself enough?! Am I not dead enough for you?! Why are you doing this to me?”

Silence.

Thankfully, our visiting family for the week was the most kind and compassionate you can imagine. My sister-in-law went 2 weeks overdue with her 2nd child, and she was the perfectly empathetic friend, genuinely understanding and sharing some of her own journey. Another friend called and shared a significant insight–suggesting that perhaps there was an underlying fear or anxiety that was somehow halting the labor experience. I didn’t know what that was, but I instantly cried at the suggestion, so I knew perhaps there was some underlying current of anxiety.

That afternoon, Jeff and I sat lawn chairs in the river and had time to process and pray. As we prayed, I realized that, indeed, I had some fears and anxieties. The bottom line of it was–every false-labor experience had seemed to erode my confidence in God’s willingness to carry me through labor successfully. Each day, my supposed pillar of faith wore down, farther and farther, until now it was barely visible. Further, my mom’s deterioration in health seemed to mock my faith at an even deeper level.

The voices mocked, God hasn’t answered your prayers for your mom, why on earth would He answer your prayers for this birth?

See, I knew, deep down, that I was not a tough person. Some women are. I would never have made it in the pioneer days. I would have died, or I would have complained so much they’d have left me behind. 😉 I like to think I’m tough but I’m not. I was begging for an epidural at both of my first births. I knew, deep down, that I could not do this, and I doubted whether God would miraculously come through and provide me a birth story that would be anything other than traumatic.

That was it. The voice mocked: Why would God ever do this for you? 

Like a broken dam, all the grief and insecurity came rushing out. I sobbed, choking out finally-honest prayers to God about how I really felt. Why I doubted Him. I told Him the truth about myself–that I knew how weak and wimpy I was and unless He came through for me I couldn’t do it.

And then, of course: Peace like a river.

From that point on, I can honestly say, I felt peace. I didn’t feel comfortable–Justice wasn’t born for another 5 days, but I had peace. At least everything was out in the open.

And, I realized, I had learned something else. During that night of false-labor, I had listening, non-stop, to one song on repeat: Hard Love by Need to Breathe, with Lauren Daigle. Everything about that song makes me want to rise up and overcome. As I began to reflect more on the lyrics, I realized–God had given me that song. I would need it for when true labor came. Especially the lines:

Trading punches with the heart of darkness
Going to blows with your fear incarnate
Never gone until it’s stripped away
A part of you has gotta die today.

And I knew it did. In order for me to bring Justice into the world, I would need to die. Then:

It’s not enough to just feel the flame
You’ve gotta burn your old self away

Yes. Essentially, you have to embrace every agonizing contraction and let it wash over you, burning your old self away to make way for new life. Then:

Hold on tight a little longer
What don’t kill ya, makes ya stronger
Get back up, ’cause it’s a hard love
You can’t change without a fallout
It’s gon’ hurt, but don’t you slow down
Get back up, ’cause it’s a hard love

Gah! I start crying all over again just re-reading. I knew this was key:

I would need to die, but this process would not kill me. It would make me stronger. It would hurt, but I had to not slow down, but press forward, get back up, because labor-techniques aren’t what would ultimately bring Justice into the world.

LOVE is.

Hard love. Only if my strength was fueled by a hard LOVE for my son, would I be able to endure bravely.

That night, driving home, another song came on that I instantly knew would play a role in this process as well. Resurrection Day by Rend Collective.

This would be my victory song. Christ’s resurrection power IS at work in us. Because of His power, I can get up off the floor, so to speak, and bring Justice into the world.

In the four days that followed, I spent time every afternoon listening to worship, meditating on these truths, and practicing sinking into myself and focusing on God. On Thursday, I curled up with my earbuds, and again began relating and worshipping God. As I did, a flood of gratitude welled up in me. God had been preparing me all this time. All these “false alarms” were His generous, kind, gracious, tender advances of love, preparing me and helping me be ready for something that I was not prepared for in my own strength.

His delay was sheer grace, love, and mercy.

And then, after weeks and weeks of silence, I heard so clearly:

(And I’m sobbing again just remembering!) Tears fell as I felt the Father’s reassurance and loving approval wash over me. That was all I needed to know. My Dad was pleased.

I went outside and walked up and down the driveway for a long time, the joyful happy tears streaming down my face. Like a movie playing, I could the past 18-months play before my eyes. The wrestling and struggle and the eventual choice for vasectomy-reversal, the waiting and anticipating, the miscarriage, the months of personal struggle, the next pregnancy, the gazillion choices to trust, then losing that baby, then all the months of pregnancy–the thousand choices to trust, smile, choose faith. The morning sickness, the fear, the anxiety, the days and weeks and months of saying yes to God again and again and again. And as Lord of Hosts by Shane & Shane blared over and over on repeat I just poured out gratitude to God realizing:

Lord of Hosts, You’re with us
With us in the fire
With us as a shelter
With us in the storm
You will lead us
Through the fiercest battle
Oh where else would we go
But with the Lord of Hosts

And especially the line: God who makes the mountains melt, Come wrestle us and win.

Yes. I want God to wrestle me and WIN. I want His way. And He is WITH us in the battle. There were some battles during those 18 months. God dealt with some significant sin in my life. But He won. He won me. He won my heart.

He rescued me from me.

And so, I went into the weekend, somehow sensing that the work was already done. Yes, the actual labor would need to play out, but in a sense, it was complete.

I went to sleep Friday night settled, secure, rested, at peace. 

{We’ll finish next time. Thanks for reading!}