It was hard. One of the hardest things I had done. In more than one way.
But in the hardness, it felt holy. The air was different. The sounds were different. My awareness was different, as though nothing else mattered at all on the entire earth but was happening in me and for me.
Though I moaned and groaned as I felt the contractions, in my heart I sang. I sang the songs that declared His promises, that sang of His strength, His faithfulness. I sang to Him as if were just He… and I. Me and my God. Eyes locked with my heart trusting.
Did I really have a baby inside of me? I knew it, but I hadn’t seen this baby, hadn’t felt the finger, toes, little baby arms and legs. But I knew there was. And I knew it was such a gift of God to have a baby and to be moments away from meeting this little one. From her making her entrance into an unknown world where plans were made and written for her before the beginning of time.
And here I was, chosen to bring forth this sweet precious child who was formed and knit together within me. In a way that I put all of myself into, wanting to for her and I.
And in a moment, she was here. Her birth had happened and the entire time, I felt the love, assurance and comfort of my God. I didn’t trust the hospital, barely trusted my doctor and knew my hope was only in Him. When she was put on my chest, I lay there in exhaustion. Physically and mentally. But my heart rejoiced in the beauty of birth and with thankfulness that it happened just as it should. My body knew what to do. She and I worked together. And she was here. Safe with me.