A Painful Wait

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The Garden of Eden has been on my mind today, especially the moment God told Eve her blatant disobedience would result in pain during childbirth. (Genesis 3:16) She wasn’t a mother and didn’t know what childbirth was, let alone a child, but she knew that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good. She also didn’t know what intensity of pain God was talking about since she’d never experienced pain of any kind, but during her moments of discipline, she knew upcoming days would include some hardship.

Eve went on to bear many children in pain, and last night Birgitta got her first taste of what God meant. Painful labor contractions began while we sat at a birthday dinner for Lars in Chicago’s Loop. Mary and Bervin were hosting a meal for 12 at their condo, and immediately after Lars blew out his candles, we announced, “Birgitta’s in labor!”

Without thinking, every one of the guests rose to their feet simultaneously, an impulsive response to significant news. Old and young, male and female, we all know bearing babies is a really big deal. As we encircled Birgitta, her Uncle Bervin blessed her through a beautiful prayer, making sure to cover our newest family member, the little someone at the center of the birthing drama.

And then off we went to Michigan, a caravan of 3 cars: ours in the lead, Mary following (just in case we had roadside drama), Louisa and cousin Stina after that. My Highlander was already equipped with “a birthing kit” that included blankets (both baby’s and mama’s), towels, wipes, scissors, latex gloves, a flashlight, string, and a bulb syringe. RFA! *

Birgitta, valiantly breathing through frequent contractions, said, “I guess we should practice some of those breathing techniques we learned.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but I can’t remember! What were they?”

She reminded me, and I said, “I sure hope you can coach me through all this ok.”

Wanting to go home before the hospital to grab our overnight bags and to tend to Jack, the 3 cars gathered at the cottage. But just after we’d called the doctor and loaded the car, Birgitta’s labor began calming. Hospital personnel said, “Not just yet.” And so we waited. Through the night.

By morning, though, the pains were more regular, so off we went. But wishing doesn’t make it so. After hanging around the hospital for several hours without significant progress, the doctor suggested we head for home where Birgitta could continue laboring more comfortably. And so after 24 hours of excitement, today ends much as it began, with Birgitta laboring like a champion and the rest of us practicing patience.

I think Eve would be proud of my daughter’s courageous approach to “bringing forth children in pain.” And I know that the moment Birgitta meets her baby daughter, the whole drama will have been worth every single contraction.

“The earth [is] the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.” (Psalm 24:1)

*Ready For Anything!

Fizz

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When I last visited my British grandchildren, they had just added a new family member: Fizz the cat.

She was a pretty kitty with a good deal of patience toward her 3 pint-sized owners. Less than 6 months old, Fizz was still trying to learn household rules and which of her opinions was appreciated, which ones not. Like all kittens, she was curious. One moment she was in the dryer, the next she was running up the curtains.

Late one night as the household slept and I blogged, Fizz expressed keen interest in my laptop. As a matter of fact, she dove at the screen with the force of a bird flying into a windshield. It took me by surprise, and I wondered what had prompted her.

Then I saw it. As my mouse moved the tiny cursor around the screen, she had mistaken it for a big juicy bug, and by instinct went for it. Once I understood that, I let her do it again and again, and she never gave up trying to bag that “bug”.

Feline curiosity is fun to watch. Fizz could get into trouble (think tumbling in a dryer) but generally her curiosity will teach her what she can and can’t do. We could take a lesson.

As children, most of us were as curious as any kitten, pursuing answers to our questions through trial and error. Like Fizz, we sometimes got into trouble, but trouble was a good teacher. As we get older, the edges of our curiosity get worn down, and we walk through life based on what we already know rather than questing after something fresh.

But resurrecting some of that kitty-like curiosity might be a good idea, especially when it comes to living the Christian life. God has lots of fresh blessings for us every day, some of which we don’t experience because we aren’t curious about what they might be and don’t go searching for them. Scripture hints at “new mercy” and “new compassion,” available every single morning. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

God also says he’s willing to bring a “new song” to us (Psalm 40:3) and put “new spirits and hearts” within us. (Ezekiel 36:26) He offers “new answers” to our prayers (Jeremiah 33:3) and the promise of a “new life” in Christ (Romans 6:4), even a whole “new self.” (Ephesians 4:24) Amazingly, the Lord volunteers to share “new hidden things” that he’d formerly kept secret. (Isaiah 48:6)

A healthy curiosity for the fresh blessings God wants to give should make us leap toward him and his Word with the same fervor Fizz showed toward my moving cursor.

As for Fizz, it’s a good thing God blessed her with a “new” fur coat, because in the fridge she’s going to need it.

“I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?” (Isaiah 43:19)

The Bookends of Life

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Today Birgitta and I talked about the unpredictability of a baby’s arrival and the resulting stress of not being able to plan ahead. Will labor begin this afternoon? Tomorrow? A week from now? Which calendar events will we have to cancel because we’re on our way to the hospital?

Of course those of us not anticipating a labor and delivery know similar frustrations. Although Birgitta’s situation is blatantly unpredictable, the rest of us don’t really have things under control, either. But it’s easy to fool ourselves into thinking we do. Ha ha to that.

Any single day has a thousand elements that can “wiggle” and force us from planned agendas. A potent example occurred last weekend through a phone call from a young man close to our family. Earlier that day his mother had died in her apartment as the result of a fire. This news sent him into a flurry of schedule-shuffling and has rearranged his priorities every hour since then.

Any one of us can be on top of the world one minute and in turmoil the next. All it takes is a tiny text, a quick phone call, or a brief email. Confusion and commotion could be around the next corner for any of us, and that even includes the baby that’s about to join our family.

Birgitta’s little girl will shortly be thrown into stressful turmoil of her own, just by being born. We know many of the ways her day of birth is going to be a tough one, but she has no idea. For the moment she’s resting peacefully, unencumbered by expectations or anxiety, blissfully unaware of what’s just ahead. But as labor begins and then progresses, she’ll undergo circumstances quite different from the agenda she’s followed for 9 months without interruption.

A familiar Scripture says, “We brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out.” (1 Timothy 6:7) We generally think that refers to physical nakedness, but it could also mean a baby arrives without bringing a care or concern, no preconceptions, misconceptions, or expectations. But can we apply that in reverse at the end of our lives when we “take nothing out?”

Actually we can. When we die, as our friend’s mother did, we don’t take our worries or health problems with us, our pain, or any other negative, including relationship struggles. So the idea “you can’t take it with you” turns out to be something good.

Can we learn anything from the truth that our lives are bookended by “nothing-in, nothing-out?” Maybe wisdom in this is to hold our plans lightly and refuse to stress when disturbing texts, calls, and emails derail us. Maybe we should trust God to use every derailment (and our responses to them) toward readying us for eternity.

And that’s the one exception to the “nothing-out” rule. Preparation for eternity? It turns out we can take that with us.

“Even the best years are filled with pain and trouble; soon they disappear, and we fly away.” (Psalm 90:10)