I still remember the first time I met my midwife. So many thoughts and concerns were whirling through my mind as she walked in the door and sat cross legged on the floor. Those concerns quickly melted away as she began to teach me about birth, touched my body with respect, cared for my health needs with a cautiousness that can only be applied with a generous devotion of time.
She never promised that everything would be okay or that I would get the exact birth that I wanted. She did encourage me that my body was designed to give birth-perfectly designed by a God that sets everything into motion. She prepared Nathan to be present and engaged in my birth while calling on the holy spirit to apply prayer as needed. My birth healed placed in our marriage and we’ve seen one another in a new way ever since.
During the last few moments of my birth I repeated the same words over and over again, "I need help. I need help." In that moment she didn't come into my personal space in order to save the day, but rather held space to allow the Holy Spirit to quietly whisper, “I am here. I am here."
I've been thinking a lot about resurrection lately. How we can experience that over and over again right here on earth-as we break through generational walls and relational barriers to re-connect to one another and God. There are very few moments in life that allow for that to happen. The moment of Adaline's birth-held by my husband and surrounded by my children. This. This is resurrection to me. And my midwife held sacred space to make it so.