Doxology Mine

I discovered a poem today, along with a new blog to follow. I also discovered the poetry-lover that has lain dormant in me for a while under the day-to-day piling on of wife/motherhood tasks and duties that are not usually conducive to literature reading (except nursing, which is one reason I love it so very, very much).

I found said poem (and said blog) via this tweet from Andrew Peterson, the author of a series of books called the Wingfeather Saga, the third of which I just finished two nights ago (The Monster in the Hollows, see the link over to the right under "Currently Reading"):

@AndrewPeterson

Andrew Peterson

This poem by John Betjeman is brutally honest. Thank God I'm not alone in this feeling.http://bit.ly/k1t40W

Here's the post as featured at The Rabbit Room, which was originally written by D.S. Martin on his blog, Kingdom Poets.

And here's the poem, written by Sir John Betjeman {1906-1984}. Steady your soul.

The Conversion of St. Paul

   What is conversion? Not at all
   For me the experience of St Paul,
   No blinding light, a fitful glow
   Is all the light of faith I know
   Which sometimes goes completely out
   And leaves me plunging into doubt
   Until I will myself to go
   And worship in God's house below--
   My parish church--and even there
   Find distractions everywhere.

   What is Conversion? Turning round
   To gaze upon a love profound.
   For some of us see Jesus plain
   And never once look back again,
   And some of us have seen and known
   And turned and gone away alone,
   And most of us turn slow to see
   The figure hanging on a tree
   And stumble on and blindly grope
   Upheld by intermittent hope.
   God grant before we die we all
   May see the light as did St Paul.

I love this poem's vulnerability and transparency, and I love how concisely, simply, accessibly, and beautifully it conveys its sentiment, just like good poetry is supposed to do. Taking the time to read and meditate on things like this makes something in my soul come alive. My heart responds to the truth and beauty of it.

Has anything resonated with you lately? If so, I'd love to hear about it. I think this would count as an exercise in "stirring one another up to love and good works."

And I pray that as we do so, we would also stir others to "[turn] round [and] gaze upon a love profound."

This was me the day Rivers entered the world. It was also my due date, March 26, and the day of my last blog post ("The Labor Liturgy," how timely!). I was in labor here, but didn't know it yet for sure.

Backstory to the birth story: I decided at about 36 weeks just to consider laboring naturally. I called my sweet friend Lauren who's a midwife in Nashville (and who also makes an appearance from time to time on TLC's Baby's First Day...totally awesome) and asked her if she thought I was crazy to decide so late to do this. The conversation I had with her was the beginning of a spiritual journey for me that I'm convinced God instigated and saw through to completion the day I delivered Rivers. I knew I wanted to try to go "all natural," but I never could place why. None of the usual answers seemed to fit for me; I didn't feel like I had anything to prove, and I didn't so much even want to prove it to myself (though that was a part of it). So when Lauren started talking about fear, something clicked. That was it! I didn't want to be afraid anymore. If childbirth was something God created and made our bodies to do perfectly on their own, I didn't want to fear it, and I realized I had feared it for a long time. I could go into all the spiritual parallels God brought to my attention, but it's 11 p.m. and, you know, I've got a newborn. And two toddlers. I need sleep.

Anyway, once I figured out why I wanted to consider going naturally, it was like the Lord went into overtime encouraging me to do it. And that's what it was...encouragement. He was putting courage in my heart to face what I feared. It felt like every day in my Scripture reading I was finding verses about fear, and they were (and are) so beautiful and precious to me. I also read a book on the Bradley method (and then--much too late!--wanted to take Bradley classes. Maybe next time.) and watched the Ricki Lake documentary "The Business of Being Born", both per the advice of my friend Mary. Again, these things were an encouragement. Around this time I subconsciously moved from the vague mental state of wanting to deliver Rivers naturally but also kind of expecting to give in and get the epidural to deciding that that wasn't an option for me anymore. More importantly, I decided (with the courage He had put in my heart!) to trust God in the middle of my fear.

So, that was a long backstory. Moving on.

I spent the entire morning just incredibly frustrated. I was frustrated at being pregnant, I was frustrated at having to watch the clock and analyze contractions, and I was frustrated more than anything that I didn't know for sure if this was labor or not. I raged around the house for a while and finally sat down to eat for the first time that day at about 1:30 p.m. At this point the contractions were about 7-ish minutes apart, and I was just so annoyed. They eventually started coming between 3-4 minutes apart, but because they weren't exactly 3 minutes apart or exactly 4 minutes apart, I still couldn't decide if it was real labor or not! (I realize this is pitiful and ridiculous.) Anyway, at about 2 p.m., I started bleeding a bit and could tell the contractions were intensifying. I was so worried about getting to the hospital too soon, but I didn't remember where in the progression of labor bright red blood came in and Tony was extremely concerned that he was going to have to deliver his son in the car or something. So we decided to go ahead to the hospital, and--as you will see--I'm way glad we left when we did (around 2:30). Normally, it takes about 30 minutes to get to the hospital, but it was rainy that day and traffic was terrible. I remember second guessing our decision to leave when we did about 5 minutes into the drive, but then almost immediately after two things happened almost simultaneously: I got really at peace with our decision to leave and my contractions got a whole lot worse. I opened my eyes about twice that whole 45-minute car ride.

We got to the hospital about a quarter after three. I had a contraction walking to the door and had to stop and hang on Tony for a minute. We walked in the main entrance and met an empty desk with a small paper sign that said to go to the ER desk for assistance. Going to the ER in labor on a Saturday...bad news.

I thought we were going to bypass the whole signing-in process because I had asked my doctor weeks earlier if I needed to pre-register in order to avoid what was about to happen. Turns out, there must have been some miscommunication somewhere because I was not in the system. So we stood. In a packed ER waiting room. With some very worried people who thought they were about to witness a birth. And they really almost did.

I had maybe 5 intense contractions during our time answering questions at the desk. Each time I leaned against the wall like I was doing a calf stretch and breathed. I can't remember if I was moaning yet at this point. In between contractions I paced a little and tried to help answer the questions, hoping against hope to hurry this crap up! The lady behind the desk was amazingly emotionless. She told us that she tried to call the transport team for a wheelchair to take me up to the labor and delivery floor, but no one was answering (again, it was a Saturday and apparently there's never any need for transporting people on Saturdays).

After 15-20 minutes (or 8 hours), we got signed in and some angel of mercy came with a wheelchair. Sitting down was not comfortable, so the couple of contractions I had on the way there I think I got a little loud. I remember closing my eyes and moaning and then feeling the man pushing me start to jog and yell at the crazy people ambling along in front of us. I also remember telling him thank you because the breeze from the speeding wheelchair felt so good.

We got to the room and I got in a gown and crouched on the the bed, trying to find a pain-relieving position. Tony asked the nurses if I was going to have to have an IV (I didn't want one), and the nurses said that I would have to if I was past 6 centimeters. I remember thinking, "Great." I got into bed after the contraction was over and got checked. I was just hoping to be at around 8, but--praise the Lord--I was completely dilated and had a bulging bag of waters. I was so incredibly relieved to hear that I had already passed the transition phase. And also, because I was so close to delivering, they said they didn't have time for an IV.

Sidenote: Because I decided so late to attempt natural labor, I felt completely unprepared on the prayer side of things. I didn't know what specifics to pray for, so I prayed that God would cover those things. I had to walk in the trust that He would take care of all the little things I didn't know to pray for. And he so did! Like the IV matter, and even standing up in the hospital waiting room going through transition. That pain, as intense as it was, probably would have seemed even more so if I did not have those distractions. (And the fact that the really intense labor lasted only about two hours. Everything was so fast.) God proved Himself faithful a thousand times that day, and it was so sweet to look back on the events and realize that.

Back to the delivery room. I was 10 centimeters dilated, but my water hadn't broken yet. The nurses had called my doctor and they told me it would be twenty minutes before she got there. I remember looking at Tony after a few minutes and, in all seriousness, asking him how long I could just lie there at 10 centimeters. I was also ruining the neckline of his shirt grasping it during each contraction.

Finally my doctor came in, threw her scrubs on--loudly joking about what size they were (she's like that, and we love her)--and coming over to break my water. I was worried because it was medical intervention and I was trying to avoid all of that, but it wasn't done in order to speed up labor or do anything unnatural. So she did it and the next contraction I pushed. Hello hellfire. That was pretty awful. After that first contraction, my doctor told me the baby's head was turned and was pushing against my bone. So the next contraction, I pushed and she turned his head. She told me if his head hadn't been turned, he would have been out already. That gave me the motivation to push good and hard on the third contraction--screaming, I assure you--because I wanted this over. I had to hold at the last second because the cord was around his neck, but the doctor untangled him and I pushed one last time and he was out and on my chest. The weight of a newborn on top of you has got to be one of the most wonderful and gratifying things in the world. He was beautiful (of course), and had a headful of hair. I held him skin-to-skin for a while and even nursed him before they took him to be weighed and measured. He didn't even have his bath until all of our families got there and were in the room with us. It was a wonderful night.

I will definitely, as far as it depends on me, labor and deliver naturally again. The experience was wonderful, just as wonderful as the other two, but in a different way. I could feel everything--everything--and this made the ordeal of birthing a baby seem so much more intimate. That sounds odd, I know, and I know I wouldn't know the difference if I had kept on having epidurals...but I'm glad I know the difference now. As the third baby, Rivers needed his birth story to be special. And I think it is, because it is the testimony of my journey with God through fear. And the memory of it all will always be one more monument to His great faithfulness, provision, sovereignty, care, and love.