A Grieving Doula on Christmas Eve

It’s Christmas Eve and as a doula I cant stop thinking about Mary. Imagine her nearly due with her first baby and still journeying from her hometown to Bethlehem. She is with a man who she is supposed to marry and yet pregnant with the Son of God. From most historical accounts, Mary is still a teenager. Regardless of age though, she is about to be a new mom – a mom to the baby that will save the world. Here she is on Christmas Eve on a donkey, barely eating a thing, entering a strange city with no midwife, family, or friends to be seen.

Contractions begin and Mary knows her baby is coming soon. All they can find is a small barn behind an inn. Another contraction rolls in reminding Mary of the need to make her space ready to greet her son. For those moments I imagine she’s forgotten that her son will save the world. This is just her son. Her baby is that inside her contracting uterus, longing to make his way earth side. If I were there beside her, I’d encourage her that she is close, that she can do this and that she’ll be holding her baby soon. I don’t know what Joseph said to her that night but if he stayed by her side as she worked through her labor, I imagine he’d be the kind of man to say just those encouraging things.

As the night moves along, so does Mary’s labor. Jesus is coming soon. With each contraction, he makes his way down and Mary knows she does not have long. Joseph moves some hay to make Mary a softer place to birth. The animals are all quiet. They are the ones holding the space for Mary giving her the peace she needs to calm her fears as Jesus is crowing. Mary finds the strength within her to give into the pressure and welcome her firstborn. Joseph removes his outer garments and finds a soft inner layer that he can cover the baby on Mary’s exhausted chest. He’s here – Mary’s baby, Joseph’s first son, God in human form.

As I think of Mary this Christmas Eve, my heart is heavy for her. She and her fiancé travel a long distance to give birth in a stable without any assistance. She contracts minutes after minutes, suffering through pain for a child she yet to understands how much she will love and yet how much his love for her and us all will change the world. I wish I could have been with her to give her water, to support her back, to reassure her that it will all be ok. But, somehow I believe Mary must have known that it would be ok. When Mary learned of Jesus’s conception she pondered it in her heart, rejoicing and praising the Lord. I have to believe she felt that same assurance as she welcomed her baby boy into the world. Maybe she and Joseph were able to remember that Angel that told them to not be afraid of what would happen and to trust in what God had for them.

My heart is heavy this Christmas eve. I miss those who have gone before me and wonder when this laboring of grief will end. Christmas eve this year feels like a somber laboring of my emotions that I hope will be birthed into joy tomorrow. Today at lunch the song, “Where are you Christmas?” came on the radio. I was eating pizza at my in laws with my kids and extended family. And, right then, like a contraction you can’t control, it hit me. Grief. It folds you over like the stomach pain of a uterus clamping down and makes you stop. I can’t eat. I can’t drink. I can feel my face turning red and eyes watering up.

Usually I can take a deep breath and get it together but not today. The pain was too strong. It is that part in labor where you don’t’ care what sounds you make or what clothes you still do or don’t have on because you aren’t in control anymore.  Grief is like that. It enters your space with strong intensity and allows no warning for appropriate preparation. And, as I was weeping in the bathroom and practicing deep breathing techniques, there was her face. I thought of Mary again. Mary, grieving what her body was going through and the circumstances of her moment. Yet, she pushes through her pain and fear to greet her baby – the greatest joy she and the world would experience. How encouraging?! How beautiful?! She labored her way through the darkness of the night to bring us the Light of the World. I think of the way she had to rely on the truth of who she knew God to be and trust in the words of the angels. May I do the same. When the grief greets me with unexpected pain and exhausting power, I hope I will continue to remember Mary and the woman God chose to bring forth his son – the hope of tomorrow. My hope for tomorrow. 

Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling

Recently this fall, I found out I was expecting baby #5 and it flooded me with a myriad of emotions. Many of them joyous but unfortunately some of them are not as precious. Earlier tonight as I heard one of my favorite songs on the radio, Softly and Tenderly Jesus is Calling, I thought why come? Why come be a part of this hard and awful place. Just go be with your Heavenly Father. Certainly, not with your mother who is weeping at the kitchen counter waiting for the water to boil mac and cheese because I'm too nauseous to cook anything else and to grieved not to. Seriously, I really thought you'd be better off if I could meet you later after I set my eyes on our creator. What am I wishing for? What kind of mother am I? A crazy one, obviously. 

Here tonight I brushed my teeth and agonized over the fact that I didn't keep my own promise- be done having children by 30. Get them in school by 36. Then, finally I can stop feeling exhausted, frazzled, overweight, emotional, did I mention exhausted for a season in my life. Well, that's not going to happen. 

I saw you on that ultrasound screen- you with your fluttering little heartbeat and rounded head and feet. I saw you in me. You're living in me. I get to hold you now. And, while my present circumstances may try to tell me that having you will make my life harder, I can't thank God enough for the time I get to mother you. You will call my name so many times that I will probably scream but there is nothing so tender as that first "ma-ma" is uttered. I can't wait to hear that. I can't wait to hear your first cry, your first word, your first everything. You may be joining us at the end of our parenting journey but I can't wait to whisper to you "I'm so glad you've come." 

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,

Calling for you and for me;

See, on the portals He’s waiting and watching,

Watching for you and for me.

Refrain:

Come home, come home,

You who are weary, come home;

Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,

Calling, O sinner, come home!

Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading,

Pleading for you and for me?

Why should we linger and heed not His mercies,

Mercies for you and for me?

Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,

Passing from you and from me;

Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming,

Coming for you and for me.

Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised,

Promised for you and for me!

Though we have sinned, He has mercy and pardon,

Pardon for you and for me.

Whoever You Are

Written Tuesday morning September 20, 2016

I felt like someone was missing from our family. Was it the loss of babies or the family members that have gone before me in this last year? I'm not sure. But laying in bed one night I told Jeremiah of this picture in my head. The brunette bundle of a baby girl who we would call Haddie, short for Hadassah. He beamed with joy. I teared up thinking of her face. I had thought before of her brown hair and sweet skin before but put her image away. I thought I had lost her already. I remembered her again when my dad died and I thought he must be holding her tiny hands walking through a field of flowers. She may be one of the babies I'll meet one day in glory or she may be the one God has for us. I wanted to know.

But having more children? It's terrifying since I currently feel as if I'm failing the ones I have, am fighting exhaustion every day, and fear the darkness that usually looms postpartum. Why enter that? Why chance the fate of healthy children, a potential organized future life, and time to myself? Well, because the love I have for my children, even at my worst moment, is stronger than anything I've ever felt. And to think that there is someone out there still to love that fiercely is not something I could pass up.

Whoever you are, or maybe there is more than one of you, I love you so deeply already. Our life may not be perfectly smooth or  without challenges but it will be wholly submerged in deep affection and constant love.