Dare to Be Refreshed by a Real Friend

I’ll never forget the morning I gave birth to my first son. I felt such a sense of accomplishment as the nurse laid him on my chest and said, “It’s a boy!”

I cried and kept repeating the phrase, “I did it! I did it!”

I had been in labor for twelve hours, in excruciating pain. At one point I thought I might just die. Months before the delivery, I had decided to have a natural childbirth with no medication. It seemed like a good plan at the time, but then I was dilated to nine-and-a-half centimeters and felt the urge to push. The doctors advised me not to push until I was dilated to ten centimeters because they thought I might tear my uterus.

The pain was almost too much to bear. My body was spent. I was at the end of my reserves. I wanted it all to end. I laid on my side, holding on to the bedrail, trying to remember my breathing, striving for the life of me to remember everything I was taught in Lamaze class.

Sometimes, in the middle of the pain, you forget to breathe. You forget the truth you already know.

Love Makes a Difference

In the middle of the worst part, my mom held my hand as tears streamed down her face. She mouthed, “I love you.”

A dam broke, releasing tears that had been bottled up for hours. The look in her eyes said it all: Sweet daughter, if I could take away the pain, I would. She didn’t want me to suffer. For a moment, the pain ceased. Hope pierced through me and a new strength filled my body.

I can do this, I thought.

When my son was finally born, thankfulness filled my heart. The hard work had paid off, and the pain was over. The promise—my son—was here. Holding him close and counting his ten little toes and ten little fingers, I understood that the pain had a purpose. It was all worth it.

The pain brought forth life.

The Pain We All Know

No women can deny the pain of childbearing, but sometimes we dismiss the pain of past wounds—shrugging them off as if they don’t exist, numbing ourselves with busyness, allowing bitterness to get the best of us. Saying I’m fine rather than reaching out for help. Taking control seems much more natural than surrendering. It’s much easier to stay in survival mode and do life as maintenance than to allow someone to come alongside us and speak life into our weary souls. (to be continued)

 

Read this rest over at The Glorious Table… click here to join me!

Join me there. I’d love your company!