Four months and five days ago I gave birth to my first child: a boy named Quinn. I went into labor while I was at work one morning, several days before my due date. I stayed at work long enough to participate in a conference call and attend a staff meeting, because I wasn't convinced that the strange sensations pulsing through my tired pregnant body were what I had been waiting almost 9 months to experience. At about one o'clock, I decided to go home, "just in case."

Good thing I did. After doing everything I was told to do to stop false labor pains (eat, take a walk, take a bath), I finally concluded that this was it: this was real. I expected panic to set it at this point, but to my surprise, it didn't. Instead, my husband and I starting putting into practice all the techniques we had learned in our child birthing class. I breathed deeply, he massaged by lower back; I relaxed my muscles, he reminded me not to tense my shoulders and furrow my brow (a nasty habit of mine when I am stressed.)

Time passed quickly. We stayed at home for as long as possible, until the contractions were coming one quickly after the other and the pain was bordering on being unbearable. As we made the short drive to the hospital shortly after midnight, the pain intensified, and by the time I was in my hospital room it had definitively crossed over to the realm of the unbearable. For those of you who might have read my previous posts, you might already know that I was planning on having a natural child birth (i.e. without pain medication). By this point, however, I was seriously doubting my ability to go through with a natural child birth. But as each contraction faded, I kept telling myself that I could make it through one more. Just one more. And one by one, doubting myself the entire way, one by one, telling myself I could do it, the contractions gave way to an irresistable need to PUSH.

Fifteen minutes later it was over. A small, warm, beautiful boy lay on my chest. Fatigue gave way to joy, and I couldn't take my hands or my eyes off of him.

At that moment, I thought that child birth would be the most difficult thing I would ever endure. But the first few days of being a mother quickly convinced me that giving birth is cake compared to what follows. Becoming a mother, that's the real work.

At those moments when panic threatens to set in (and it sometimes does more than just threaten), I try to remember to breathe, relax, lower my shoulders and unscrunch my face. I'm constantly reminding myself that parenthood, that life, is not easy. Life is a long journey that requires endurance. The exercises from my child birthing class help. But what helps even more are the spiritual expercises I've learned during my time in the church.

This Lent I recommitted myself to several spiritual exercises. I have to admit that in recent years I have become lax in this area. But as surely as I would not have been able to give birth to Quinn naturally without putting into practice several key exercises, so I am convinced that I cannot make it through this life without putting into practice several key spiritual exercises. Prayer, reading, service--these are the breaths that get me through from one "contraction" to the next. And one by one, doubting myself the whole way, one by one, telling myself that--with God's help--I can do it, fear gives way to faith.

Praise God Noelle,
for the safe birth of your child. May God give you strength day by day and more and more joy in your experience of caring for your child.
Blessings in Christ,
Viola

Thank you, Viola. I appreciate your prayer for strength and joy. We need both to make it through, don't we? May you also be blessed with strength and joy this Easter season.

Peace to you,
Noelle