I BELIEVE

         A friend of mine had a baby today.  Looking at the picture of her baby lying on her chest stung me deep to my core.  You can always tell when a baby is a c-section baby because they are laying on a draped chest with arms so still not even a hurricane could move them.  I have c-section babies.  Four of them.  My first c-section was over 10 years ago and it still hurts.  The trauma, the sounds, the bright and sterile room.  The agony of my sweet twin little girls being whisked away to ICU and being told I wouldn't even be able to hold them for at least 2 days because it would "be too stimulating." The long dreadful 4 days of preparing to nurse babies that I couldn't even touch.  The burning and stinging in my abdomen from being cut open and too worried over my babies to rest.  The 9 days until I was finally able to lay my sweet girls in their own crib in their own room.  It hurts.  What has been most painful to me of all these memories was the joy and gratitude I felt being stolen by someone I trusted dearly.  Someone who I allowed to make me feel like less of a woman because I did not know long hours of labor prior to all of this pain.  I did not know what it meant to expel these beautiful miracles from my body spontaneously and intentionally.  I knew six weeks of bed-rest with numerous injections and phone calls to nurses and ultrasounds. I knew scalpels and stitches and staples and a 6 inch scar.  I only knew a mountain of new words that encircled "high risk pregnancy" and the possibility of paralysis following my surgery.  I only knew the worry of my children wearing breathing monitors for 4 long months and multiple medical deliveries to my front door.  I knew the panic in my chest that came with the long loud beep that sounds like a fire alarm to inform me that one of my little baby girls may have just stopped breathing.  I knew having to be ready to perform CPR any moment on a tiny 5 pound frame.  I do not believe this friend meant harm or had any idea of how deeply her words would sting.  How many years they would last. 
         Since that time, when I was told I was less of a woman, I have struggled. I have believed it.  I have allowed myself to feel inadequate as a mother.  For some reason, looking at another precious miracle on another chest of a woman who just endured immeasurable amounts of pain to give her child life, gave breath to all of these words.  Seeing that life reminded me of how much it hurts and how many emotions I feel when a friend of mine has a baby without a caesarean or when I hear her tales of labor and hours of pushing.  I was reminded how inadequate I feel.  And then my heart began to stir.
          I began to think of my four beautiful children sleeping in the next room.  They are here because of a marvelous Creator who graciously chose me to be the vessel to bring them into this world.  He chose ME to house them while they were fearfully and wonderfully made.  I know what it is to have all day nausea and leg cramps. I endured the flu and PUPPS and heartburn that stung so badly all I could do was cry.  I know sleepless nights of discomfort from feeling a foot in my rib or constant vomiting.  I have known hours upon hours of doctors appointments and hours upon hours of prayer.  I know the worry that comes from hoping just to carry to term and visits to the emergency room when that precious little life seems for a moment to be threatened.  I have known thousands of diaper changes, giggles, and bedtime prayers.  I have known sleepless nights with sick children, wiping tears that fall on sweet baby faces, and colored walls down my hallway.  I have known endless laundry, homework, kissing boo-boo's, outgrowing shoes.   I know a love that is so vast, so unexplainable, so deep to my core it sometimes physically hurts.  
            I am a mother.  I am their mother.  I am the one to pour out love and pray and encourage and discipline.  
            It is insignificant how they arrived from womb to world.  What is remarkable, however, is how they are loved.  How they are cherished.  How they are adored.  So with these thoughts, I choose to put to rest my feelings of inadequacy.  I choose to believe I am a great woman because my Abba Father defines me.  I choose to feel grateful and not for even the slightest second take for granted this gift, this gift of motherhood, this gift of life.  I choose to no longer allow another's words to hurt or define me or tarnish my birth experience.  I choose to pray for the barren and the orphan who so desperately long for one another.  I choose to trust the Lord's plans for me and hope to be a woman of encouragement.  I pray to never squash another woman's spirit or cause her to feel like less of a person.  I praise an almighty God who brings healing to our wounds and I rejoice over scars.  Our scars are our story.  Our scars are our evidence.  Evidence of great pain. Evidence of our flesh.  Evidence that we have a great story to tell.  Evidence that we are not alone in our struggles and that someone else needs healing.  Evidence of strength and that something that may have once been dark can now be bathed in the light.  

         

~ I pray you be encouraged in this moment and that you feel hope. I sincerely desire to remember that we are defined by the word. We CAN have the mind of Christ.  We CAN pursue righteousness.  We CAN have healing. Blessings over your sweet souls today!~