36 Then Jesus went with them to the olive grove called Gethsemane, and he said, “Sit here while I go over there to pray.” 37 He took Peter and Zebedee’s two sons, James and John, and he became anguished and distressed. 38 He told them, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”

39 He went on a little farther and bowed with his face to the ground, praying, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.”

40 Then he returned to the disciples and found them asleep. He said to Peter, “Couldn’t you watch with me even one hour? 41 Keep watch and pray, so that you will not give in to temptation. For the spirit is willing, but the body is weak!”

Matthew 26.36-41

It was this day in our Christian calendar that Jesus went to pray.  Tomorrow is Good Friday.  I’ve always felt really defensive for Jesus when I read this part of His story.  I cannot believe Peter, James and John couldn’t stay awake!  Don’t they know what is about to happen??!!! Don’t they realize the Son of God is about to sacrifice His life for all of mankind and all He is asking for is a little moral support!  Can’t they stay awake for a little bit??? C’mon guys, this is no time to take a nap!!!

When I read this passage this morning I was reminded of something that happened to me recently.  A couple I know recently found themselves in a difficult situation.  Well, more than difficult.  Their baby they were expecting had to be taken via emergency c-section a little under two months early.  At first the baby was doing really well, under the circumstances.  Then things began to change and go downhill.  My sister, through whom I know this couple, texted me that night and asked me to pray, the baby was not doing well.  I was so grieved for them.  This was their first baby to survive after already having had one miscarriage with their first pregnancy.  They were just hopeful parents trying to grow their family.  I prayed to myself and shared the bad news with my husband.

The next morning when I woke up my sister had texted me again.  The baby had died.  It was very unexpected and sudden.  It had all happened so fast.  My heart sank.  I was haunted all day by the news and having them on my heart, prayed continually through the day.  Then I began to also grieve that perhaps I hadn’t taken my responsibility to pray very seriously.

Now, I do not believe that God deals and bargains.  That is not how prayer works.  The interaction of prayer with God’s will is much more complicated than that, more complicated than we will ever understand.  I do not believe that my lack of prayer or anyone else’s lack of prayer left God with no other choice.  However, what I was realizing is that this family was going through the hardest thing they had ever had to face and I had just said one sincere little prayer and slept peacefully that night.  Instead of having true solidarity with them through the night, sending heartfelt prayers and love their way, I had found my own rest and shut down for the evening.

I think God knows we are weak.  Jesus knew the disciples were weak, and actually kind of spiritually useless in that moment but I think what He was looking for was just companionship.  Solidarity.  Maybe all He was asking for was a hand on His shoulder saying, “I don’t really know what I can do to help but I’m here for you.”  ”I don’t even really understand what is going on but I’ll stay up all night with you if that’s what you need.”  I think I would have fallen asleep on Jesus, trusting as always in His power that everything was just going to turn out fine.

God, today I am reminded that I am weak and You are strong.  That although my spirit is willing, my flesh is weak.  My faith in You, although great, tends to make me spiritually lazy sometimes, apathetic when someone really needs my compassion and empathy.  Help me in those situations where my brother or sister needs me, to rise to the occasion and do all that I can do.  For what good is my faith in You if it doesn’t help the community around me.  Wake up my flesh, when I have a responsibility to You and your kingdom!  

In Chapter One of The Heart of the Artist by Rory Noland, he talks about “Proven Character”.  In order for our art to be authentic, we have to have the integrity to back it up.  Integrity comes from character and character, I’m afraid, comes from struggle.

Unfortunately, with all the God-given talent one might be born with, no one is going to give your art (or you as a person) the time of day if it doesn’t ooze character and authenticity.  Noland reminds us, “The non-Christian can detect when we’re being inauthentic.”

“Authenticity,” he says, “is a powerful witness to the presence of God in our lives.  It doesn’t mean that we’re perfect.  It means that we’re real.  It means that we’re honest about our imperfections and our struggles.  We don’t gloss over them and put on a happy Christian face to cover up our pain.  We admit that we struggle.”

Now, on a side-note, I would like to point out that real is not always negative, negative, negative.  Sometimes, and hopefully if you’re a Christian, it’s negative with a side of hope.  If we’re going through hard times and never speak words of faith and still can’t find our joy, what does that show our non-believing neighbor?  Anyway…another blog for another day.

The beauty behind struggle comes when we are in-touch with our feelings but not controlled by them.  The reason struggle builds character is because difficulty demands a response.  One day, this struggle will be over and when we get to the other side, what will we have to say for ourselves?  Fighting it only makes it last longer.  Dwelling on it only makes it bigger than it really is.  We have to embrace it.  Noland writes, “Character growth is actually the reward.  It’s the result of being faithful.  It’s the reward for persevering through difficulty.”

I’ve blogged before about struggle and how it is reflected in the birth of a child.  You can read about it here.

See, I believe struggle, as much as I hate it, is a gift from God, not a punishment.  I believe that He knows that only when we come out on the other side of something we fought hard for, will we truly feel ownership and strength in our victories.  I don’t do very well with a faith that requires nothing of me.  Just wishing for God to fix all my problems makes me feel distant and more like a pawn than a child in His kingdom.

As I personally reflect on this Holy Week, I grieve with Christ that He had to walk that road for me.  I’m sad that God made the rules that way.  But I think I understand why He did.  It would have been so easy for Him to snap His fingers and start all over again, taking some of our own will out of the equation the second time around.  He wouldn’t have had to make Himself seem weak, or agonize between deciding to feel real earthly pain and fulfilling His ultimate purpose.  He knew that everyone was watching, for the rest of history.  He knew that if He didn’t finish the struggle and push through and carry Himself with integrity and worthiness of His calling, than people wouldn’t change.  They would never realize their own potential in struggle.  They would never turn to the Father and they would never have the strength to live out what God had created in them.

Faith became alive.  It was no longer just believing in and trying to please the smoky cloud in the sky (that was for all the LOST fans out there).  Now it was something that could be lived out and pursued.  Now we had a relationship.

I am so glad, looking back, that I made it through so many things and I lived to tell about why struggle makes you a better person.  Now my worship, my art, my parenting, my words have meaning and value.

This vC semester of small groups I led a group that has gone through the book The Heart of the Artist by Rory Noland.  If you have never read the book and this peaks your interest, I highly recommend it.  Whether you consider yourself an artist or not, there are limitless things you can take away from it.  In our group we so often used phrases like “this is really something everyone should hear” or “I wish other people could read this”, that I have decided to blog and highlight some of the points we focused on.

“He made us.  He loves us and He understands us.” (introduction)

Many people tend to group some of us into the “strange artsy types” category.  When I was in high school there was sort of this derogatory reference: “she hangs out on the art hall”.  The funny thing about these words is that while most students in the school might cringe at hearing them, those of us who actually hung out on the art hall a lot found comfort and familiarity in those words.  There was an understood respect from one “art hall” person to another.  We were a kind of beautiful, dis-functional, sometimes sad, and maybe a little scary, family.  We ranged from band students (me) to actors and vocal performers (me again) to painters and sculptors.  Set-builders, guitar-strummers, often what appeared to be an unruly crew of hippies and goths (again, me and me depending on what week it was).  Strange artsy types.

The good news is, if you can relate to any of the above descriptions, you’re in very good company.  The Bible’s King David comes to mind.  ”Artists respond differently to things than nonartists do…we tend to be more sensitive” Noland writes.  He goes on to point out, “Everyone with an artistic temperament has been told at some point in his or her life to develop a thicker skin.  That’s nonsense! The world doesn’t need more thick-skinned people.”

What a special calling and make-up is involved for those God created to be artists!

What most people don’t understand, when they don’t take the time, is how that sensitivity plays into every single day of an artist’s life.  This can be negative, especially if misunderstood or disproportioned, but like most personality traits, if used correctly as the gift and the tool that it is, this sensitivity can be the key to realizing the fullness of who God is.  If nurtured and allowed to form to God’s blueprints, it can flourish into an awe-inspiring gift.  If discouraged and snuffed out, or continually misunderstood and stifled, it can lead one down a painful path of rebellion and identity crisis, of failure and perpetual searching in the wrong places for purpose and place.

In my family, the Alexander family, we have what we call “cartoon eyes”.  I can count 11 of us right off the top of my head that I know for a fact see through eyes like these.  When we see what other people see, our view has a certain distortion to detail, maybe exaggeration in certain details, an exaggeration that may come through sensitivity to a certain overwhelmingly-felt emotion, a distortion to a certain visual detail that seems to stand out far above any other, as if everything were drawn in caricature style.  This can lead to fears of things most people wouldn’t consider scary and humor in things others might perceive as grotesque or strange.  The key word in all of this is sensitivity, mostly to detail.

My son Lex has this kind of perception.  Sometimes I get him when no one else does.  Sometimes I see it in his eyes, his little gears turning in his head, as he observes something and I see how it is affecting him.  I’m thankful for those moments when I pre-empt a scary moment because I see how his mind works before he has time to process and then we talk it out.  He’s a great artist, already.  Not just because he’s mine.  He really is great.  His sensitivity makes him great at viewing the world and interpreting it through lines, curves and colors.

I never want to stifle that in him.  I never want to stop him from seeing the world the way his eyes see it.  I never want anyone to try to make him conform.  They will try and sometimes he will give in, but for now, let’s protect that.  He has a gateway to God’s heart that some people walk right by when they’re searching. Others you know have it too.  Can we just appreciate that about those strange artsy types and take the time to encourage them?  They might know something you don’t know.  More likely, they just feel it.

My hands always have ink, pencil lead, paint or marker on them.  I don’t do it intentionally, it just gets on there and stays most of the time.  Washing it off one day and replacing it with more the next day.  My nails, although painted from time to time, are rarely pretty.  I keep them short and occasionally, in the summer, when I’m working outside, they get dirt under them. And I don’t really care.  I will wash it off when they need to be clean.//

My favorite kind of feet are bare and rough and playing-outside summer feet.  Whether it’s my own or my kids’ little feeties, I love them when they look like they’ve been outside all day– bare, rough, with flip-flop tan lines, black on the bottom.  When I was a kid I would walk barefoot as much as possible.  My goal was to make my feet so rough and durable that whether walking across grass or gravel, you wouldn’t hear a whimper from me.

We rarely do socks around our house.  Only winter nights when you can’t get warm and there’s just no other way.  We love blankets and sweaters but like to walk barefoot, feeling the grainy old hard wood under our feet.  I have battles with my kids in the winter about not going outside barefoot.  They just prefer it.  I don’t blame them.//

I love wrinkles.  I know I’m not supposed to but I think aging is beautiful.  Especially on hands.  My grandfather is a carpenter.  Actually, he is pretty much great at any kind of job involving tools.  He was an important businessman in his company for most of my life and looked dashing in a suit. Man, he looks sharp!  But what I always loved most of all were his calloused hands.  The way they would sneak out of his fancy suit sleeve, showing that he wasn’t just smooth good looks, but that he worked hard, and made things with his bare hands.

My Dad has thick callouses on his finger tips.  And very strong hands.  All from playing guitar.  He had to bleed to get those.  He had to really want to be a guitarist and force his body to actually want it too.  His hands are brave and creative hands.//

It doesn’t matter how advanced we become, I will always prefer wooden pencils that need sharpening and smell like an artist’s drawing board or a carpenter’s shop.  Even though I read e-books, I still love real books, with pages.  I will never be able to leave the world of musty smelling, yellowed pages of old books behind.  Something about the feel and the smell of them.//

I can’t help but think God is the same way– rough, beautifully aged.  Maybe He has a perpetual sketcher’s pencil lead shading on the outer edge of his hand too– you know that side that leads up your pinky?  Maybe he has dirt under His nails.  He probably does, like rough mechanic hands.  I bet when He thinks of all the smells He generated through His creation over time, that library book smell is a personal favorite.  Maybe He has the forever-spray-paint stain on his forefinger like the mark of graffiti artists. Jesus came to walk among us, and we know His feet got dirty.  Earthy.  Grimy.  Messy.  All marks of experience, wisdom, marks of a creator.

I had a conversation recently about what Jesus must have been like.  I’ve had this conversation so many times before.  It’s intense to think about isn’t it?  In these conversations I realize the things I love about my Savior– also the things He has created me to be and to love like Him.  Maybe not pretty, but beautiful.  Maybe worn, but also wise.  Hands, covered in remnants of where you poured your soul into something.  A little calloused, but in a good way– in a way that means durable and faithful.

He is not and has never been lofty.  He is and will forever be a hands-on artist.  He was and is very real.  If anything, aren’t we the ones that try to be lofty?  And He gladly comes to us and sits us down, where we are, and reminds us that He created us Here, in the messy, grimy, realness of this world– and He is Here too, and This is Where He wants to be– and Where He wants us to be.  In the middle of it all.  Soaking it in.

Happy Fat Tuesday!  That’s right.  I have to admit, I love the idea of a day that is dedicated wholly to eating, drinking and being merry (and I don’t mean in the Mardi Gras kind of way).  What I am really contemplating this morning is the practice of fasting.  I usually participate in Lent and I will this year.  I love any ritual in our church traditions because I strongly believe that people need to practice disciplines.  We are creatures of habit and without some practices being lived out in traditions, we quickly, and I mean really quickly forget to do it at all.  So, I’m thankful for set-aside times in our Christian calendar that remind us that we should discipline a certain area of our life to be more devoted to Christ.

On another note, corporate fasts or traditions are no excuse for not living it out everyday.  I was reading a blog this morning that sent me down this train of thought.  The blogger highlighted the scripture about fasting found in Isaiah 58 where basically tells the people (as He does many times in scripture) that their fasting means nothing, their ashes mean nothing, their ritual sacrifice means nothing to Him.  He says that what would get His attention would be if they were to

“Free those who are wrongly imprisoned;

lighten the burden of those who work for you.  

Let the oppressed go free,

and remove the chains that bind people.”

He goes on to list other things like taking care of the hungry, the homeless and the naked.  Really good stuff.  What stood out to me this morning were the words above.  He says “Free those who are wrongly imprisoned”.  Sure, the world desperately needs people more concerned with the slave trade that still occurs everyday in parts of the world, including our own “home of the free”.  Add to that the number of innocent lives wrongly imprisoned in oppressive cultures.  These are desperate needs.  But then I also think about the kinds of issues we have warring in our own hearts.  How we imprison others through our hatred, bitterness, criticism, anger...should I keep going or is it stinging yet?  It stings for me.

See, we have fooled ourselves.  Somewhere along the way we started justifying our anger by calling it “righteous indignation”.  It makes us feel more Jesus-like doesn’t it?  Don’t get me wrong, Jesus got fiery and some people need to realize that part of being like Jesus.  But some of us, some of us need to re-examine.  See, it is not enough to just work on the relationship you  have with GOD.  You can go to all the Bible studies, church services and do all the culturally-Christian approved works but if you hate your neighbor or allow the very mention of their name (or their ministry, or their political position…hmmm) to stir up anger and hate-filled criticism in your heart, then YOU are holding them captive and all your other works are fruitless.

Lord, we need boundaries.  We need a better understanding of what that anger was You were embracing that day when You turned over the tables.  Help us to stand for what’s right, to free those imprisoned by injustice, but help us to not imprison someone else in the process.  Let our fasting, our discipline, our sacrifice be sweet to Your nostrils, not repulsive.

There are sosososososo many days as a Mama that I end my day reflecting on how I missed the mark, or how I could have responded better, or was I at all present in the moments, or…the list goes on.  You’ve done it too.  It’s tough, you know.  It’s tough and then we’re tough on ourselves, aren’t we?

My husband would tell you that I take this subject to the extreme.  It’s true.  I demand more than most days are capable of and I think I need to do that, to expect more out of myself than is possible because then, maybe in reaching that high, I might hit an acceptable mark for them– for the boys.  I have a constant nagging in my soul that I’m going to have to make sure that when they look back on these years they will see and know that I was there, that we giggled together, that we created masterpieces (and saved them all, Lord help us!), that we learned a lot together.  It’s a Mama thing.  You won’t hear me say that I meet my expectations.  That I finish my to-do list, manage the household, coupon (which should be considered a part-time job!), cook a Pinterest-worthy dinner  and invest loads of quality time into my kids’ days.  Not on this blog.  I’m sorry, I don’t know how people get all that done and manage to find time to blog about tips to help other people get it done.  What??? Who are these people???

No, instead I will tell you about this.

About when they sing.  

Lex has been walking around the house this week, for days, singing “You’re altogether lovely, altogether worthy, altogether wonderful to meeee.”  At night when Josh and I tuck them in, we pray and then they get to choose a song.  Inevitably, every night, they choose an old jazz standard, a Disney tune, or a Beatles hit.  Let me tell ya, that makes this Mama proud.  Then they belt out every word to songs like “Yesterday” and “When You Wish Upon A Star”.  All of these times I realize, no matter what I’ve failed to teach them, one thing has stuck, permanently.  
  In this family we like to talk about the “movie soundtracks to our life”.  They are always going to know how to worship, belting it out like God and everybody want to hear it.  Because even if everybody else doesn’t want to hear it, He does.  And that’s all that matters.

There is an ongoing debate in the online world.  What does social media do for us and what is it doing to us?  I have been a big supporter of Facebook and Twitter for a long time.  It has been a major form of communication for me.  I like how I can get my messages from you easily and quickly without having to sift through the junk email.  I love how easy it is to post pictures of my family for my out-of-town relatives to see.  I love how it keeps me in touch with my church family and what they’re doing through the week.  We all feel a lot more connected this way.  It’s amazing that I can stay in touch with people across the globe and even find kindred support from someone else in my position all the way across the country (maybe we’ve never even met!) just by reading their blog.  There is no limit and I feel so empowered to be in ministry in 2012 with those kinds of resources!

There are many things I do not like, however.  I don’t like accidentally eavesdropping on conversations that passive-aggressively refer to myself, my church or friends of mine.  I don’t enjoy seeing everything people say to and about YOU!  It is none of my business after all.  I recently read a blog about all of this.  The writer said, “Disembodied communication can make being a sociopath quite easy.”  What she meant was, when you have disembodied conversations, it’s too easy to impulsively type something you would otherwise never have the guts to say to that person’s face.  Oh, we could go back and forth all day long about how you “would” say those things to that person’s face but if we’re honest here, you know you wouldn’t.  All of this, not to mention the fact that typing messages in the absence of tone and facial expression is easily misinterpreted.  When you have disembodied conversations, you forget that she is a person, with a family, with a heart, or that on facebook, he’s got about 650 friends watching you slander him.  So see, your words come out brutal and without empathy.  We see glimpses into your heart that otherwise, with more courage involved might be more thought through before the big reveal.  And, as we all have seen, even if you delete it, it was already out there and somebody already saw it.

So should we all be dishonest then?

Well, maybe it’s not dishonesty but what my husband recently referred to as “social networking modesty”.  There is a reason why we only choose to live with the people we trust most.  It would be inappropriate and cause awkward complications if you and your family moved in with the CEO of the company you work for.  There is a whole private side to your life that you would never want that person to know about, and they would probably feel the same.  Does that offend you?  Of course not.  If you were to come over to my house this evening for coffee, I wouldn’t leave my dirty clothes out in the hallway for you to see.  Do I think that you actually believe I never have dirty laundry?  No, but it would be inappropriate for me to leave it laying out for company to step over.  Does my husband step over them?  Sure.  And I step over his.  But I don’t expose others to that private side of my everyday.  Would you think that dishonest or fake of me?  No.  You would do the same.

So why then do people decide to have very private confrontations on the “walls” of social networks?  Frankly, some of the vomit I read people “commenting” is repulsive and embarrassing and it’s obvious they meant for it to be seen, which is an even deeper issue of the heart.  Especially when they do it in the name of God.  (Perhaps in addition to a “comment” and “like” option we should also have a “throw a punch” button or a “hit to the gut”.)  I recently heard a pastor say this, “Just because the expression of your views is accessible and affordable doesn’t mean it’s Biblical.”  How true!  I’m very thankful that I am able to share my views and opinions openly for those who choose to read but I feel that we are still obligated to our convictions and manners…or do any of us even know what that means anymore?

I have recently discovered a bad taste in my mouth– the source?  Mostly christian, overly critical, opinionated about everything.  The old adage comes to mind: If everything’s a protest than nothing is.  Ouch!  I have been guilty of that.  And, in a world where silence looks weak and polite looks fake– a world where strength always means louder and pushier, I find myself not wanting to play anymore.  Anyone else just feel like they need a break?  I’m weary of the fighting, sick from watching people get beat up over and over in the name of what’s right. As everyone gathers in the online world and bleeds all over each other, sometimes foolishly vulnerable and sometimes hastily uncaring, let’s not forget that these are human beings, not avatars.  These are matters of the heart, not games of who can get the most “like” points.

So, that’s my opinion for today

I don’t like the whole perfection thing.  My dislike of it, however, does not remove it from my tendency to put that pressure on myself.  Several months ago God spoke to me one word: Balance.  He hasn’t let me get away from it since.  I have been striving for balance and praying every time I pray for our church family that they would also find balance.  Without balance how will we ever make our priorities straight?  How will we ever get to small group?  Much less, lead one?  How will we ever find that quiet time?…don’t even get this Mama started on that topic.  How will we ever get everyone to sit down around the dinner table together without a fuss?

Yesterday, I did not feel balanced.  I woke up at 3 am with a migraine and everything was thrown off.  (Well, not everything.  My husband multi-tasked like you wouldn’t believe between his usual responsibilities and most of mine.  He was awesome!)  My body put a halt on my fasting plans.  My dog ended up spending most of her day crated (it was rainy).  On top of all that, life didn’t stop.  Not even for a minute.

So what is the balance I’m looking for?  I’m sure I haven’t figured it out yet.  Still, I think I am realizing that somewhere between Martha Stewart and Snooki there is a reality that I can embrace.  I don’t have to have all the dishes done everyday for my day to be a success.  Not being able to locate a clean pair of socks for my 5 year old does not make me a horrible mom.  My 2 year old will not be scarred for life from one more hour of Charlie & Lola.  And, after some adjusting to my menu, I will pick up the fast where I left off.  Yesterday I learned that sometimes balance looks like leaning on my husband to pick up my slack and not feeling guilty about it.  Or calling a friend to bring over her migraine cures and a prayer.

Today my prayer is this…still:

Lord, teach me to find that balance.  Teach my friends and family to find it too.  Help us to embrace life as You have given it to us and not take a moment for granted.  Help us to know what’s important– that being truly discipled, and laughing with our family, and talking with you all day (even if the only quiet time is in the shower), are the most important priorities we could ever establish.  Help us to give ourselves and others the measure of grace that is needed.  For how will we ever give out that much grace if we don’t allow it for ourselves?  Help us to remember that dwelling on yesterday’s shortcomings does not help us find the best of ourselves.  As always, help us to walk in the things You are revealing to us daily.  Amen.       

Last year I wrote about my reflections on pregnancy and Mary during this time of year.  You can read part 1 below.  This year I can’t help but reflect a lot on the birth, because that is where I am.  Last year many things in my life were in a preparation stage.  A waiting stage.  While, I would never try to say that God ever stops working on us and preparing us for the next thing, I think there is much to be said for when the birth starts.

Having had two children of my own, I am quite familiar with the process of birth and how each stage in the process prepares you for the next.  As we all know, birth is very different from the pregnancy.  42 weeks of just anticipation gets long, slow and hopefully is not very action-packed (as this would indicate a problem).  The anticipation is joyful, and usually exciting but prenatal excitement cannot even compare to the excitement and momentum of the birth.

When a first-time mama inquires of other mamas asking, “How will I know when it is time?”, the other mamas usually reply with something like, “Oh, you’ll know!”  While a first-time mama may falsely diagnose certain symptoms as being signs of early labor, I would guess that most veterans would not, as there is little mistaking the real deal (provided there was no inducing their first time around).  It is true.  There is no way to describe it accurately to someone.  The pain, the energy, the vibe, the intensity– there are no words for it so trying to sum up that experience and instinct into words will only mislead someone or cause them to misinterpret their own experience.

Our church is in labor now.  I personally, in my ministry, am in labor now.  While I know that just like in physical birth, there are still stages and preparations for what is coming, I feel the momentum.  I feel the pain, the energy, the vibe, the intensity.  As it was when my boys were born, it is scary.  In my soul I know I was created to do this, I know I can handle it, but anticipating the intensity of the next stage is daunting.  Sometimes it makes me doubt– not in God but in myself.  Sometimes it makes me cringe and double over in pain because it takes every ounce of faith and stamina that I have to withstand it.  Sometimes it rejuvenates me!  It empowers my dreams and with every little sign of progress I know the reward is getting closer!

I think all mothers understand, better than anyone, why God uses birth as a metaphor for so many parts of our journey.  It is quite clear to me why He had Jesus be born from a woman rather than just appear on the scene as a man.  There is no more primal, desperate, beautiful and rewarding struggle than that of a mama giving birth.  Since the Bible isn’t very graphic or descriptive of the birth of Jesus, I think that it becomes the responsibility of the mamas to tell that part of Mary’s story, to use our own descriptions of the birth experience to convey what it must have been like.

The lesson to be learned from the birthing process is to trust it.  Pain is not a negative thing in birth.  Pain is the push.  Without the pain, your muscles in a normal state do not have the strength to follow through and push the baby out.  The pain, the contraction, is what pushes your body over that line to find the superhuman strength it needs to do what it has to do.

When God is doing something great, there will be pain.  The challenge is to trust Him, to trust the process.  I won’t get on this soapbox now, and I don’t mean to offend anyone but studies show that intervention and measures of convenience in labor lead to more problems than not.  There is no easy way if you want the satisfaction of knowing that you did it.  And, sometimes the easy way ends up being the most time consuming and dangerous way.  There is really nothing like that feeling when you push through and accomplish something through God-given strength that you truly labored over.

Here is a part of my birthing journal that I recorded right after my first son Lex was born.

I was fully aware and fully present at Lex’s birth.  It was a beautiful experience, learning about how life comes into the world, “always pain before a child is born” (U2), the rebirth of my own self.  I learned so much about myself and my strength.  I have “failed” at many other things in my life.  The fight to bring Lex into the world meant everything to me.  I genuinely wanted to do it no matter what the pain, no matter what it cost me– and I did it!  I know now that when I really want something badly enough, I can do it!

Jesus, thank you for being born.  Thank you that nothing comes easy with you, because that gives everything in Your Kingdom priceless value.  Help us to remember, as we journey along this path, that You have taught us that it will be well-worth the struggle.