House on the Rock

It’s no secret that I didn’t exactly have my dream delivery when Luke Thomas House came into this world. The 36-hour labor, no epidural, full Pitocin, massive-hemorrhage-birth wasn’t a part of my perfect plan. If you’ve read our birth story, you might even be surprised that we’d want another kid at all!

And despite all the midwives’ best intentions of reassurance, it’s hard to suppress the anxious thoughts that cloud my mind when I picture the end of September. Will this baby come even later? Will I labor even longer? Could I hemorrhage harder than I did when little Luke was born? I’ve certainly cast off all wishes for a natural induction or Pitocinless pushing. Even though I know that God can do all things and is more than capable of redeeming our birth story, it’s been a challenge to channel my thoughts to faithful confidence in His plan. I’m much more prone to worry.

I obviously have no idea what the future will hold. I have a whole other blog post drafted about ways I’m going to pray differently this time around. But on this slow and sleepy Saturday, as I scramble to get caught up on my Scripture memory schedule, I’m struck by the story of who God is throughout Psalm 139. When anxious thoughts and questions creep in, I want this passage to guide my every breath. I want to come up on the other side and know more deeply, more fully, and more sweetly, that God is who He says He is and every trial is made for us to fling ourselves at His feet.

Walk through this with me and be in awe of our all-knowing, ever-present God.

When I feel overwhelmed by unknowns and fear that God might not see me through all the steps of giving birth: “You know when I sit down and when I stand up…You observe my travels and my rest.”

When I feel frustrated that all my friends seem to have perfect labors, believing the lie that no one else can grasp the trauma that trails behind me: “You understand my thoughts from far away.”

When I feel afraid that the presence of mere mortals won’t be enough to protect me in the delivery room: “You have encircled me; You have placed your hand on me.”

When I dread a long labor through the night, shrouded in darkness, alone while the world sleeps and void of the power to progress quickly: “Even the darkness is not dark to You.”

When I worry that our lovely Lainey might have complications due to the antibodies built up in my blood: “You created my inward parts; You knit me together in my mother’s womb.”

When I lament that my malformed vertebrae resulted in a scoliosis surgery that prohibits an epidural: “My bones were not hidden from You when I was made in secret.”

When I hate not knowing how the plan will unfold: “All my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one began.”

And when I struggle to truly believe that His ways are higher, His plan is perfect, and His goal for my life is His glory: “How precious are your thoughts to me!”

This Psalm seems custom-made to be permanently printed in a delivery room. I want every jot and tittle etched deep into my soul as I sit, stand, sleep, curb-walk, labor, push, and deliver this darling daughter of ours.

If absolutely nothing goes according to my plan, may I find rest in the fact that God has penned my every day, He knows my every move, and there is nothing He doesn’t know or can’t do.