House on the Rock

It’s official. I’m off social media. It is far and away my most on-again-off-again relationship, middle school romances notwithstanding. And I’m not totally sure what was the breaking point: the callousness toward Lindsay Clancy’s murdered children, the emptiness of infinite scroll without actually seeing any updates from people I know, or — most likely — the momfluencers telling me how I can do three simple steps to guarantee a perfect labor.

And “off” is a bit of a strong term, especially considering I run my church’s social media account, combined with the fact that I’ll occasionally pop in to see who had babies or whether Westfield won the big game. But for most of my waking hours, and as far as the apps on my phone are concerned, I am (mostly) officially off.

Because what social media has preached to me for long enough now is that A) everyone’s lives (and labors) are perfect and B) mine can (and should) be too.

It’s post after post after post of the front-lit Facebooker holding a tiny baby as she walks through the ways her every prayer was answered for a perfect labor. And I can stomach that, because I believe in a God who answers prayers perfectly. And though I’ll never know her, I’m happy for her — genuinely. Praise God for His providence in her life!

But then she (and keep in mind, this “she” is allegorical — a fictional representative of the broader themes delivered across my feed) weaves in one subtle sentence, a well-intentioned nicety that was meant to encourage but in reality tells little of the King I worship:

“God’s will is for you to have a perfect labor too.”

I pause the reel, puzzled. What does this mean for me, a pregnant mom-of-one whose 36-hour labor ended with severe tearing and a life-threatening hemorrhage? Or what about the woman in my church whose child did not survive the delivery? The sweet young Christian neighbor I know whose baby was resuscitated on the table while she lay shrouded in the darkness of general anesthesia? Does God’s will not extend to us? Or did we do something along the way to botch it?

I think it’s why I was so deeply angry last Sunday when our false-alarm labor left me bedridden and bitter with no baby yet delivered. I had, perhaps, started to believe the lie that I deserved this easy, early labor, and better yet, that God had even willed it for my life.

So you can imagine the blissful clarity that came as I listened to that Sunday’s sermon recording. I was initially a bit disgruntled with the sermon, seeing as though I was working to corral sugar-high second graders while fighting off contractions as minute after minute moseyed past noon. And Pastor Jeff knows I (jokingly) felt this way, but it was the very words holding me hostage in Kids Ministry that eventually brought such freedom to my soul.

He shared the very true story of 1 Thessalonians 4:3: “For this is God’s will, your sanctification.”

There it was: God’s will for my life. My sanctification. That I would be made more holy, more like Jesus. Not a perfect labor. Not an easy delivery. Not a life of health or wealth or sunny skies and smooth sailing. My sanctification.

And how might His will for my life play out? It could be a perfect labor. There’s still time for that to happen. But it could also be another hemorrhage. A late-arriving baby. A few false alarms and being sent home. It could be an emergency C-section. It could be something worse. But trusting that He loves me enough to will my sanctification is carrying my through these final weeks of pregnancy. It’s sustaining me in the days of waiting. It’s holding me as I hope for things to go smoothly, but trust that He knows exactly what is best.

So should I ever be so destitute that being a momfluencer becomes financially necessary, this is the message I’d want to make known:

God can give you a perfect labor, but His will is to make you more holy.

Hallelujah — thanks be to God!