Four days ago our third child was born in her own unique, perfect way that will ever be famous and remembered among the members of our family. Like every birth, it was an intense and overwhelming experience… one that is not less intense after having been through it several times before but rather, I found, more so. How can it be that a new human being emerged into the world through my body on Sunday? It seems impossible that I – that any woman – would have the opportunity to participate in a miracle of this magnitude. That she’s now sleeping casually on my chest on the couch only makes it all stranger still.
This afternoon as I was nursing our tiny newborn, my husband found one of our three chickens dead in our backyard coop. As I saw him carry its stiff body through the yard, I suddenly teared up. The dead hen was such a contrast to our fresh-from-the-womb daughter, I found it overwhelming. Last weekend was my daughter’s time to enter the world; today was the hen’s day to leave it. God’s sovereign over both.
“There is a time to be born and a time to die.” (Eccles 3:2). I had the opportunity to not just witness the birth of my daughter last weekend but to actually facilitate it. What an unspeakable privilege. I did not create this wee girl; I have nothing to do with how her cells were formed, how her bones came to calcify within her skin, the sight of her eyes or the hearing of her ears. I have nothing to do with who she is as a person. All that was – and is – God’s work. Yet He involved me… intimately. I get to be an integral part of her ‘time to be born,’ this inception of her life. Amazing.