Dear TSJ friends,
Every now and again I get a glimpse of God or at least of God at work in this magnificent universe we are born into. I think we all do even if we do not describe it that way.
A “glimpse” as the dictionary defines it, is a “partial or momentary view.”
And just a momentary or partial view of Goodness and Light can bring hope and inspiration at crucial points on our life pilgrimage. Some remain indelibly etched in our hearts and minds.
Solomon the muse here at TSJ has been sitting in the “coaching chair” lately and rather enjoying it I imagine. He keeps reminding me that he is only wise and content because he is stuffed with stories and knows the Shepherd’s Love for all of us.
You see, he has mastered the art of listening. And it is by listening we learn the most about ourselves and others. Our stories – our journeys – connect us. And here at TSJ our goal is to remember and take comfort in the motto on the wall:
“The same God who made the stars knows your name, knows your story and knows your heart.”
So it seems lately that the whole earth is groaning under the weight of the COVID-19 pandemic and risks and complexities that accompany this virus.
Coronavirus combined with the fact that today and tomorrow are birthdays of a couple of my beloveds in Texas and because I have been enjoying episodes of Call the Midwife lately I have been having flashbacks of a memory. Which brings me to today’s story about a special birth ~ which I will forever feel was a glimpse of God . . .
Ecuador, South America – 1969
My former husband and I were summer missionaries. He was there as a photographer and I was a clinical “go-fer” or “assistant.” He was a seminary student and I an elementary school teacher on summer break. He could speak Spanish and I knew almost none.
But I loved working with the nurses who did almost anything a doctor would do because the clinic doctor was away for the month. I did whatever I could to help them. They were from Scotland and England and Ecuador. Some could speak English but most could not. I did learn Spanish quite quickly but for this night it was mostly a matter of watching, listening and doing whatever I was told.
It was a real privilege for me that the nurse midwives invited me one evening to climb into the LandRover, a rickety old vehicle, and ride in the back with their medical bags. They had somehow gotten word that it was time for a particular mother of six to have another baby. Up in the Andes Mountains we went!
I was excited and scared.
They drove rapidly over the rugged mountain roads taking the twists and turns rather quickly (I thought) though adeptly, while I stared in fright out the window looking over the edge of the mountains. It was a very long way down.
I had barely eaten anything because I had altitude sickness most of the summer so I stopped eating each day around 2 pm or I would get sick to my stomach in the night.
We arrived at the small hut with its dirt floors. Their children had been hustled off into another room. This hut was larger than the others I had been in so there was an extra room walled off by a curtain. A sign of a little wealthier family.
The husband welcomed us warmly and nervously. He took us into the bedroom where it was already dark (the hut had no windows) but had the warm glow of lanterns. There was a stove and a cot in this room. Mother was on the cot and he kept scurrying about being solicitous in tending to her needs He was very loving toward her, often wiping the sweat off her brow.
Then the moans and groans increased. I had no idea of what childbirth was like other than having been brought up on a farm and watching baby calves being born.
The midwives were amazing. The mother was equally amazing and brave. I sat on a little stool up against the mud/clay wall to be out of the way. It took longer than anticipated so we were there about three hours. I was growing light headed and sleepy.
Then it happened. The pain increased for the mother. Labor pains were coming faster. The scurry of readiness and being on alert shifted the urgency of mood and actions. The midwives worked together to coach her and encourage her every inch of the way.
Then came the final push. Out came a bloody mess. The nurses cheered, the father cheered, and the baby wailed!
I was instructed to hand them a warm towel and cloth wraps for the baby.
Childbirth. Painful for most. Messy for all.
Life is full of transitions and transformations. I witnessed a perfect example. A transition from baby inside the womb to baby outside and then with the baby’s cry came a transformation. The mood changed. Faces were happy. It was a perfect baby boy! They swaddled him and put a Saraguro Indian hat on him immediately. Adorable.
Yes, Momma glowed. Dad nearly danced with joy. He hurriedly went out and came back in with something he had saved for the occasion – his special chicha, a hard alcoholic drink.
It was my first alcoholic drink ever. It burned all the way down. And I was hungry and tired. Light headed.
He spoke quickly and I could not understand a word. But I did understand his mood and excitement and desire for us to drink and of course I did. We celebrated while the mommy was lying there sweetly holding her baby. The glow of her face matched the glow in the room.
Life as they knew it was transformed yet again in that little hut tucked in the big Andes Mountains.
Suddenly, however I felt a tremor. The earth seemed to move and I leaned hard against the wall fearing I was going to faint. But it was not the drink. It was not the hunger. It was not the fatigue. It was an earthquake! A mild one, but an earthquake.
My first birth experience. My first drink. My first earth quake.
So on that night in that lowly hut in the glow of lanterns I got a glimpse of God.
A baby was born.
Momma groaned. Baby wailed. That moment between coming out and crying is always of tense anticipation, but he cried immediately! Clean up followed. All mess and worries vanished quickly. A new soul had just come to our planet.
Forty nine years ago tomorrow I was the momma. My baby was also a boy. I remembered the Ecuadorian mother when I was in labor and her story became mine. It gave me courage. And I looked forward to that wail of life! I welcomed the cry that inhales the breath of God and lets out a whoop! Life has begun!
And like my Ecuadorian model I counted his fingers and toes. Perfect. And we started the journey that never ends, A journey of love that goes beyond our visit to earth.
Even now I am remembering that birthing and grieving come in many forms. In time we will see what this pandemic is birthing in us and our world. Meanwhile in the messy process let us listen well to each other as we share our stories with honesty and hope.
Much like a mother and more, God Loves us through it all.
Solomon and I send you love and a reminder you can email me privately at marg.m.cole@gmail.com. I am a phone call or an email away and am also doing Zoom and FaceTime meetings.
I feel sure that in time our current fears, losses and frustrations will one day be transformed into stories of love and wisdom like a caterpillar becomes a butterfly.
Margie and Solomon
