If more women were pastors or preachers,
we’d have a lot more sermons and books about the metaphors of birth
in relation to the Christian life.
(I am kind of tired of sports metaphors.)
This creating out of passion and love,
this pain, this labour, this blurred line between joy and “please make it stop,”
this feeling of “I can’t do it” and it’s just too much,
this delivery in blood and hope and humanity?
This is the stuff of God.
I could write books about it now.
How the sacred and holy moments of life are
somehow the most raw, the most human moments.
How there is something Godly in the waiting,
in the mystery, in the fact that
we are a part of it, a partner with it
but we are not the author of it.
How you know that there is life coming
and the anticipation is sometimes exciting and other times
How there is a price that you pay,
a laying-down of sorts – of your own body,
your own sleep, your own selfishness
to rise up in baptism of heart-now-outside-your-body.
How there is a small glimpse of true Love.
But we keep it quiet
because it’s just not church-y enough
and men don’t quite understand
(and they tend to be the ones preaching)
and it’s personal, private,
there aren’t words for this
and it’s a bit too much.
It’s too much pain,
too much waiting,
too much humanity,
too much God,
too much work,
too much joy,
too much love
and far too messy.
With far too little control.
How can you explain the incarnation of birth?
How can you explain the frustrating exhausting
privilege of building life?
How can you explain how time
just before the moment of truth?
And the doubt, the wonder, the empowerment
that somehow rises up up up up.
Then there is the release
the uncontrollable laughter and tears of
look at this little person
really, truly a person here.
You’re left with only metaphors
and “it’s like this….” but it’s different for everyone
(kind of like the Kingdom of God?)
and that knowing look in another woman’s eye
when you try to explain it
this is the stuff of God.