Oliver's birth, part IV

This labor was different from the others in that while I did work through it mentally some by thinking of the moments ahead-- moments holding my baby, meeting this new little person who would change my life (and already had!) forever-- the thing that really kept me going was offering it all, the literal physical sorrow of it all, to the Lord as worship.

One song I had put on a playlist specifically for the labor kept running through my mind every time I thought I couldn't keep going:

This is not religion, as some would suppose.
But this is a love song, with every fiber of my being I compose.

I love my babies. I love the scent of a newborn, the discovery of infancy, the adventures of toddler years, the milestones of childhood.

But this time?

This time, more than any other, this was for Jesus.

I thought of the woman with the alabaster flask, pouring out the most valuable thing she had on Jesus' feet.

Just because she loved Him.

My body, being broken again, to bring forth a new life, for Him.

Because I love Him.

And He received it. And He carried me.