On my drive to work yesterday, I contemplated that I have only 3 weeks left at RFM hospital. The same RFM I prayed for many months for the Labor Ward doors to open. The same RFM where many advised me to not enter, to not bother. The RFM where mothers told me stories with wild eyes and hands shaking from their traumatic births. The very place I felt honored to be invited into to work as a doula, I will now be leaving … for 5 months minimum.
I trust The Lord in the coming of our child into the world. I trust the King has greater plans that I. I trust He can open the hearts of all the midwives towards compassion and excellent care. I trust His presence in this journey all along.
And yet, I found myself doubting on my drive. Should I really take a few weeks off before our due date? If I’m not there, will the doula project ever manifest? Will I have time, or energy, or a brain to try and recruit trainers to come and raise up a battalion of courageous, knowledgable doulas? Are all my efforts in vain? What’s been the point of these days spent at the hospital?
“What a foolish question! When you put a seed into the ground, it doesn’t grow into a plant unless it dies first.” – 1 Corinthians 15:36
Ah, I so totally fear the death. I fear no doula s will ever come out of the death. I fear the letting go will mean it’s, well, gone. My trying-to-control-it-all brain has no control over death. So naturally I don’t want to go there.
But there I am. Letting go. Letting go of days of educating women about their bodies. Letting go of the hands that shake with fear, desperate for someone to hold. Letting go of the smiles. And talks about breastfeeding. I’m letting go of the nurses who smile to me, but frown to others. Letting go off the difficult things. The hopeless stories. The abused women.
The doula story ain’t over yet. We’re just pausing the energy at RFM and re-directing my care and patience to preparation for my own birth (I need some head-space to prepare!) and the nurturing of our own newborn.
I trust The Lord in all of this. I choose to accept the death, rather than fight it. May He do infinitely more with this seed than I ever could with it clutched in my sweaty palm.