Our Joshy is 3!

Our Joshua David is three years old today. It's funny how I thought Isaac was old when he turned three. But to me, Joshua is still so small. Yet even though he is our littlest boy, he has got the biggest personality. His presence in our family is unmistakable and irreplaceable. And this is something we don't take for granted.

We almost lost him at birth. His last two birthdays have been bittersweet for me as I was still trying to process through what happened that crazy Saturday night. Yet God works in our hearts and moves us to where they need to be in His time. And my heart needed to be thankful. Three years later, I can smile, laugh and recognize what a rescue that night was, even though it was traumatic for me.

This morning I got to kneel on the very bathroom floor, that three years ago today, was covered in blood, to thank God that He had mercy and gave us our son. I don't know why He did. He doesn't always and this is something I am very aware of. Yet, for some reason God chose to intervene and save him and save me.

It was a perfect gift. Joshua is a perfect gift.

That's why he is Joshua..."Saved By The Lord."

The End of an Era

Just yesterday I officially weaned Elliana. She's 14 months. Right around a year old, I knew she was losing interest. So, as a result, I went ahead and let her drop feedings (at the time she still nursed at least seven times a day) letting go as we went. It's taken a few months but it's finally done.

The reason this is monumental for me is that I have been either pregnant or nursing for the last seven years.

Seven years...without a single break.

I got pregnant with Isaac in November 2004 and it's nearly September 2011. So yeah, seven years (minus two months for all you exactos out there).

I don't say that to complain. I really haven't minded it. In fact, I didn't start out with a love for nursing. I did it simply because it was free food for my baby. But the years went on, and the more children we had, the more I loved it. And the more I didn't want to give it up.

And it also turned out that each time I got pregnant again, I was always still nursing and would continue for another few months until the baby had weaned himself. I had a pretty good cycle going...pregnancy, nursing, pregnancy again, wean over time...and the cycle went on like that for yup, seven years. We didn't plan it that way. It just happened.

But now that cycle has been broken. I weaned Elliana and I'm not pregnant again. I knew the time would come. It's not that monumental. And really, there are so many freeing things about weaning.

Yet what I've realized is that a lot of my identity has been wrapped up in pregnancy, nursing and infants for so long now. And although it's wonderful to be done without another impending pregnancy, I do know that I'm nearing the end-the end of my childbearing years.

Lord willing we'll have one more. But after that, the chances of a sixth are pretty slim. If you remember, I've had some major complications. I had a c-section with my first due to him being breech at term. I VBAC'd with my second (so thankful for that!!) and attempted a VBAC with my third and ended up with a ruptured uterus (which only happens 1 % of the time and it's even more rare after a successful VBAC). We're lucky Joshua is alive with no complications. So Elliana was a scheduled c-section.

I've had three c-sections. There's only so much my body can bear. My uterus is already compromised. I'm super thankful I've been able to have four healthy children.

So I'm nearing the end and I've been contemplating this a lot. Have I enjoyed it enough? Have I celebrated the beauty of infancy and the miracle of life enough or have I just wished it over due to fatigue and frustration? How would I do things differently if I were given one more chance to bear another precious gift?

It's just what I've been thinking about. Nothing special. It's just been on my mind.

Yesterday morning though, God gave me a gift. Normally I would've been nursing Elliana while helping boys with uniforms and strapping on ties. But instead, Elle woke up a little earlier than the boys and so she and I sat on the couch with the sunlight spilling through the window and I nursed her for the last time.

I knew it would be the last time. Yet I didn't anticipate that quiet moment with her. And in that moment, I was able to play with her curls, drink her in and hold her close in order to burn the image of her so little into my memory forever.

It was a precious time. It was a gift.

And now, I'm excited to see what God brings in these coming years. It might be the end of an era but it's not the end. There's so much more than these little years. Yet as much as I've wanted them to just be over at times (due to fatigue, frustration, etc...) even more than that, I want to remember them and cherish them.

God has taught me so much about my own selfishness and greed, and how to sacrifice and live joyfully through these years. No job, situation or relationship could have taught me so much.

So I'll remember them as I look forward and thank God that He gave them to me. And as new things come, I'll try and take the biggest lesson with me as I go...relax, and enjoy the ride.

An Unexpected Rescue

Joshua 1:9 "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

After Caleb was born, I was sure that I never wanted to have another c-section. It's not that I thought labor was a piece of cake because it sure wasn't. Nevertheless, I felt so grateful that I was able to participate in his birth by laboring. I carried him for nine months. I wanted to finish the job. We've always wanted a larger family too and so one of the reasons I wanted to VBAC in the first place was to have less wear and tear on my body. However, the main reason I wanted to VBAC was to labor...to have the process...to do it myself and to not have the major recovery afterward.

When Caleb was nearing a year old, I found that I was feeling sick in the mornings. I hadn't gotten my cycle back yet but was suspicious of another pregnancy. I was right. I was due with number three in late September. This time I didn't anticipate anything being amiss. I was simply planning for another birth. Caleb's birth had been so smooth and usually the first VBAC is the sketchy one. After that, your scar has been tested and things usually go just fine.

So, based on those things, my husband and I started considering homebirth. We went back and forth on it for months. We knew a midwife who was extremely skilled and experienced, and she had been at Caleb's birth. We felt safe having her deliver our next child at home. However, we didn't ever feel quite at peace about it. We decided to wait and see how things played out and we didn't actually decide for sure either way until the night Joshua was born.

I've already posted Joshua's birth story on this blog as it was one of the hardest, scariest yet wonderful nights in my whole life. So I don't need to re-hash all of the details but I'll retell it in short. I went into labor naturally four days overdue. It didn't start and stop like Caleb's did. It just started in the early evening on a Saturday night. It was during our Sabbath Dinner and so I waited until afterward to even tell my husband that the contractions had been coming steadily for an hour or so. I still wasn't even sure I was in labor. Yet, I knew the contractions were steady and strong.

We called our midwife and she headed out to check me. In the meantime, I started bleeding. Now, everyone bleeds some in labor but this was different. It started all of the sudden and it didn't stop. It progressively got worse and I was passing clots...some very, very large. Once the midwife saw the clots, she told us to get into the car. No homebirth. I was trying to stay positive but deep down I knew something was terribly wrong.

Yet, I still felt strong. The contractions were coming fast but I was more worried about the bleeding than about the pain. When I showed up at the hospital I was at 6 and the baby and I seemed to be doing fine when we were monitored. That eased me a bit but the bleeding continued to worsen and I saw the looks of puzzlement on all of the nurses' faces. I knew it wasn't normal. I knew there was a problem. And I was desperate for it to go away.

When my doctor showed up he took one look at me and told the nurses to prep for surgery. I totally lost it. I had held it together up until that point but when he said those words, I just knew that not only was I going to have another c-section but that something was horrifically wrong and I wouldn't be able to fix it. No amount of hard work, no mustering up strength, no just getting through was going to fix this problem. I was going into surgery in 20 minutes flat and I didn't know what kind of world would face me on the other side.

Would I have a baby? Would he be okay? Would I be okay? Would I still have a uterus? Could I have anymore children? All of these questions flashed through my mind as I silently sobbed. I had come to the conclusion over so many months' time that c-sections were overdone and I do still believe that in some respects. But there I was, literally bleeding to death and barring a c-section, the baby and I wouldn't make it. Ironically, the very thing I loathed was going to be used to save me. My husband asked our doctor, who was very supportive of me having vaginal births, if there was anything else to be done, and he answered very curtly, "Get out of my way...I am going to save your wife's life."

And that was it. I was knocked out a few minutes later. Steve was told to wait outside (he was not allowed to see Joshua be born) due to the emergency situation and our little Joshua, which literally means, "Saved by the Lord" was born late that Saturday night to a very thankful group of doctors. A very thoughtful nurse brought our camera into the delivery room so that we could have pictures or else we wouldn't have any. He weighed in at 8 lbs 2 oz and was 20 inches long. Once they got in to do the c-section they discovered my uterus was rupturing at the site of my original c-section scar (which is extremely rare....1.5 % chance after 1 c-section and even less after having a successful VBAC). Our doctor had caught it just in time. I hadn't fully ruptured and Joshua and I were safe.

I'll never know why God chose to give that birth to us. Like I previously mentioned, the chances of that happening are so, so small. I would encourage anyone that I know, who wanted to try for a VBAC, to go for it!! Yet, for a long time, I chose to see it as the biggest nightmare of my life. I felt like such a failure. I felt like I had done something wrong and I struggled to simply be grateful for my life and the life of my child. My husband, on the other hand, saw that night as a rescue. In his mind, God had saved us from so much. Where I thought God had taken away, Steve believed God had relented. Now that so much time has passed, that is really how I see it too and am convinced that it's the way I must see it.

I'm not going to lie and say that I don't care anymore about his birth. Just thinking through that night moves me very deeply even though so much time has passed. I think it always will. Yet, God had prepared me in a lot of ways prior to him coming without me even knowing it. It started with Isaac and the crazy life we led right before he was born. God taught me that I can never rely on what I think might happen but that through it all, He would always be there to get us through. Then in Caleb's birth, he taught me patience and in His kindness, allowed me to have a beautiful, natural birth that will always mean so much to me. This kindness, this mercy showed through to the next one. Caleb's birth brought me much healing. Joshua's birth was crazy and unexpected like Isaac's but written all over it was God's mercy to me, to Joshua, to Steve and to our family, which was just like Caleb's. It was a marriage of the two and without the two proceeding births, I wouldn't have been able to see it that way.

"Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been borne by me from before your birth, carried from the womb; even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save."
Isaiah 46:4 ESV

It took me many months to process through and accept the events of that night and I still have a hard time talking about it without wanting to cry. It was so hard for me to accept. It was so hard for me to be grateful. But God chose to give us that night and whatever I was to learn from it, I needed to learn. If anything, it was clear that God had intervened once again in our lives, in a way we didn't expect or even want, to bring about His beauty. And those glimpses of His beauty and glory are what helped me to eventually lift my eyes.

So where does that leave me now? I've known all along that I will have a scheduled c-section with this next baby. It's the first time I've ever known that from the beginning so that has helped. Even though I'm such a fighter by nature, I haven't fought it. I've had to accept it. And even though I'm not looking forward to the surgery, I am definitely looking forward to meeting my little girl and am determined to make the best of the situation when it comes.

I feel so thankful to be a woman; to have the opportunity to be changed personally by the lives God places in my family. I'm not a theologian at all but, to me the verse "Yet she will be saved through childbearing--if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control." 1 Timothy 2:8 speaks volumes. God has changed me so much through this process even though it wasn't at all what I expected. And I don't think that it ever is for any woman.

God started with "Laughter"...showed Himself strong with "Bravery"...and amazed and humbled us when He reached out His hands to proclaim "Saved by the Lord."

I'm excited to see what He does next.

A Fresh Start

Nearly 10 months to the day after Isaac was born, I found out that I was expecting again. I had just gotten my cycle back one month earlier (yeah breastfeeding!) and we decided we'd just see what happened. Well, what happened is that we were going to have another baby!! The OB that I had in San Luis Obispo had recommended that I not try for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-section) with my next child because she said that I was too small anyway to deliver a baby normally (like that helped my defective complex). However, my new doctor told me that he didn't see anything wrong with me going for a normal delivery. I was elated. Just the idea of trying for a vaginal birth gave me something to look forward to and prepare for.

I'm not really one to do things half-way so I took all of his advice to heart and jumped feet first into my second pregnancy with hope and anticipation. I buried myself in books as well. I read, The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth, by Henci Goer and read VBAC birth stories on-line to help myself see that other women had gone before me and done it. I watched my diet. I exercised and we hired a doula. The doula that we hired is also a home-birth midwife and so we knew that she knew everything and would have the skills to get us through our birth safely. I familiarized myself as best as I could with birth itself and then my husband and I just prayed for a healthy delivery. We prayed for the doctor who would be on-call, for the nurses and for our baby.

Everything went well until I hit 34 weeks and the baby went breech. He had been head-down ever since 28 weeks but for some reason he turned around. I now know that I have an oddly shaped uterus (a birth defect) that makes the area of my uterus smaller than it's supposed to be, causing my babies to turn in an effort to find the most room to grow. But at the time, we didn't have that knowledge and it was surprising. Only 3-4% of babies end up breech at term so I thought we'd just gotten unlucky the last time and that chances are that we'd be okay this time. However, it wasn't so.

I consulted with my doula and did everything she told me to do...exercises, exercises and more exercises. Time was of the essence since the longer a baby stays breech the bigger they get and the harder it gets to turn. I did all that I could do and then had to leave the rest in the Lord's hands. Within a couple of days, I felt that the baby had turned back. I was right. After that I wore a girdle to help keep that little flipper turned the right way. I didn't take it off (except to shower) until I was past due.

My due date came and went like the wind. Nothing happened. I knew that it was my first labor so I expected to go late but nothing can prepare you for going overdue. It is so difficult to be patient during those last few days. However, I knew that it was best for me to just bide my time. I'd made it this far, I could wait a few more days. The midwife suggested a bit of castor oil and of course I tried it. The memory of that nasty stuff is still very vivid in my mind. It didn't put me into labor but it did cause me to have some pre-labor contractions that definitely succeeded in dilating and effacing me a bit more. I was moving closer but I didn't know how long my doctor would let me go. If you're a VBAC, you aren't allowed to have any sort of labor induction due to already having a compromised uterus. Therefore, I needed to go into labor naturally on my own and I needed it to happen soon.

It was Presidents' Day weekend and my husband had four days off. We made ourselves as busy as possible to ensure we wouldn't be thinking about the baby. I had contractions off and on but they never regulated and didn't last for longer than an hour or so at a time. At one time I thought my water might be leaking so we headed into the hospital. However, it wasn't so and we were still waiting. Monday hit and I knew that my husband was headed back into work the next day and that I was headed back to the doctor to be officially 41 weeks. So I pulled out the castor oil one more time and gave it a try. It made me so sick that time and didn't put me into labor but more of a sputtering of contractions as the day went on. I spent most of that day in the bathtub while my husband watched our then 18-month-old. Steve would periodically bring in hot water from the stove to replenish my bath (our water heater was pretty lame and didn't heat water after five minutes).

That evening a friend of ours was coming into town and Steve went out with him for a few hours. I told him to bring me back the biggest Diet Coke he'd ever seen. I hadn't had any diet sodas my whole pregnancy but I was exhausted, cranky, uncomfortable and needed some caffeine. I was having contractions but they weren't regular at all so I ignored them and chased my little toddler around. Later, I pounded that Diet Coke and climbed back into the bathtub where I had a little chat with a dear friend. After awhile she said, "Ummm...Nikki, those contractions are pretty close together. Are you sure you're not in labor?" I responded that of course I wasn't in labor because I'd been having contractions for days and they weren't doing anything and kept stopping!!! However, after I got off the phone with her, we started timing. They were five minutes apart and regular. We headed to the hospital.

I thought they'd send me home again but when I showed up, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that I was at 8 cm. I was in transition! My water broke and labor got much more intense. The Watermark song, "Glory of Your Name" played continuously in my mind while I was in transition and I was reminded again that it was all about God's glory. Little Caleb Michael, which means "Brave Soldier" was born about two hours later after the nurse pushed a stubborn cervical lip aside. I cannot describe the healing that happened in my heart the moment they laid him on my chest. I got to hold him, nurse him, talk to him and be with him. I got to watch him get weighed and bathed for the first time. I got to be there. I even asked for a sandwich because I was so starving. It was unlike anything I'd experienced the time before. I wanted to get up and walk to my postpartum room just because I had the energy and ability to (of course they didn't let me). I couldn't stop smiling. It was amazing. I was so thankful.

Caleb, which means "Brave", was named Caleb because we had to take a step out and be brave to try the VBAC. We didn't know where it was all going to go or what would happen but we knew we wanted to try. We also knew that we had a God who had gotten us through before and would take care of us again. We'd learned that the first time. God, in His kindness, gave that birth to me. He didn't have to and I knew it but He just did. Everything went so smoothly and quickly. It was like a dream. And I was now the mommy of two precious little boys. Isaac...who had started me on this journey and Caleb who helped me get there.

Sorting it All Out

After Isaac's birth, I found myself in a whole new world full of nursing (it was SO hard!), caring for an infant, keeping a house (remember I had few domestic skills), supporting a husband in his new job and living in a completely new place where I didn't know ANYONE! I can't tell you how many times I begged my husband to take me home. I'm sure it wasn't easy for him to deal with an emotional wife, a new baby and a new job but somehow, he remained as solid as a rock and I did my best to merely get through the day for a long time. We did have family nearby though and that helped pull us through for quite awhile.

Time heals and soon enough, I did feel a bit better--especially as I got more sleep. However, there were some lagging things in the back of my mind that I just couldn't quite express or explain to anyone regarding Isaac's birth. I just didn't feel right about it. I felt like it hadn't gone naturally or something, and I always felt the need to explain to people who learned I'd had a c-section, why I'd had one. When the women around me shared their birth stories, I immediately felt left out and isolated because I had no idea what they were talking about. I hadn't gone into labor. I hadn't physically delivered a baby. I hadn't been given the chance. I showed up at the hospital timid and scared and an hour later, my baby was born. Not only did I feel left out, but I felt like I was somehow less of a woman.

Over the months I began to see how these feelings really took root right after Isaac was born. The disappointment was very real right from the beginning even though I tried to brush it off. I remember a very insensitive male who came to visit us in the hospital recounting in all his glory the birth of his first child and how his wife had been "So amazing and had no drugs or anything." Then he looked at me with a smirk and said, "At least you didn't have to go through all of THAT!" If I could've gotten up at that point I think I would've decked him. But somehow I kept my hands to myself and tried to let his comments walk out the door with him. I know now that he didn't know he was being insensitive or that his comments would haunt me for a long time. He didn't know how important the birth process is to a woman and when it's messed with a woman can often feel so disappointed. He didn't know. But I knew and as time went on, it became more and more clear to me that as happy as I was to have my little healthy baby boy, I was definitely struggling with how it all came about.

And then came the guilt. I can't tell you how many times I've had people say to me, "Well at least your baby is healthy. That's all you can ask for right?" (None of these women have had c-sections either and if faced with one wouldn't want one!) Of COURSE I'm thankful he's healthy! I mean, isn't that a given?! The fact that I was even slightly disappointed when I was looking right at my perfect baby boy made me feel even worse and much more guilty. My emotions were so tied up in knots I didn't know how to sort it all out. I heard all the comments like, "A 100 years ago you could've died." Well yes I guess anyone could have died in childbirth...heck anyone could still die today! But no...they probably just would've delivered my breech baby and chances are we both would've been fine. Or "Well at least you didn't have to go through labor I mean I labored for over 30 hours with my first." And I'd be left feeling numb, left out, ungrateful and guilty all for struggling through what I felt about having that first c-section. It was a very confusing place to be. No one tried to make me feel bad. I just did whenever birth was brought up. I felt defective, unsettled and muddled. I didn't feel right and to be perfectly honest, I didn't know how to make it right.

I'm not saying that all of my emotions were justified or even remotely godly but they were real and my disappointment was real. Not every woman who has a c-section feels the way that I did, however, many do and most don't want to talk about it. I wanted to feel my baby laid on my chest after having used every ounce of my being to push him out into the world. I wanted to feel that victory. Instead, I got to simply touch his face and he was whisked away. I lay in a hospital bed all alone and my baby waited for me to nurse him for a few hours. We were detached and all alone, and I hated it.

The reason for these feelings, I learned, came as I sorted through all of these conflicting emotions to finally get at the root of the problem. And it took a very long time for me to get there. I began to see that the very essence of my femininity was all wrapped up in carrying a child, childbirth and then nurturing that child as best as I could. It wasn't because I had made it an idol, it was because it was who I was inside, as a woman. It was me. It was how God had designed me to be. It was natural for me to be disappointed that I didn't go through the whole process God had designed because well, that was how it was supposed to go.

However, what became crucial was what I did with that realization. Yes, Isaac's birth wasn't how things were supposed to go in a perfect world. Yet, this world is fallen. And God promises us that we will have sorrow. And I had to wrap my arms around the fact that even though God had wired me to feel the way that I did simply because I am a woman, I still had to accept the fact that He didn't allow things to go the natural way. His answer was, "No." That was God's choice and not mine. He orchestrated it all for His glory and who am I to question the Almighty? As hard as this was for me, I knew it was right and I knew God would help me sort through the disappointment.

So as the months wore on, that's what I did. I laid my longings for future births at His feet and I surrendered as best as I could, my sadness relishing in all the joy that God had still given me in this new little life. It didn't make it better all of the sudden. But I grew and began to understand, in a small way (and I'd understand much more later with Joshua) that God spins and moves and does as He pleases. I may not always know why but I can trust Him to share my hurts and I can trust Him with my life.

This time was important for me to sort it all out. I needed to learn more about myself, my femininity, what it meant to be a mother and how God had equipped me with all I needed to do what He'd called me to do--be the wife of one handsome husband Steve and the mommy of one precious baby boy, Isaac...laughter.

It's What Makes Us Who We Are

Childbirth. Every woman from the time they are little thinks about one day giving birth and having children. The desire to bring forth life is literally written on our very souls. Our entire system, as women, is designed to propagate life. It's who we are. And it's definitely who we're meant to be.

It's as old as creation. When God dealt with Eve's sin in the garden He specifically singled out her femininity when He mentioned that she would bring forth children in pain. The very thing that was meant to bless and that set apart her apart from man, was brought out and cursed. Yet there was still hope as God reminded Eve that one of her offspring would one day overcome the serpent and free mankind from its bondage with sin. "I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel." Genesis 3:15 Satan would strike at man's heel in an attempt to obliterate man by separating him from God but in the end, he would be overcome. So even in the fall, there was hope...and this hope came through the promise of offspring, a Savior--Jesus Christ.

It's no wonder that birth itself touches women to the core for it is our very femininity that is being discussed. Whenever I am with a group of women who have children, often times birth stories are brought up and shared. Each woman's story is as different as they come, unique to her as an individual yet, still tying her to her sisters in the room. And no one can deny it. We want to talk about it because it's who we are. It's how we're designed. Again, it's who we're meant to be.

But it's never a free ride. With all of the joy comes so much pain and this pain comes from deep within because it's our very souls, what makes us feminine, that is at stake. Some women experience infertility and miscarriage and some without ever having a reason. These women ache so deeply and so truly that women who have never been through such disappointment and sorrow cannot understand. We can only imagine, stand on the sidelines, lend an ear, offer a shoulder and pray. Others lose children in childbirth. It still happens. I know someone personally. And to attempt to put those feelings into words would never even do justice to the pain experienced there. Only God can surmount those mountains. Only God can lift the eyes of those women. Yet we can pray fervently on our knees for comfort and be there to cry.

Others, like the majority of women, merely don't get the type of birth they thought they'd get. Or maybe they do for some children but not for others. It turns out to be something totally different than what they thought it would be. But in the end, with a keen eye looking backward, they can see how God used that birth in the laying down in death to give life to another, to bring about much needed hope, change, growth and perseverance.

There's nothing like it. Nothing touches us all so deeply as the very birth of our children. Yet, we cannot worship it. We cannot trust it. We cannot rely on it. But we can worship. Birth should make us worship. Not ourselves. Not our accomplishments. Not how fast we labored or how many times we pushed. Not how many children we have or how much pain we can endure. We must worship the One who gave us this gift. The One who allowed it all to come into fruition. The One who put it all into place.

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." Psalm 139: 13-16

It is in that worship that we can see the beauty of all that God has given us, the good and the bad, and we can know that God is using our very selves, our very core to change us and bless us. And in that realization, we can be thankful. We must be thankful.

A Year Later

Tonight, a year ago, I went into labor with my third son Joshua David Dauphin. He was born right before midnight. As much as I rejoice in Joshua's birth and life, his birth was difficult for me and it has taken me some time to process through all that God wanted to teach me (and still is teaching me) as a result of the events of that night.

I was already planning to write his birth story since I love writing and doing so, helps me to literally spell out what is on my heart about things. But then this last week a friend of mine got me in touch with a small christian publication called, Thought Meadow, and the editor asked me to write an article about gratitude. It was perfect timing. I won't say much more. After reading, you'll understand.

Yet I'll say this, his birth story is a bit long so if you don't have much time, you'll want to come by later. And for those of you who just want to see pictures, here's a few from that special and difficult night. I'll forever be grateful to the nurse who thought to take pictures for us since I was knocked out and Steve wasn't able to be in the room. He/she really gave us an amazing gift by doing so.

I remember it was hot. While most of the country was experiencing the first signs of fall full of bursting colors, sweaters, soup and apples, I was living through what some Californians call an "Indian Summer". It was early and my two boys were sleeping soundly at home while their Dad snored. I, however, was out walking the hill behind our house, my taut skin stretching snugly over my belly. Up and down I trudged, determined to walk and walk that hill that I had climbed so often during my pregnancy, trying to urge my body over the edge and into labor. Deep inside, the miracle that God was nearly finished forming in my body, kicked and rolled making his presence known again. I reminded him firmly, in a motherly sort of way, that he was running out of room and that he needed to come out!! While I walked, my thoughts were on getting through another day without being discouraged. Every day that one goes overdue seems like a week and if that were really true, I was already three weeks over. I didn't want to make it to four.

The rest of the day was full of Sabbath Dinner preparations, a trip to Costco, making Challah bread, kissing owies, cleaning up messes, another walk and cuddling with my husband. It was a typical Saturday. Once dinner hit and the preparations were done, the contractions started. Clean and smooth they rolled like butter off of a knife. They were productive and strong. I didn't tell a soul. We sang, we laughed and we made it through another Sabbath Dinner full of mystery and delight and as I cleaned up, I started to time the waves rippling through my abdomen. Once I was sure they were regular and close, I pulled my husband aside and whispered that it may be time. Excitement hung in the air like perfume. The day was cooling off and the sun was setting. It was a perfect autumn evening. The boys watched a movie while we continued to time. Steady, steady they came like the beat of a drum. My last labor had been short so, before long, we knew it was time to call our doula.

Almost as soon as we got her on the phone, the bleeding started. At first I was elated. Bloody show most certainly meant that it was the real thing and not a false alarm. Nevertheless, almost as rhythmic as the contractions, the bleeding came, steady, steady, faster and faster until I began to get a bit nervous. When our doula showed up, we all decided to head into the hospital quickly. As we sped along the country roads, my body leaning into the curves and bends of the road while simultaneously moving through the waves, my thoughts slowly went back through my two other births.

My firstborn was born two weeks early right before a major move. He had flipped to footling breech right near the end and was taken via c-section. It was unexpected and shocking. However, we were elated he was born and happy to hold him in our arms. Our next son was our first attempt at a VBAC (Vaginal Birth after C-Section) and his birth went off without a hitch. My labor was fast, strong and productive. It was an amazing experience and I felt like I had a tiny glimpse of what God's glory looks like in our world. I got to have a piece, a very small piece of what it feels like to lay myself down in death to give life to another. I savored my experience like a little child with his first ice cream cone and the memories of his birth still remain for me an experience full of wonder and awe at our Creator. Once I was pregnant with my third son, I knew I wanted to try for another VBAC. I didn't expect any problems. I expected another birth that would be physically challenging but aesthetically beautiful at the same time. Yet once we arrived at the hospital and I made that familiar walk down the halls, I realized that things may not be going according to my plans.

Once I was checked in, the rest of the night sped away from me very quickly and began to get blurry. Nurses went in and out trying to figure out why I was bleeding so much. Was my placenta abrupting? Was it lying too low? The baby was fine and I was progressing great but, the bleeding was not stopping. It continued to worsen. As rhythmic as the contractions, the blood flowed and I steadily began to weaken. I held onto hope that I could labor fast enough that it wouldn't matter and the baby would be born without any problems. Nevertheless, once my doctor showed up, he plainly saw that I was hemorrhaging, quickly pulled the plug on the whole operation and then very decisively prepped for surgery. Everything was slipping away from me at that moment. I went back to the morning in my mind and remembered the bright, cheery sun as I climbed the trusty hill. I remembered the strength I felt that very morning and tried to muster it up from deep down inside myself. But as much as I tried, my body was failing. The body that I had carefully and diligently prepared, relied on and trusted for nine months to carry my little one to completion was failing. And I was falling into the darkness.

Within minutes my husband had signed the papers, cried with me and sent me off into a sea of white coats with prayers and kisses hoping to see me breathing on the other end. Due to the serious nature of the situation, he was not allowed in to the operating room and ended up a puddle on the floor outside the door praying, waiting and straining to hear a cry from our son and a word that we were both all right. I was dreaming of better days within no time, yet somewhere deep down I was subconsciously crying that I could not witness my son's first moments and neither could his Dad. No one but the white coats, who were working so hard and fast to save his life and mine, could document his first cries and movements. Sadly, they were the only ones there.

Once I was awake and I knew my son was all right, the bitterness set in. Why had this happened? What had gone wrong? I felt the familiar pain from the surgery and winced in agony and in anger. My husband strongly held my hand, helped me nurse my little one and filled me in on the precious hours I had missed- his first moments. I lamented, I cried, I mourned and I seethed. Yet I tried to enjoy the first few hours of his birth. Because my husband loves me, he quickly set me to right, showing me the sovereignty of God and reminding me of God's mercy in the situation. "Look at all that could have gone wrong," he reminded me. "Look at what God saved us from. He didn't have to. He just did. We need to be grateful." I knew he was right but could not get my heart to meet him there. I should have been grateful. I should have seen the mercy. But I was blinded by selfishness, pride and my own feelings of injustice. I felt I had worked hard, prepared well and done everything I was supposed to do so I shouldn't have had any problems. Instead of rejoicing in our rescue, I just kept slipping back into the darkness.

As the weeks wore on, we talked about the birth constantly. My husband continued to remind me of God's mercy and I continued to remind him of the nightmare. But as time trudged on and turned itself slowly into months, God showed me glimpses of what could have been. There was an unexpected talk with a lady who had lost her son in childbirth. Her heart and amazing attitude moved me so much and I was humbled immediately. As I spoke with her, I cradled my infant safely in my arms and afterwards, I never looked at him the same. In that instant, I saw how close I was to losing him and how thankful I needed to be. It became less about me getting the birth I wanted and more about me holding tight the little life I was still given. I was also reminded that I could still have children, though not the natural way, and this joy and hope for the future, started to chisel away at my ingratitude. Slowly, slowly, with much prayer on my part and my husband's, my anger began to turn into thanksgiving. It was more about my perspective. Joshua's birth wasn't a nightmare. It was a rescue. It was mercy. And it wasn't because of anything I had done or deserved, it was simply because God had chosen it to be that way.

Job, who suffered tremendously, asked God what the reasons were for his sufferings since he was a righteous man who followed the rules and tried to do what was right. God simply responded, "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding." Job 38:4 And then God gave a beautiful accounting of His creation story all done by His mighty hand. When I think about why God does what He does, I get all tangled up in questions, feelings and particulars and then am quickly reminded that I was not around when God formed the world and cannot wrap my tiny arms around the wisdom of the Almighty. God moves, spins, creates and loves and I simply get to be a small part of it. Sometimes His actions go my way and sometimes they don't but they are always for my good, whether painful, trying, or joyful. It's simply about my perspective. And my perspective dictates whether or not I will be able to be grateful.

Joshua's laughter ripples through our house daily and reminds me of God's grace. The smell of him, the way he curls his hair with his fingers and sucks quietly on his hand are all reminders of mercy. His very name means "Saved by the Lord" and is an eternal reminder that I serve a God who rescues. My own salvation rests upon this fact and more than anything in this world, I am grateful for life. Christ went down into death and conquered it so that I could live. This is mercy. This is grace. This is the foundation of my life. This is the very essence of my gratitude.