My swollen belly has cast a spell on the men in my life. I've been receiving multiple calls, texts and emails each day. How do you feel? Have that baby - I want to meet it! Hurry up already. They send me articles about inducing labor naturally and beg me to reveal the magic moment...as if I have a hidden time line I'm keeping from them. My dad, my brothers and my husband are excited. This new beginning is transforming each of them in magnificent ways and I'm honored to have a front row seat.
My walk has turned to a waddle in January, but things are still getting done. The house is quiet and clean. The nursery is ready to be pooped on. My desk is organized and lists are checked at work. So we wait.
Two weeks ago I started having real, painful contractions. Since Matt was out of town, Gabe took me to the hospital to be monitored for awhile. I blushed at his proud chest and his eager leadership that morning. He was so glad to be helpful and asked questions that prove he takes becoming an uncle very seriously. These pre-labor signs upped the level of impatience and excitement that surrounds me and I spend a lot of time smiling at these men, giving thanks for their silly love. Something about their stirring makes me very quiet and calm.
Today I found out that a saint in our congregation passed away this weekend and my excitement about this baby's birth took the back burner. I want to be able to write a sermon and do her funeral and celebrate her life with this congregation on Wednesday. I want to speak truth about new life while wearing an alb before I live the truth of new life wearing a hospital gown.
But that's just me being a control freak. That's just me wishing that death and life could be tidy and organized and chronological. And since it's not - since 2 Corinthians 5:17 is sneaky and spontaneous - I will draft a sermon proclaiming resurrection for a 94 year old and her loved ones while being poked and prodded by this little life on its way. And I'll hope it gets preached on Wednesday, giving thanks for the beautiful mess either way.