God's Gift of Grace

Tears of joy streaming off my cheeks, I bent down and whispered, “I just have to stop crying, I don’t want to miss this!” Now, I can be a emotional person, but rarely is that shown on the outside. And tears? Well, tears are reserved only for the most special of occasions. But, here I was, all-out, unstoppably weeping with joy in the presence of complete strangers. Why? Because it’s the only suitable response for when God Almighty breaks through my narrow perception of this world and reveals his glory, power and grace. Such was the case Thursday afternoon when you, Grace Yabsera, were given to your mom and me as a beautiful gift from God Himself. The event of your birth brought both of us to tears, but more importantly, it burned within us a deeper love for our Father, the good giver of grace. May it do the same for you.

Wednesday, October 10^th, 2012, 11:55pm. My heavy eyes stared deep into my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was tired. I was a bit discouraged. But most of all, I was annoyed. I was annoyed by all the scraggly little whiskers that had taken over my face during this period “razor fasting.” You see, when our originally calculated due date for your birth came on October 1^st, it passed without any hint of your mom’s body wanting to give you up quite yet. This was no surprise as your brother Micah was more than 2 weeks late and we had just come to expect that with you as well. However, we didn’t want your delivery to follow exactly in Micah’s footsteps. So on the evening of that due date night, I committed myself to prayer on two very specific things. First, I prayed that both you and your mom would be safe and healthy after the delivery. And second, I prayed that your mom’s desire for a natural birth would be realized. I had thought a lot about your brother Micah’s birth story and the problems that led to the doctor ordering a c-section, but as I replayed it over and over in my mind, I became more and more convinced that the problems were not caused by Micah, leaving me little ground for arguing that this delivery would be any different. With my logical deductions suggestion another c-section, I made the firm decision to ground my hope not on what I saw, but rather on the infinite power and grace of God. I committed myself to pray fervently and consistently for this desire, but I knew that I needed a trigger to remind me to pray - something consistent in my day, something that can’t go unnoticed. So I started a “razor fast” – vowing not to shave my face until you arrived - knowing that I can’t stand having those prickly little needles digging into my skin. This annoyance and any other triggers associated with my facial hair would serve as the perfect reminder for prayer focused on you, your mom and the whole delivery process. If it kept me awake at night, I would use that time to pray. If I felt the fuzz when randomly touching my face, I would remember to pray. And even If I briefly glanced in the mirror, the unusual sight of facial hair would trigger a prayer.

Well, the irritation and reminders came and went quite regularly and I faithfully prayed with each of them. But now, here I was, ten nights later, more than just casually annoyed as the little daggers borrowing under my skin! I could see the red blotches of irritation all over my neck, wanting so badly to break out the old razor and hack away. But I didn’t. Instead, I prayed out loud as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, knowing that your mom was in the other room wrestling the discomfort of HUGE belly in order to catch some much-needed rest. “Lord, you know our request and we know that you are faithful. Please, by whatever means necessary, we ask for your favor in this childbirth process. I ask for a healthy baby, a healthy wife, and that her body might be able to complete the birthing process naturally. I don’t ask this because of who I am, nor who Andrea is, but because of who YOU are. I am asking for that which you yourself delight in giving, grace.”

I went to bed shortly before 1am and groggily woke up at 5:30am. I looked over at your mom sitting on the edge of the bed, she smiled and asked, “Wanna go with me to the hospital?” I shot up. “What? You’re having contractions? When did they start?” Calm as always, she responded, “They started at about 1am and I haven’t been able to sleep since.” I scratched my itchy chin as crawled out of bed, “Lord, its go time, may we find special grace this day!”

At the hospital, Mary, a veteran RN of thirty-something years, asked all the questions, did an initial inspection, and had mom sign the form acknowledging the risks of trying a natural delivery after a c-section.  Now, we had learned with Micah’s birth that the dilation of the cervix is a very important piece in the whole labor process. Without its full dilation to ten centimeters, the baby is stuck inside. With every check of dilation progress, we hold our breath, wanting to hear progress toward that magic number ten, yet at the same time afraid of being discouraged by reports of no progress at all. With Micah’s birth, you mom's dilation only got to seven, where it seemed to stop until eventually Micah’s heart rate showed signs of fetal distress. It was this that mandated the c-section. So now, Mary, before doing the initial cervix measurement, announced with confidence, “Based on the strength of those contractions, I’m guessing you’re already at eight centimeters.” I responded with excitement at her optimism. What an amazing demonstration of God’s grace that would be! Yet the official report of only four centimeters tempered my optimism a bit. “It’s a start,” I thought as I scratched my itchy chin, “Lord, may the next couple hours be characterized by steady progression culminating in a beautiful delivery! Our trust is in you as the good giver of grace.”

After an hour or so, a second RN came into the room, Jeannine. She was spunky and full of energy, excitement and encouragement. Jeanine told us that she had been called in with the intention of us being her patients, but that Mary had changed her mind and said she liked us too much to give us up. So we would be blessed by both of their help. Thank you Lord! Jeanine was great about introducing us to all of the different positions which your mom could use to help her relax through the contractions. There was the standing and swaying position, a leaning position, rolling back and forth on the birthing ball, straddling a chair, etc., etc. This introduction, once again, raised my optimism because it was adding an element to the labor process that we were not allowed to have in Micah’s delivery. You see, for whatever reason in the first pregnancy, we were told that mom had to be laying down the whole time because the doctor at that hospital did not like his patients walking around. Maybe, now, allowing gravity to help would be just what we needed to advance the labor beyond what happened with Micah. Could this be the mechanism of God’s grace?

The doctor checked on your mom around lunchtime, but when his measurement of the cervix came back at only four centimeters, my heart sunk to the floor. More than four hours of hard contractions, for what? The doctor promptly took a long plastic needle and “broke her water,” in the hope of speeding up the labor process. With the water cushion removed, your head now pressed directly against the cervix opening, surely it would open up much faster now.

As expected, the contractions got heavier and harder after the water was broken and your mom was in such horrible pain. The contractions also started coming faster than before. Both the doctor and the nurse commented that they were coming too quickly, adding unhelpful stress on both you and your mom’s body. “If we were inducing her, I would turn down her Pitosin right now, but that,” Mary lamented, pointing at the computer monitor, “that is her own body doing that to her.” The monitor showed some contractions lasted several minutes only to launch into another equally pounding one while still descending from the first. I stared into the computer screen until my eyes refocused on my own reflection. I was wiped out just “being there” for your mom and rubbing her back, I couldn’t even pretend to imagine how she felt right now. I thought to myself, “If every one of those whiskers represented a prayer, it was clear that God was not answering them by gracing us with a quick or ideal delivery. But, then again, maybe this was his answer. Maybe this barrage of contractions, pressing your head hard against mom’s cervix was opening that door for you to be born naturally. Maybe this was exactly what I had been praying for.

Mary came in and out several times asking your mom if she wanted to be re-measured, as surely such activity should be having some effect. After an hour, your mom agreed and out came the report, “Well, it’s not quite a six, let’s say a strong five and a half centimeters. That’s progress, not great progress, but its progress and that’s what we want to see.”

Your mom struggled through the bombardment of these super-contractions for about an hour longer until something scary happened. Something that literally caught my breath – your heart rate dropped low, far too low, before gradually creeping back up.  I held my breath, eyes riveted on the monitor as the next contraction, another strong one, maxed out the sensor yet again. As it decreased, so did your heart rate and my eyes glazed over with fear. This was entirely too familiar – fetal distress. Not twenty seconds later, Mary came bursting into the room, “What is your baby doing?” She tried to be light about it, but I could see total seriousness written between the lines on her forehead. Our fears were confirmed when she performed another measurement, “Barely six centimeters,” she said. I couldn’t muster a smile as I caught a glimpse of myself off the bathroom mirror, “Lord, we ask for grace.”

Mary then apologized profusely for now having to order your mom to stay lying down on the bed, a position in which your mom had a very hard time staying relaxed. Confined to the bed, the contractions only hurt more. While your heart rate stabilized for a short while, it didn’t last very long. Soon, re-occurring signs of distress brought Mary back into the room. We tried changing positions, we tried giving oxygen, we tried many things, but none of it could stabilize your heart beat like it had been all morning. Something was wrong and you were crying out for help.

Mary, always the optimist, finally piped up, “Well, maybe we should do another measurement, maybe you are fully dilated and ready to push.” In preparation for the check, your mom changed positions and Mary’s eyes got big, “That is a large blood showing. That is not a good sign.” She quickly did the measurement and without telling us the result, she got up saying that she needed to inform the doctor right away. Just then, another nurse walked into the room, “The doctor is on the phone for you, he is wondering what is happening on Andrea’s tape.” Clearly he had been watching the live stream of monitoring data from in his office a couple blocks down from the hospital. “Great minds think alike,” Mary said as she walked out the door and I scratched my itchy neck with frustration, “Lord, where are you?”

Returning just a few minutes later, optimistic Mary shot straight with us, “Well, I want to be honest with you, things are not going as we had hoped and from everything that I see, this is not going to end up as we had wanted. She is still at the six centimeter dilation and with the baby’s distress, he/she can’t keep going like this for much longer. We have tried everything. Now, I am not a doctor, but I’ve been doing this a long, long time, and everything I see is pointing toward this ending in another c-section for you guys. I’m sorry. Your doctor is on his way over right now, and unless something changes between now and when he arrives…well, I’m just being honest with you. I’m sorry.” Mary exited the room.

My lips tightened in a packed bundle of emotion. I grabbed your mom’s hand tight, leaned down and hugged her the best I could. Feeling my scruffy whiskers against her hair, I prayed in a soft whisper “Lord, we simply ask for grace. We know that this whole pain and problems in childbearing thing is a result of humanity’s sin, our sin. It wasn’t a part of your beautiful creation, now marred from its original glory. We acknowledge and we accept that consequence. But we also know who you are. We know that sometimes, you, by your own choosing, break into our situation and override this broken system. We know that you, by your own choosing, bestow unmerited favor and that you delight in doing so. We know that you are gracious. And so Lord we simply ask for grace right now. When the doctor arrives and does his assessment, give him your infinite wisdom just this once in the decision that he makes here and now. And give us the grace we need to accept that decision as from you. Amen.”

Not five minutes after Mary had left the room, she re-entered, this time with the doctor, both in hurried step. He scrubbed in no time and took his position at the foot of the bed. This was it. Hoping against all odds that somehow, something had changed since the disappointing measurement only ten minutes earlier, I closed my eyes, buried my fuzzy chin in my cupped hands and tuned my ears into the voice down at the end of the bed.

Mom’s pregnancy with you had been almost exactly like it was with Micah. She had no sickness, she carried you high and strong, with no evidence of dropping at or around your due dates; the date of inducing was scheduled due to overdue-ness, yet both times she went into labor on her own; she showed early progress in labor, but despite very strong contractions, it didn’t progress beyond that crucial point before putting both of you and Micah into distress. It was clear to Mary, and many of the other nurses and techs that your mom’s body and the labor process, for whatever reason, are not compatible. And now here, only ten minutes after the last disappointing check, what hope could we have had that we should hear anything new? All the evidence in my mind was already wheeling your mom toward the c-section room, but God’s grace slammed that door shut when two words pierced the silent delivery room, “It’s complete!” What? It took a half a second to register in my mind. “It’s complete?” I asked the doctor, as Mary rushed toward the door, “You mean…she’s fully dilated?” He nodded. “Are you serious?” He looked dead into my eyes, “Oh yea, that cervix is gone!” I looked back at your mom but her face immediately blurred with the onslaught of uncontrolled tears. God’s amazing grace had opened the door for the natural birth we had been begging him for, and I couldn’t help but weep.

Seconds after Mary shouted the announcement down the hallway, our room was bursting at its seams with activity. I felt the commotion all around, yet I saw only blurred images as tears cascaded over my cheeks and rained down onto the bed below. I bent down again and whispered into your mom’s ear, “I just have to stop crying, I don’t want to miss this!”

Eventually regaining clear sight, I soaked in the excitement around me. Every push that your mom gave inched your head little by little toward the outside world, building our anticipation of finally meeting you. The doctor looked over at your heart rate monitor, “Mid-eighties, that’s not good, I think we better give her some help,” he said as he pulled out two huge metal bars – forceps. Then, right before the next contraction began, he tempered our excitement, “I’m going to try turning the baby’s head for better positioning and then pulling, but I warn you, it’s either going to go or it isn’t.” I learned from that statement, that a repeat c-section wasn’t yet ruled out, but honestly, it didn’t rattle me one bit. “Of course it would go!” I thought to myself, “God had already revealed his grace-giving presence so undeniably, that I don’t have a single ounce of disbelief left in me.” And so it happened, with a mighty push from your mom and a mighty pull from the doctor, I caught the first glimpses of your beautiful hair. Soon after, out came your nose, your ears, your chin, your shoulders, your belly, your legs and your tiny feet bringing up the rear. Immediately after hitting the air, you let out a strong cry, which brought a HUGE smile to the faces of everyone in the room, especially your mom. A hard fought battle, which we had won, but not without the pivotal arrival of God’s amazing grace.

“It’s a baby girl,” the doctor announced. I locked eyes with your mom and she mouthed your name to me, “Grace Yabsera,” and I could only shake my head in disbelief at how entirely fitting that name was for you. For as you know, your middle name, Yabsera, means “the work of the Father.” You, my lovely daughter, you are a work of God, knitted so perfectly inside your mom’s womb. But your name means more than that when read together, “Grace is the work of the Father!” I couldn’t have summed up these last few hours any better. Grace is the work of the Father. It’s a declaration that our Heavenly Father is about doing the work of grace. He delights in showing unmerited favor, not only in the small things like our preferences, as he had just done in allowing us a natural delivery, but also in the HUGE things as he does in offering free the free gift of salvation by the forgiveness to his rebellious creation. God is in the business of doing works of grace, and it is our prayer that you will declare that truth your whole life long, not only with your name, but with your words, your actions, your attitudes and your life as a whole. Grace IS the work of the Father! For which we are FOREVER grateful!

We had asked for grace…and that’s exactly what he gave!