I remember being in labor with my first child and being stalled for hours. The pain was unimaginable. I had no point of reference for this kind of pain. Alternating front and back labor with no more than a breath or two between contractions. Nothing worked to distract me from it anymore. Yet I was nowhere near delivery.
I had been determined to have a natural childbirth (I did that with my third child, and that’s a whole other story with a surprising conclusion on my part). When I finally decided it was drugs or death (I genuinely felt as though I would die if I had to keep this up any longer without progress or relief) I felt so discouraged. I had failed. I couldn’t do this on my own.
After dealing with a snarky anesthesia tech, the anesthesiologist arrived. He was kind and funny, putting all of us at ease. He was patient as I worked through a few last contractions in order to hold still enough for the epidural. As he completed the procedure another contraction came barreling down and I remember thinking I couldn’t survive this. Then he said,
“This should be the last one.”
I remember because he was right. The next one felt better. The one after that I could barely feel at all. I was aware of each time my body did the hard work of bringing a child into the world, but it was without the agony and fear of imminent death.
Sometimes in our suffering, it feels like we cannot survive. I knew one way on the other my labor had to end, even if it didn’t end the way I wanted. It was physically impossible for it to continue on forever. But in our grief and suffering, the pain feels endless. There is no end date or hard stop.
In his book, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality Pete Scazzero has a whole chapter he calls Enlarging Your Soul Through Grief and Loss. He says that through experiencing grief rather than avoiding it or trying to get through it, we make room for it. We invite it in as a friend and tool. Not to debilitate us but to change us, to make us more capable of absorbing the loss and pain of others, and more malleable to the work of God and the influence of the Holy Spirit.
But here’s the thing. God doesn’t abandon us to our suffering. Sometimes he supernaturally relieves it. Other times he sends us a message like the one I got from that gentle anesthesiologist.
This is the worst it's going to be, it will get better from here. Click To TweetA friend once shared a similar story with me. As she held her colicky baby and felt like she couldn’t survive another day she heard God say, this is the worst it will be. That gave her hope and helped her get through the days to come as they slowly got her son’s reflux under control and he became a happier baby.
For reasons I don’t understand, and likely won’t understand on this side of heaven, God doesn’t always take away our suffering but he is always there with us in it. We can reach out and find that just his presence can help us to find relief.
I’ve often found peace in the words Psalm 23, as familiar as it is. I cling to the line
“Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death I will fear no evil for you are with me.”
Walk implies that I am in motion and this is a process not a destination.
Through reminds me that I am not stuck here.
Shadow reminds me that death has no hold on me. The valley of the shadow of death has no power over me if I remember even physical death is temporary because Jesus defeated death. Death has no hold on me, it is only a shadow in comparison to eternity.
You are with me means that I am never alone in my suffering. Just as Jesus appeared in the fiery furnace with Shadrach, Meshac, and Abednego, he is with us in our deepest pain and greatest struggles.
I remember exhaling that last deep breath through that final tortuous contraction and feeling a sense of peace believing that relief was coming. (It was even more true with my second delivery because I now knew how amazing it feels when the pain is gone).
I can experience the same thing as I come into the God’s presence. When I set aside my worldly cares and focus only on him, his goodness and his peace, my heart beats a little faster in anticipation. Because even within my current desperation, I know relief is coming.
Even within my current desperation, I know relief is coming. Click To Tweet
Thank you for reminding me of the chapter on Enlarging your soul through Grief in Emotionally Healthy Spirituality. I read this awhile ago but feel it would be helpful to re-read it.
Great to read a fellow FMF writer too. Child birth, once the baby, is born has to be one of the biggest senses of relief! Glad you were able to get the pain relief you wanted. An epidural wasn’t an option for me 1st time round, as all the operating theatres were full! I liked the way you used it as an analogy to our suffering and where God is in it all: Ps 23 is one of my favourite and most read Psalms!
My husband and I were part of the pilot program at our church for the Emotionally Healthy Spirituality Course. We both thought it was amazing and I would encourage every Christian to read it, and even better take the course if you can. So glad you stopped by! 🙂
Don’t fear the Valley of the Shadow;
death won’t touch me, wouldn’t dare,
for by his own pain does he know
that I’m the meanest hombre there.
Walking tall through the close night,
I won’t deign at screams to cringe,
nor need I look left or right,
for I care not what darkness brings.
I have seen this pride before,
its ruin is for what I’ve trained
in the lovely arts of war
so that hell may thus be drained
with hard right arm and manic vision
to be an Elysian subdivision.
What precious words…”this should be the last one”…especially when our Heavenly Father lays them on our heart. I’ve heard those words. I know many have…and they are precious!
I think women who do natural labor are incredible. But no shame in getting some pain relief. I can’t even imagine what that pain feels like .
I did natural labor once. I’d never do it again if I had a choice. But to each her own. 🙂