A Family Characterized by Humility: Why We Aren't Teaching our Kids to Stand up for Themselves

Even in Christian circles, I hear the phrase, “He needs to learn to stand up for himself” regarding my son. Recently, I’ve been hearing it more, so I started thinking about what God has to say about humility and considering others, with explicit commands concerning this. I desire for the Lord Himself to be my authority in parenting, not the culture, as I navigate what it looks like to parent my children in a way that honors Christ and shows them that they are in need of a Savior. Rather than teaching our kids to stand up for themselves, I think the more difficult lesson to teach them will be how to lay down their lives for the good and joy of another. I am not suggesting they be weak and let others “walk all over them.” On the contrary, think of the self-control and strength it requires to share a toy you want to play with, let your friend choose the game you play each time, or to pray for your enemies. [As a side note, I am also not advocating for our kids to continue letting someone harm them or not speak up when they see injustice. Those, and other situations like them, are different than willingly letting someone else’s sinless preferences be more important than our own.]

J and I have memorized John 15:13 together. “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” Next, we will memorize Philippians 2:3-5. “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.”

Did you catch verse 5? The only way this mindset is mine is because of Christ Jesus; subsequently, the only way it will be J’s mindset is if he trusts Christ and Christ gives him that mindset. Since reading Shepherding a Child’s Heart by Tedd Tripp, I have asked myself the question, “What does it take a changed heart to do?” This has shaped the way I respond to situations and how I encourage my son to respond. For example, it doesn’t take a changed heart to grab a toy, yell when you don’t get your way, boss someone who is bossy, ignore offenders, or hit back. It does take a changed heart to love an enemy and pray for one who has persecuted you (Matthew 5:44) or to not repay evil for evil but to bless (1 Peter 3:9).

Adults and children who don’t see themselves as selfish sinners see no need for a Savior. I would be doing my son a serious disservice if I taught him to stand up for himself in the way society portrays standing up for oneself. Apart from Christ, we are naturally bent to look out for ourselves and get what we want, regardless of how it affects others. When Christ makes us new creations, we are commanded to put to death the deeds of the body (Romans 8:13). James tells us that “where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace” (James 3:16-18).

Consider with me the example of Christ in Philippians 2:5-11. We are told, “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore, God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

In his book The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness, Timothy Keller explains that “humility is not thinking more of myself or thinking less of myself; it is thinking of myself less.” John the Baptist, in speaking about Christ, said, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30).

The way we parent in this regard may go against the preferences of other parents, but this is where grace comes in during our interactions with one another. Our family, like many others, values humility. The avenues we take to cultivate the mind of Christ in our children may look different from other parents. We aren’t saying our methods are better, though we do think they are the best routes for our family. We believe that declaring and demonstrating the humble attitude of Christ to our children by counting others more significant than ourselves and looking to the interests of others, even when it’s inconvenient for us or we’ve been wronged by others, are ways to teach them how to lay down their lives for the glory of God.  

When Other Christian Moms Parent Against My Preferences

Christian moms are unique in that we should share a common goal: raising our children to know and love God wholeheartedly. In a culture of “Mommy Wars” and shaming other mothers, we should stand against these mindsets as women who are united in purpose, though we differ in preferences.

We as Christian moms have a clear calling from Scripture to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that Christ commanded (Matthew 28:19-20), and this would include our children. When questioned about the most important commandment of all, Jesus responded, “And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30). By the power of the Holy Spirit, we should be striving to live out this commandment and shepherding our children’s hearts to do the same. Proverbs 22:6 instructs us to “train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” From childhood, Timothy was acquainted with the sacred writings, the Old Testament, which are able to make us wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus (2 Timothy 3:15). The commands of God should be on our hearts. We are to teach them diligently to our children and talk of them when we sit in our house, walk by the way, lie down, and rise (Deuteronomy 6:6-7). Numerous other verses remind us to tell our children of God’s wondrous works and faithfulness (Deuteronomy 4:9, Deuteronomy 11:19, Isaiah 38:19, Psalm 78:4, and 1 Chronicles 28:9).

Knowing we are unified in the Lord who has given us a mutual objective should transform the ways we interact with one another regarding parenting. All too often, moms in the Church publicly and privately slander other moms, Christian or not, simply because they disagree with the approaches used in parenting. I am guilty, even if it’s “only” in my heart, of questioning a mother’s style when it differs from mine. I need to remember just as much as other Christian moms that we employ different methods that best enhance the personality of our individual families while making disciples.

I want to add that I am not advocating letting other mothers practice sinful or abusive tactics in parenting, for we know that our system of training our children should be administered in a way that honors Christ. We are not to provoke our children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord (Ephesians 6:4). We should see to it that no one (our children or other moms) fails to obtain the grace of God, that no root of bitterness springs up and causes trouble (Hebrews 12:15). We are to do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others (our children and other moms) more significant than ourselves (Philippians 2:3). We are to be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger (James 1:19). We can use the guiding principles of God’s Word and be led by His Spirit to make our own decisions in how we parent, all while extending grace to other moms who are being led differently.

One way to fuel our worship of our creative and faithful God is to see how He has equipped a beautiful body of believing moms to raise up a generation for Him. There is no “one size fits all” methodology, but there is grace lavished on us by our good Father, and we should be leading the way in extending that same grace to other moms, regardless of their preferences in parenting. 

My Husband Knew I Was Pregnant before I Did

I just knew I was pregnant. For days, I had been experiencing symptoms. Then, Kate sent me a link. She didn’t know that I suspected I was pregnant. When I asked her if she was trying to tell us something, she replied that she was just giving me some expectations now that EK was getting to the age for me to get pregnant again. She thinks she’s funny.

As I read the post, I was checking things off in my head, with the hormones reference resounding most deeply, further confirming what I believed to be true. I still didn’t share my thoughts with anyone except Stephen, who had to regularly hear me say, “I’ve got to be pregnant.” We talked about life with a third baby, three under three. We were going through all the emotions, prepping for the positive pregnancy test I would take in a few days.

Friday, January 27^th came so slowly. I anxiously took the pregnancy test and stared, hard, for three minutes anticipating the second line, the one that never appeared. No matter how I held up the test in the light or squinted, it was negative. How could I have been wrong? I spent the next week wondering what was the matter with me if I wasn’t pregnant, asking why I couldn’t wake up in the mornings and was exhausted during the day, even when I was clocking a tight 8 hours each night. I honestly questioned if I was depressed and just didn’t realize it as my hormones raged and exhaustion gripped my body each morning as I literally staggered out of our bedroom while only desiring sleep.

Saturday, February 4^th, was the day everything changed. I took a nap that afternoon, and it was one of those naps where you wake up with drool all over the pillow. As I wiped my wet face, I realized I had passed out without turning on the fan for noise. I can never fall asleep without the fan drowning out the cars I can hear driving on the main highway near our house. It was then that I decided to call Stephen and ask if he could pick up another pregnancy test on his way home from running some errands just to ease my mind about the negative result from the week before.

Around 3:30, I took the test. It didn’t turn positive right away like the tests did when I was pregnant with J and EK, so I just crawled back into bed, pulled the covers over myself, and tried to fall back asleep. Stephen, on the other hand, waited the appropriate three minutes and went to check. As I’m attempting to drift off, he asks, “Is this a second line? If so, it’s really faint, but I think that’s another line, unless my eyes are playing tricks on me.” When I registered what he was saying, I screamed, “What?” as I threw off the covers and almost broke my neck trying to get into the bathroom. (It seems to be becoming a trend for others to know I am pregnant before I do.)

My initial reaction was to ugly cry while saying, “That’s a line. That’s a line, and you know it” in a tone that sounded as if I was accusing Stephen of deliberately trying to play a trick on me. He just hugged me and let me sob on his shoulders as the weight of a third child hit me. Unlike the week before, I hadn’t prepared for a positive result. But I was also relieved that there was an explanation for the extreme fatigue and my terrible attitude fueled by my rapidly changing hormones.

It was a difficult journey trying to become parents the first time, so I assumed it would be hard each time. Lord willing, we will have three under three in October, and I am thankful He is abundantly blessing us quickly. I know people who struggle for years to conceive once and experience pain again and again and others who have lost their precious little ones. I don’t want my pregnancies to cause heartache in the lives of people I know and love, and I want to mourn with those who mourn. I am currently trying to stumble my way through how to rejoice in the gifts God has given us while being sensitive to those who are hurting. The very real fear of losing this baby or my older kids can cripple me at times, so I share our news of expecting our third child to implore you to pray for us and our children. Please pray the Lord’s will be done and for our trust in Him to be firm in all circumstances. I wholly believe He is able to sustain my life, Stephen’s life, and the lives of all three of our kids, but even if He doesn’t, pray that I wouldn’t waver for He is good. 

That Time I Had a Stomach Bug on Christmas Eve

Facebook cares about me, so this past Christmas Eve I was reminded of something I posted the previous year. I thought I had food poisoning, so I asked people to pray for me as I had been sick the whole day. [Thanks?? I mean, who wouldn’t want to look back on a full 24 hours of, well, you know.]

I was about two months pregnant at the time, and Stephen and I had gone out for dinner the night before to celebrate his birthday. I thought my burger had turned against me when I woke up queasy in the early morning hours on Christmas Eve. I spent the whole day, well, you know. [Side story, I contracted a stomach bug during my first pregnancy and did have to get an IV because I got dehydrated. That’s why I asked people to pray that I would stop getting sick. I really didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve with an IV in my arm.]

Still under the impression that the burger was the culprit, I texted Lori, my amazing and supportive midwife. She didn’t hesitate to come over with a couple of natural remedies in tow to try to help my body be able to keep food and drink down more quickly. Y’all, she is awesome. I still can’t believe that she came to our house on Christmas Eve. Lori, if you read this, I’m still sorry that I unknowingly exposed you to a stomach virus the day before Christmas, and I’m so thankful you didn’t catch it.

Like every important moment in life, there was a line from a song by Lecrae that I kept replaying in my head as I got sick. In his song “Boasting,” a section stuck out to me. 

“God has never been obligated to give us life. If we fought for our rights, we'd be in hell tonight. Mere sinners owed nothing but a fierce hand. We never loved him, we pushed away his pierced hands. I rejected his love, grace, kindness, and mercy. Dying of thirst, yet, willing to die thirsty. Eternally worthy, how could I live for less? Patiently you turned my heart away from selfishness. I volunteer for your sanctifying surgery. I know the Spirit's purging me of everything that's hurting me.”

Each time my body seemed to betray me by expelling the liquids I consumed, I had to remind myself that it is actually good that my body was attempting to purge me of the wretched food poisoning (since that’s what I thought it was at the time). I couldn’t help but meditate on the line “I know the Spirit's purging me of everything that's hurting me” as I thought about how growing in holiness and putting to death the deeds of the body is painful as God’s Spirit works in me to purge me of the sin that brings death. The Lord was near and good to me in those hours, granting me joy and thankfulness in the midst of undesirable circumstances. I had a husband who took care of me, a midwife supporting me, and my friend Kate praying for me and holding my hand. I felt the Lord’s presence through the people He put around me who encouraged me and loved me when I looked less than lovely.

“So, how did you discover it was a stomach bug and not food poisoning?” I know that’s what you’re thinking. I may have given Stephen and Brantley and Kate's kids an additional present that manifested itself on Christmas Day. Again, I am so very sorry for sharing my stomach bug with you Stephen, Kate, Brantley, and Lori. You guys are all amazing! 

Our First Homebirth

I want to tell J’s birth story to clarify any misconceptions as well as celebrate the way J arrived, even if some things didn’t go as planned. I’m not trying to say that the way we did things is the way other people should or that homebirths are the best option for everyone. I do believe, however, that low-risk women should have the freedom to choose to deliver their babies at home if they desire without fear of judgment or not receiving adequate care if they must be transported to the hospital during labor or after delivery.  To lighten the mood and literally laugh out loud, check out this clip of Jim Gaffigan talking about homebirth. 

Our oldest kiddo J was born on a November morning as our first homebirth. This would imply that EK’s birth was also a homebirth, and that is correct. Before unloading all the details of J’s birth, I want to quickly share the reasons we concluded homebirth was the right choice for our family and a few highlights from my pregnancy.

Before our friends Kate and Brantley delivered at a birth center, we didn’t really consider another option for delivering our future children. Honestly, when we heard of people doing homebirths, we didn’t think, “We want to do that.” Our thought process was more like, “Weirdos” (no offense friends who had homebirths before us). All of this changed after I found out I was pregnant on February 22, 2014 around 6:35 in the morning. Once we told our parents, best friends, and community group, the reality started setting in that we were going to have a baby, presumably in early November (J’s original due date ending up also being the day J was born; even from the womb, J knew I was a planner). During a conversation with our friends, Brantley mentioned a documentary on Netflix produced by Ricki Lake titled The Business of Being Born. After watching this, Stephen and I dove headfirst into exploring all of our options. Hours of research were done before we decided to take the plunge and commit to delivering our little one at home.

Part of our research included touring a birth center to see if we would want to deliver there. Damaris was the midwife giving the tour the Saturday we went. She was so patient, answered everyone’s questions, and even took the time to talk to us individually after the tour. I felt incredibly relaxed in her presence, and I immediately loved her. Though delivering at the center or at home would mean more out of pocket expense for us because of out of network costs with insurance, I knew I wanted Damaris to deliver my baby. After the tour, I started receiving prenatal care from Damaris, but we still hadn’t decided between a homebirth or a birth at the center. Somewhere around the 28 week mark, we let Damaris know we wanted to do a homebirth.

We heard our little one’s heartbeat for the first time on April 18^th and all of my prenatal appointments following this one went well. I was required to see another physician before 28 weeks gestation and in the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy, and the doctor confirmed that I was still low-risk and a good candidate for an out of hospital birth at both of these appointments. 

In the meantime, I read all the books about natural childbirth thanks to the lending library that is Kate. The ones I remember that really pumped me up and convinced me that my body knows what it is doing were Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskins and Robert Bradley’s book Husband-Coached Childbirth. We attended an amazing birth class at the center, and what impacted me the most was the instructor sharing an acronym for pain to think about during contractions. She encouraged us to remember that contractions serve a purpose, can be anticipated, are intermittent, and are normal.  

I may have inadvertently transferred my trust from the Lord to the knowledge I had gained as a result of the extensive reading and all the information we received through our birth class. Obviously it’s helpful to prepare as much as possible for what lies ahead but nothing truly prepared me for 15 hours of labor, transition, pushing, not being able to hear the heartbeat, an episiotomy, a third degree tear, staying at the hospital for three days, having an administrator threaten us with Social Services, Domestic Violence being sent to talk to me, and the very real struggles of adjusting to life with a newborn while recovering from the surgery. This is the abbreviated version of J’s birth story, so if it sounds interesting, keep reading. Grab a cup of coffee, though, because I’ve never been one to skimp on the deets.

Around 7:00 the night before J was born, we dressed up as nerds with Brantley, a 34 weeks pregnant Kate, and their oldest kiddo to get free chicken from Chick-fil-A on Cherry Road. I wasn’t sure what was happening as mild contractions started. When the guys went to get our beverages refreshed (you like that Chick-fil-A lingo), I told Kate that I felt like I was having cramps. I was a little nervous when Kate informed me that those were probably contractions. That’s right, my contractions started in the back left booth by the bathrooms if you were curious about where we were sitting. An additional nugget (haha) of information, when we told the guys, Brantley said something to the effect of, “Well that explains the uncomfortable look you had on your face.” Apparently I made some sort of face that communicated discomfort during the few contractions I had there in the back booth.

At 8:30, I started timing the contractions while sitting on the birthing ball between the contractions that were coming every 10 minutes. They were lasting around 15 seconds at this point. It was supposed to get cold that night so Stephen checked to make sure the heat was working. It wasn’t. He called Bobby, our HVAC guy, and he came out at 9:30 on a Friday night to fix our heat. While he was here, I tried to lay down and get some rest before the contractions strengthened. After Bobby left, Stephen came to check on me, and we started timing the contractions again because they were lasting longer. It was 11:14 and they were lasting 30-40 seconds and were 3 minutes apart. By 12:35, they were still only lasting 30-40 seconds, and we were planning to call Damaris when they were lasting a minute and had been that way for an hour, so I tried to get some sleep again.

Around 2:40 in the morning, we resumed timing contractions. By 4:00, I was ready to have Kate by my side because labor was more difficult than I thought it would be. The contractions continued to be about 2-3 minutes apart and lasting 40-50 seconds with some sprinkled in lasting a minute or more. I lost my mucus plug at 6:12, and we stopped timing the contractions at 6:49. Damaris arrived around 7:00. With the strength the Lord provided and the support of Stephen, Kate, Damaris, and Lori, I powered through the exhaustion and fatigue that had been my reality for the past 14 hours as my water broke and I started pushing. The pushing felt like it lasted forever. I distinctly remember expressing my frustration by forcing out the words, “Why isn’t anything happening?” Damaris was a steady presence, reminding me to listen to my body and that my body knew what it was doing. Stephen and Kate rubbed my back, gave me water, and held my hands during my journey through uncharted territory.

Around 9:30, Damaris couldn’t detect the baby’s heartbeat. I tried changing positions, but we still couldn’t hear the heartbeat. Damaris cut an episiotomy and at 9:45 J was born. The room felt frozen as I waited for Stephen to tell me our baby was fine. Instead, Stephen had his head buried behind mine, trying to force back the tears that threatened to fall as he thought the worst. The silence stretched on until Kate let me know the baby was okay. I was relieved but exhausted.

Damaris called another midwife who determined the tear would require stitches instead of simply using surgical glue. Two doctors who work closely with the midwives were called, but one was out of town for the weekend and the other didn’t answer. The episiotomy resulted in a third degree tear, but since I wasn’t hemorrhaging, we decided to drive ourselves to a hospital in Charlotte for my stitches. With Kate accompanying us and our new baby in tow, we arrived to the hospital about 1:00. We were in the hospital from around 1:00 Saturday afternoon to 5:00 Monday evening.

Most of the hospital stay was stressful, to say the least, and it seemed to drag on. Like forever. When we checked into the ER, the nurse that assisted us was so encouraging. His name was Josh, and he told us about his wife’s birth experience and how they wished they had been able to deliver at home. As we talked, I shared how even though things didn’t go according to our plan, the Lord was still good. He agreed, prayed with us, and reminded us of God’s sovereignty even over this. Michael, an OB surgeon, was called in to assess the situation. He was great, too. He told us that it would be a simple stitch and I would likely be able to leave that evening. I was moved to a room in the maternity ward, and we just waited until it was time for my surgery. During this time, the nurses kept trying to persuade us to admit J as a patient, even though we were only there for my tear to be repaired. J had passed the newborn screening and received superb care from our midwife, so we declined admitting J. Around 10:00 that evening, 9 hours after arriving, I was prepped for the surgery. I was under anesthesia, so I obviously have a good two hour gap of no memory, but as Stephen rocked J and waited for me, he prayed and trusted our good Father to protect me. Michael filled Stephen in on all the haps while I was still under but surgery was complete. Turns out, when they started repairing the external tear, they discovered a couple of internal tears that needed to be repaired, so he said I would likely not be discharged until sometime Sunday.

Every time I started to doze during the night, I was awakened for the routine blood pressure checks. I understand this is just part of what happens in the hospital, but I was exhausted and emotional. First thing Sunday morning when a new shift began, a female doctor came in to basically berate and degrade me for having a homebirth because I could have died. She went on to criticize me for wanting to be discharged and couldn’t understand why I would want to be resting peacefully at home, enjoying my new baby, since I had major reconstructive surgery. She made sure we knew her stance on homebirth. If you aren’t sure what her attitude towards homebirth is, I’ll quickly explain. She’s very against it because of situations like mine. You know, circumstances that result in a tear that can be easily repaired at a hospital. I understand the risks we took in order to achieve the birth experience we wanted. I also know that if the tear was putting my life at risk, the procedure would have been completed more quickly. Further, Michael assured us that I wasn’t in danger of hemorrhaging.  The doctor who reprimanded me Sunday morning thinks that if women aren’t going to deliver at the hospital, they should at least use a birth center. You know, the places that are set up to be just like a house with the same equipment the midwives bring to homebirths.

After the doctor left, I tried nursing J again. All morning, J had been acting lethargic and not interested in eating. I thought through the possible culprits for the listlessness and decided I would stop receiving morphine. If broccoli can pass through a mother’s milk to make her baby gassy, it’s not a far stretch to conclude that even if it doesn’t passes through easily, morphine can cross the blood-brain barrier, which could then lead to infant drowsiness and central nervous system depression. Even though a lactation consultant told me the morphine wouldn’t pass through my breastmilk, I did some research on my own and discovered that it is the preferred narcotic for breastfeeding mothers because its passage into breastmilk is less than the other medicines. “Less than” implies that it does in fact end up in the breastmilk of a nursing mother, and if not receiving additional morphine would result in J being more alert and eager to eat, I wanted to try it.

After this, a hospital administrator came in and things got interesting and difficult in every possible way. He seemed cordial at first, until I explained why I wasn’t receiving any medication and why we didn’t need to admit J. This launched him into a rant directed to Stephen. “This is her body.” The administrator repeated this phrase several times, each time full of more anger than the previous time. We were so confused as Stephen graciously and repeatedly said, “I know this is her body.” I realized that the administrator thought Stephen was making the decision for me to not receive medication, so I tried to clarify, but he didn’t want to hear it. He constantly interrupted us and started using more scare tactics since we didn’t succumb to his desires. First, he told us he would have to call Social Services. I let Stephen do the talking as he is more gifted at dispensing grace than I am, especially in my post-partum state. When we continued to stand firm, the administrator told us that J could not stay in our room any longer and they would be removing the “crib” he was in, which shocked and angered me. He tried to tell us that a breastfed newborn couldn’t stay in the room with me as a visitor even if Stephen was there, too. I attempted responding to this, but I was met with the response, “I already did call Social Services.” I’m not sure when he did this, as we didn’t see him make a call during his tirade. This is what set me off. I couldn’t believe he threatened us with Social Services when we had not done anything wrong. I was a brand new mom, doing my best to recover from surgery while nurturing my little bundle of joy. We made some decisions that are out of the norm, but we had not done anything illegal or even questionable. I not so graciously told the administrator that I knew that he was trying to make us feel as if the decisions we made were uniformed and that I didn’t appreciate the way he was handling our conversation. I also told him to leave our room so we could discuss how we wanted to move forward. The whole time I’m talking, he was interrupting and made sure to get in the last word. From all the way across the room from J, he decided to leave us with one final “observation” to get us to admit J. He pointed in J’s direction and declared “That baby looks jaundiced” and left the room. A new parent never wants to hear that, so of course we started freaking out. We knew J was fine. J's eyes didn’t have a yellow tint, J's skin was perfect, but still the words haunted us as we thought about how J still hadn’t nursed well in the past 6 hours. I called Kate and asked her to bring my pump and the formula from our house to try to get J to eat, and Stephen took J for a car ride to try to get some sun just in case jaundice was an issue. When Kate arrived, relief washed over me as she wrapped me in a hug and then helped me figure out how to use the pump.

While I was pumping, there was a knock at the door. Some lady named Mary helped herself into our room. I wasn’t really sure what to do when she introduced herself as “Mary with Domestic Violence.” She saw the look on my face and said, “Didn’t you request for someone from Domestic Violence to come talk to you?” With Kate by my side and bottles being filled (as much as they can be) with colostrum, I explained all that had transpired that morning. Kate vouched for Stephen as she told Mary that he is one of the most gentle and humble people she has ever met. Mary’s face conveyed disbelief and compassion. She apologized for everything with the administrator and recommended that I ask for someone from Social Services to come to our room so I could have my story on record with Domestic Violence and Social Services since both departments are a part of the hospital in order to be advocates for the patients. I felt much better emotionally after she left. I was able to relax, and Stephen and J returned. When they entered the room, Stephen looked panicked. He started talking through tears about how J was doing even worse and now he was limp. I’m not really sure how I remained calm, other than the grace of the Lord, but I told Stephen everything was going to be fine as I took J from him and put the bottle of colostrum to J's lips. J guzzled it down and acted eager for more. We got a bottle of formula ready and the kid drank it like a champ. Within minutes, J was more alert and no longer limp and lethargic. Rejoicing and praising God were the only appropriate responses for this outcome.

When things settled down, Kate took a look around the room and pointed out that my catheter bag and bucket were about to overflow. I started thinking about how no one had checked on me since the hospital administrator had been in our room. It had been at least three hours, which means I was not having the ice on my stitches changed every hour as I was told would happen. I also had not eaten since arriving the day before. Brantley and Stephen went to get some food while Kate and I snuggled J in the hospital room. Then, there was another knock at the door. I don’t remember her name, but someone from Social Services came by after Mary had put in the request for me. The lady with Social Services was amazing and really helped turn the rest of the time at the hospital around as she worked on our behalf. She listened as I repeated our morning episode and immediately apologized for the administrator’s behavior and for how he tried to use Social Services to threaten us. She echoed what Mary said earlier by explaining that the Social Services department is there to advocate for the patients and that she hates when the department is painted as the people that come to take your baby away from you to try to force compliance. She then clarified that all of this started because the staff was concerned with the fact that I had not shared the name of my midwife. In unison, Kate and I said, “They didn’t ask the name of the midwife.” I wasn’t trying to hide anything, but since I had only said “my midwife” when I talked about Damaris, the staff thought I had a botched homebirth and that Stephen was trying to keep me from racking up additional charges by telling me that I couldn’t receive more medication. She shook her head as she said, “I’m not sure why this staff doesn’t ask questions.” Then she asked, “What is your midwife’s name?” I told her, and she responded, “Well, that was easy.” She went on to tell me that she had already spoken with the staff and told them that people make different decisions and that even though we didn’t do what the staff was accustomed to, the hospital claims to provide excellent care to all patients and since we were there now, we should be receiving the same excellent care as all the other patients. Kate and I told her about how I still hadn’t eaten, showed her the catheter bag and bucket, and noted that I was in desperate need of some new ice on my stitches to bring some relief. She assured me that she would take care of everything, and overall everything really did improve. 

With the arrival of Monday came new nurses, and they were my favorite. When my catheter was taken out, I asked to try to pee because I was told that as soon as I could pee on my own, the discharge process would begin.  I immediately peed and rejoiced. The nurse humored me and celebrated with me. Around 5:00 Monday evening, drained in every possible way, I was discharged. Coming home in 5:00 traffic was slightly annoying, but I knew I was going home. I don’t think I have ever been happier about walking into my house.

There is more I could share, but I think the equivalent of six pages is enough. Through all of this, I was reminded that the Lord, my Sovereign God, is the One who is in control of all my circumstances, and He is good even in the midst of failed plans and unexpected outcomes. In our weakest moments, we were able to cradle our newborn boy and be reminded that our hope is in Christ alone, the One who saved us and who loves us. 

Redemptive Birth

At 3:41 on a June morning, our littlest love was born. EK entered the world after a quick labor for this second time momma. As far as birth goes, EK's was amazing. It was everything I wish my first birth would have been. But maybe this baby’s birth seemed so great because of the difficultly associated with my first birth experience. My best friend Kate described EK’s birth as redemptive, and I think the word redemptive perfectly encapsulates EK's labor and delivery.

Kate was with me and Stephen for the birth of our first kiddo, J. She knows the whole story, all 15 hours of labor, the pain I experienced during transition, the pushing that didn’t seem to be accomplishing anything, the fear that entered the room when our midwife couldn’t detect the heartbeat, the episiotomy that had to be done, the driving to the hospital to repair a third degree tear, the subsequent three day hospital stay full of less than pleasant interactions with some of the staff, and the very real struggles of adjusting to life with a newborn while recovering from the surgery. She was there for all of it and could compare J’s story to EK’s and speak redemption over it.

The only experience I had to look back on was J’s birth, and the labor with EK’s birth was so different that my husband and I were caught off guard.  Up until the last 10 minutes of J’s birth, my labor fit the textbook examples to a T. This was not the case with EK. The morning before EK was born, I woke up around 3:30 with very mild contractions. I started timing them, and they were about 20 minutes apart. About an hour and a half later, I woke Stephen up to let him know I was having contractions and that they were 10 minutes apart. They still weren’t lasting very long, but I thought it would be a good idea for him to take the day off from work just in case. I got up and started moving around more, and the contractions started spacing out again. I had a contraction at 8:40, right before going into the office of the chiropractor we were seeing at the time. Dr. Mark gave me an adjustment and said, “Most women have their babies within 24 hours after receiving that adjustment.” I didn’t have another contraction until 9:50, so just like I doubted Dr. Mark about being pregnant the second time, I wasn’t convinced I would be having a baby within 24 hours. Many of my friends had days of false labor before the births of their second born kiddos, so I figured it would be the same for me.

Stephen and I stopped at Chick-fil-A on Cherry Road because I had to have a chicken biscuit, went to the pharmacy in Publix to have the remaining prescriptions filled that I needed for a successful homebirth, and came home. I spoke with my midwife Lori to fill her in on everything. She told me to note the intensity when contractions began again, time the contractions while doing various activities to see if they continued to come regularly, and that I would know when true labor was upon me. It was almost noon and there had been no more contractions, so I told Stephen he should go to work. At 12:15, I lost my mucus plug, signaling that labor could start within hours or days, so that wasn’t helpful.

Contractions continued off and on throughout the afternoon. I had friends over but the contractions were so mild they didn’t know I was having them, and I didn’t tell them. That evening, we had some friends stay with us who were moving over the weekend and needed somewhere to sleep. We stayed up talking to Jose and Stephanie until around 11:00 Friday night, and I had a few contractions during our conversation with them. Again, I didn’t think the baby would be making an appearance that night, but Stephen and I thought we should probably give them a heads up about the whole homebirth thing before we went to bed. They didn’t know we had J at home, so they were very shocked when we told them that we had a homebirth with him and were planning one with baby number 2. Jose asked, “So we could wake up and there could be a new baby here tomorrow?” Stephen’s response was, “Yeah, like Christmas!” I told Jose it was a possibility but it wasn’t likely to happen. Our houseguests moved from surprise to curiosity fairly quickly, wondering if they would hear anything. We assured them that they wouldn’t, based on the past experience with J where I wasn’t very vocal, but that they may see a light on in the living room if Lori was here. We told them good night, got in bed, and Stephen was asleep within minutes of our heads hitting the pillows. I, however, had a contraction that felt a little stronger followed by another one a few minutes later.

Around midnight, I began timing my contractions while switching positions to see if they slowed down. For the next hour and a half, I ran water in our bathtub, sat on the birthing ball, went to the living room to sit on the couch, and walked around. It was kind of comical that Stephen had no idea what was going on while he peacefully slept. I got the Crock-Pot ready with oil and water for compresses to use during labor, and I woke Stephen up around 1:30 Saturday morning. By this point, my contractions were coming every 3 minutes and were lasting 30-40 seconds.

The intensity of the contractions ramped up as they lasted for 45 seconds to a minute and stayed 3 minutes apart. During this time, I told Stephen a few times that I thought we should call Lori. Based on J’s birth and the 5-1-1 guideline, Stephen thought it would be best to wait for the contractions to be lasting a full minute and for them to be that long for an hour.

Around 3:00, the transition phase hit hard as I clenched the bathroom counter while contractions came one after another. This is also the point where Stephen tried to get me to breathe and relax because I was tensing up. Instead of happily receiving his advice, I glared at him and snapped, “Shut up! You did this to me!” If you know my super sweet and amazing husband, you know how bad I feel about this now. I didn’t feel so bad about lashing out at him in the moment, though. I directed Stephen to call Lori and staggered to our bed, but I fell to the ground as another contraction gripped my body. When it passed, I had enough time to get on our bed and repeat, “Jesus, help me. I’m gonna die.” As I absorbed another wave of contractions, I writhed in pain. When those passed, I asked Stephen what Lori said. His response was, “Oh, I was timing the contractions.” I lost it. This is the point where I may have used an expletive as I yelled at Stephen to call Lori right then, followed by an exasperated, “My water just broke all over me.”

It was 3:13 when Stephen called Lori, and I cannot even communicate how thankful I am that she only lives about 10 minutes away. When he got off the phone with her, I told him I needed to start pushing, so I did. With each push, it felt like my energy was being renewed and excitement grew knowing I would soon be seeing my baby. It didn’t bother me that we were doing this alone, and it hadn’t occurred to me that there had been no monitoring of the baby’s heartbeat during the most difficult stage of labor. I was just listening to my body, and somehow I knew what it was saying.

Lori quietly entered the room and said she would be calling her assistant, Pam, who lives about 30 minutes away. By this time the baby’s head was on its way out, so Lori quickly said, “I’m going to put on my gloves.” No sooner had she snapped her gloves on than I announced, “The head is out.” Lori jumped into action with a, “Yes it is” and prepared to catch the baby after another push. When she passed our little baby up to me at 3:41, I couldn’t believe we had an EK. I had honestly been prepping myself for the birth of LJ. I stared at EK in amazement and breathed out, “You’re our little EK.” I planted a kiss right on EK's fresh out of the womb lips and laid down cradling EK close to me, feeling peace and joy I can’t even adequately describe.

EK’s labor was still labor, but it was a whole new experience. J’s birth was redeemed in a way as EK’s arrival ushered in the healing of many wounds. We didn’t know the gender of our little one until EK was born, but we had the name picked out months before we saw EK's face. My mind continually went back to the meanings of EK's names as I prayed for our little one to be made whole and complete in Christ and to live a free life. Reflecting on EK's birth experience, I see how it parallels the redemption I encountered at the cross of my sweet Savior Jesus. Christ took all of my impurity onto Himself and exchanged it for His perfect purity. By trusting in Him for the forgiveness of my sins, I was made whole and complete. Not only did EK’s birth herald restoration in the hours following the delivery, but I can reflect on EK's name daily to remember the eternal redemption that is mine in Christ Jesus. So, yeah, I think it’s safe to say that EK’s birth was redemptive.   

Life as a Mother of 8: An Interview with Frances Williams

As a mother of eight who has been faithfully walking with Jesus for many years, I asked my Grandma to offer up her knowledge and experience to me and other moms. My Grandma is an example of perseverance, so I knew she could provide some insight into motherhood as I go through this journey with God using my kids to change my selfish heart. I hope you are encouraged as you read from the perspective of someone who has endured all we endure as moms and who now has 16 grandchildren and 17 great-grandchildren.

Background

How did you and granddaddy meet?

We met on a blind date. I had a friend who was dating a guy from the Flat Creek area. He would bring a friend and if I wasn’t busy, I’d go out with them. He kept talking about this guy, and I never thought much about him. One night, Ruth came to the door, and I agreed to go with them. To my surprise, a guy in uniform with one leg and crutches was with them. At the end of the night, he said something like, “W.L.’s got a standing date. Can I come back?” I told him, “Well, yes, if you want to.” Years later, he told me, and W.L. verified it, that when I was at the door with Ruth and he saw me, he told W.L., “That’s the girl I’m gonna marry.” Me? No. Spend my life with a one legged man? Well, you know things changed.

How old were you when you got married? How old was granddaddy?

I was 17, and he was 23.

Describe life as newlyweds in the 1940s.

I really can’t remember details. He moved from Pageland to Heath Springs, and we lived with my mom. He started a business, and that was pretty much it. I didn’t really change my way of life. We had kids, family was close, and we lived from day to day.

What were your thoughts about having children before you and granddaddy got married? Did you always want children? When did you want the children to come? Did you want to have your children close together?

I was going to have 3 kids (2 girls and 1 boy). We had no other plans. Things didn’t work out like that, did they?

What dreams/goals/accomplishments did you and granddaddy want to achieve before having children? Were there any dreams/goals/accomplishments that had to be delayed? What were your feelings about this? Have those feelings changed?

I really don’t remember many of those. We went from day to day, using the resources we had. God took care of us. There’s no other way we would have survived.

Baby Blessings

When were your children born?

Baby #1- March 1, 1946

Baby #2- July 12, 1947

Baby #3- May 25, 1948

Baby #4- April 5, 1950

Baby #5- March 26, 1952

Baby #6- January 13, 1956

Baby #7- June 15, 1957

Baby #8- November 21, 1964

 What thoughts and reactions did you experience prior to each baby’s arrival?

Nothing special. I was just thankful they were healthy and we were able to feed and clothe them.

Describe your adjustment to motherhood.

I can’t. I just did what had to be done.

Describe what life was like with eight children.

Impossible, busy, time consuming, exciting, scary. Regrets for having them- none.

What are comments, positive or negative, you heard as a mother of eight?

People said things like, “Oh, I feel so sorry you have so many to take care of” and “I don’t see how you can do all that work.”

How did you respond to negative comments?

I told people that the children do their part because each of them had certain things to do and they accepted their responsibilities.

What have you enjoyed the most about being a mom?

I have enjoyed watching them excel in things they wanted to do.

What was your biggest struggle?

Getting them ready for the school bus in the morning.

Where did you work? Did you have to work?

I went to work after we moved to Liberty Hill. I didn’t have to work. I took a neighbor to apply for a job, but I filled out an application, too, just because. It just so happened, your granddaddy was visiting a fellow veteran, who also had one leg. His wife mentioned she had seen my application but that she didn’t call because she didn’t think I really wanted a job. Well, your granddaddy said, “She might.” She called the next morning. I went up to Skyline and started work the next day.

 Additional Advice and Encouragement

What is life like now that your children are grown?

I’m enjoying a few lazy moments and feeling glad they are pretty healthy. I’m trying to be a “good” counselor if asked for advice.

What is the most important lesson you have learned as a mother?

Take every day as important. Accept help when offered!! Let your children learn to do things on their own. Remember, God is in charge.

Do you have any regrets? Is there anything you would want to do differently or that you would change?

Change my life? No. Change the way I did things? Yes.

How did you protect your marriage in the midst of raising eight children?

It was a joint job. He made the money and taught work ethics. I cooked, shopped, did the laundry, etc.

What would your response be to the question, “How did you do it?” in regards to being a mom of eight children?

I took care of the children during the day and asked God to take care of them at night while I slept. I realized there were times when I couldn’t be there with them and had to remember who was in charge.

Thank you, Grandma, for sharing your wisdom and insight into the stresses and joys of motherhood. I have been challenged to relinquish control and surrender to the Lord as I care for my beautiful babies. My perspective of parenthood is often shaped by the current culture instead of God’s Word, and I feel entitled to ease and comfort in being a mom (free time, good naps that lead to more free time, well-behaved children at all times). By your hard work, done joyfully and with contentment, you have demonstrated that even when our lives don’t go as planned, we can yield control, trust the Lord as His perfect plan unfolds, and rest in Him. I pray I will leave a rich legacy of children, grandchildren, and great-children who are blessed by my example as I follow Christ just as you have blessed your family.