Eight years ago, right now, I was about 8cm dialated. I had been pregnant with twins for thirty seven weeks at this point and they decided that now was the time to enter the world. I remember it like it was yesterday. The way they deliver twins is in the operating room. This way, if there are any issues, everything is at hand to handle them immediately.
When we went into the hospital, I can remember having a feeling of unrest. My anxiety was high, and I was sure there would be issues. When our nurse came in, I realized that I remembered her from back in the day. It was nice to catch up, and her familiarity gave me some comfort and relief from any anxious thoughts.
At about 1:00 a.m., our doctor decided it was time. As they wheeled me down to the operating room, I had a conversation with God. It was not audible, and to be honest it didn't entail a whole lot of talk. It was one sentence that went like this. "God, I trust You with whatever You have planned here." After that prayer, I looked to the operating room door. I saw my husband standing there with his scrubs on. I'm telling you, he should have been a doctor, those scrubs looked good on him :). When I looked at him, I noticed the same fear or unrest in his eyes that I had earlier.
It was time to go. Baby A, or Carson, was out in seconds. This seemed easy. At this point, I had not had any medicine for many hours. The anesthesiologist had set me up with a spinal port that was to be hooked up just before the delivery, only he never came back. I was ready for Carter. My doctor asked me to push, but he realized that my placenta had ruptured and told me to stop.
The moments that ensued where like slow motion. Everything was happening fast, yet it was all so vivid and slow in my mind. I could see the concern in my doctors eyes and hear it in his voice as he talked to my nurse and when he called yet again for anesthesia. But somehow I remained calm. God gave me the grace to trust Him. Coming from someone who suffered with severe anxiety, this was huge.
After many attempts to push baby B, aka Carter down, and many unanswered calls for meds, the doctor had a decision to make. It had been nine minutes that Carter was without oxygen and there was no time to waste, so the doctor began a c-section.
The moments that followed were spent mostly with me going into shock and the anesthesiologist finally coming on the scene, helping my body do what it wanted to do anyway. So the next hours were spent unconscious.
I sit here eight years later in the same situation. God has had me in this operating room of life. He has given me a direction, yet the more I walk in obedience, the more my body fights. I realize that I have been counting on anesthesia, or other comforts that keep me from growing in my faith.
You see, the closer we get to where God is leading us, the more painful it can become. We just finished up a series on Jonah at church. God had a plan for him, yet he needed to be emptied of himself before God would allow him to do it. It wasn't until Jonah surrendered his own wants to God that God would move him forward to accomplish the job he was set out to do in the first place.
I read an article that compared labor to Gods plans moving. How at the end of labor, the doctor and all around simply tell you to push. And that's what we must do, push forward when it hurts. Push forward when we are tired. Don't give up!
He is asking me to trust Him with the future. He is asking me to trust Him with the plans for my life. And as I crave the anesthesia, or comfort in my life, I realize God may not want that. He wants me to endure the trials, getting comfort from Him alone. So I say eight years to the minute later "God, I trust You with whatever You have planned here."