Lessons from Incey Wincey Spider

Incey Wincey Spider climbed up the water spout... That sounds pretty good. He's on a mission, he's getting somewhere, he actually got somewhere: right to the top. Go Incey.

Down came the rain and washed poor Incey out... Darn. Washed away in a flood of water. He's pretty dishevelled now. You know how he looks in the cartoon pictures at this point right?

Out came the sun and dried up all the rain. Incey is dry and the conditions are once again prime for pipe climbing.

So Incey Wincey Spider climbed up the spout again. Done and dusted. Hooray. The end.

Incey is one of our favourite nursery rhymes. My boy loves the hand actions.  A few months ago God told me I'm like Incey Wincey. Actually, he said that we all are. I was thinking I had been chatting to him about suffering, as Incey sure suffered in the pipe incident. But then I remembered it wasn't about suffering, it was about guilt. I had been chatting with god about guilt and shame.

Nine months and three days ago I birthed a baby. Yes this post is going to be about babies again, but keep reading anyway because I'll get to the point soon! It was a big ordeal - the whole before birth and the actual birth and then the after birth dramas of ambulance trips, hemmoraging etc. 

Being a mummy was what I had wanted for a long time and I adore babies, but it was a rough start and I wasn't really okay in the head for several months after. I had post traumatic stress issues, nutrient depletion affecting my brain, etc.

I wasn't a fun person to live with and I felt guilty and ashamed for how I felt and acted. 

So i asked God about it and he told me about Incey Wincey. Incey Wincey fell down and everything was a mess. Out came the sun and fixed everything up. Incey went back up the spout again. 

Basically God showed me that falling wasn't a big deal. I shouldn't focus on my failure. I shouldn't feel ashamed. God dries everything out eventually and we can get on with things! I felt like a total mess but God didn't see my broken behaviour and broken heart as a giant issue. Yes, I had fallen and gotten hurt, but I should just get up and keep going on with life. Incey's resolve is great. He falls down and gets back up again. 

We often focus with a lot of concern on our "big mess". God says, "No big deal, keep walking."

I felt like he was saying that he doesn't see our failure and brokenness as a big deal because he can see the next part. He can see the healing: the sunny pipe climbing part.

Naturally I started to wonder about Incey's feelings. "But God don't you care that Incey suffered? Don't you care about his heart??" 

But as usual my mind went to Jesus. He suffered. Paul. He suffered. Plenty of other bible men and women. They suffered. God cares that we suffer in our hearts, but that's just how it rolls when you live in the world. You suffer. 

Keep going friends. Keep your eyes on where you are going and don't dwell on shame and guilt. Don't blow your mess, sin, failure or crisis out of proportion. No big deal. Seek God's perspective. Just keep climbing.

Things I've learned about anger.

I got really angry this morning. I got everything ready to leave the house to go to a playgroup and then I couldn't find my keys anywhere. I was already running late after managing an early nap for baby and planning our first group class for this afternoon for my piano students, pumping milk for this afternoon, showering myself, choosing an outfit, choosing baby an outfit, choosing nappies to take, choosing food to eat...  maybe it was all the choices or the fact I had been up since 6:30am or that I'd put a fair bit of emotional effort into choosing to go to playgroup instead of mummy group this morning... Whichever, I went a bit crazy when I realised we could no longer go. Rage. My bedroom wall got a beating from a pillow. (Don't laugh!)

Anger. I've learnt a few things about anger. I even started to analyse my anger today, to try to get rid of it when I realised it wasn't evaporating on its own. Anger is not a sin in itself (God gets angry, Jesus got angry) but sometimes we know our anger feels wrong and that is because we have sin behind it or around it. 

I have learned that anger usually comes from fear. If I am afraid, I am probably not trusting God. When I am afraid I put my 'needs' above gods desire and provision. I fear they won't be met. It is self centred and says that God can't care for me well enough. 

This morning I was afraid of letting down the people I was going to play group with (I keep missing events with them). I was afraid of their negativity. I was afraid of how exhausting it would be to stay home with a squealing refluxy baby. I was afraid that tomorrow - my stay at home rest day - wouldn't be as enjoyable because I would want to get out of the house finally.

Another thing I know about anger is that it comes from having a blocked goal. I'm angry because I can't do what I wanted to do. I can't make happen when I wanted to happen. I can't avoid what I wanted to avoid. 

But who am I to decide something needs to happen? I am not God. 

I had a goal to go to playgroup. To make it to an event. To feel happy. To be exhausted by the end of a successful day. Tick, tick, tick, I'm so great. Pride, striving and more. Yuck.

When I left the house with Micah to go to the park instead, I wondered what God has planned for my day and whether I had been open to his plan. Had I even asked him which event to attend? God and I aren't on great terms lately. "God what are you trying to teach me?!" I asked as I rummaged through my bags. 

Was he trying to get my attention with the ridiculous inability to find my keys? I don't know. I spent half an hour searching for them. The minute the playgroup ended and I decided to go to the park, I found them in the nappy bag.

Another thing I have learned about anger is that there is usually someone to forgive. We tend to blame someone, even if it makes no sense. In this situation I blamed my husband. Then I blamed Micah. Then I blamed God. Then I blamed spiritual attack. Then I blamed myself. Who's fault was it? I have no idea. Blame, bitterness, accusation, yuck. 

Now I want to accept that what happened today was possibly a gift. Or possibly just a bad day. Whatever. I do want you to take from it a few thoughts. 

Next time you are really angry, ask yourself, "What am I afraid of?" "Should I have that fear?"

Ask yourself, "What is my blocked goal?" "Is it a wrong goal?"

Ask yourself, "Who am I blaming?" "Do I need to forgive them?"

Deal with those things with God if that's what you do. Or just acknowledge them and talk yourself around them. 

I needed to hand my day to God, trust his goodness and forgive him, myself and my family.

I am sitting in a lovely park with my sleeping baby. Things are okay!

A few days later I found out that if we had gone along to the playgroup we would have been exposed to a virus. Maybe God really did keep us away!

My heart has been in a rough place.

Trauma does that to you.

I am not sad. I enjoy life.

My self has decided for me that it doesn't trust anyone or anything.

I have preferred online shopping over going to God.

I have preferred planning for piano lessons over listening to my memories.

I have lost myself in busy work over and over.

Worship, prayer, meditation have not come easily.

I have asked a few hard questions.

Why do the people I know who follow God the most, seem to go through the most suffering and trial? 

Are we getting something wrong? Are we all fooled by some great misconception about our faith?

I know I'm not the only one who asks these questions. I voice them on behalf of others.

I can't dispute that we hear the spirit world all the time. That is tangible and measurable. When three people all see visions of a pirate ship out of nowhere, we know we are listening to something. 

But what else do I KNOW?

I know that when we tell the enemy to flee we see healing, peace and wholeness in people.

I know that he flees when we use the name of Jesus.

I know that the things we hear from the spirit realm bring deep insight into people's hearts. 

I know that those are the key to unlock healing because I've watched it happen over and over again. I've seen the joy, the security, the freedom.

I know that when we invite Holy Spirit we get revelation, we feel warmth, peace, we hear words of deep love.

I know that the prophetic words I hear spoken to people all reflect a God who wants rest, jewels, a crown, freedom, fresh identity, intimacy and power for his children.

 

That is what I know. I guess that is a strong starting point.

Are we not standing up in that enough?

Why all the trials?

I know the head answers. I am too tired for head answers. People are suffering and it is their hearts that are crying out for answers. 

God speak to our hearts.

I'll keep you posted.

Micah's Birth - During

I wrote this several weeks ago but never shared it because I haven't been happy with it. I think I've realised that is because I am trying to draw conclusions. I want to say, "This and this happened, this is what I believe and feel about it and as usual, God had his way." It's not working though. Because I actually don't know. I always like to know the answer and have everything figured out but this time I don't. I haven't thought through it much because it is big and tricky and emotional and I am about ready to lay it at God's feet as something I just have to trust him with. Perhaps. So now I edit and re-write again... Here is my account.

A loud popping sound momentarily rouses me from sleep. I doze back off.

Gush! 

Gosh, my waters just broke! It's 2:30am. I am excited and overwhelmed.

Contractions start straight away, intense in my back. My baby is posterior. They are nothing like Braxton hicks or a miscarriage. It isn't the dreamy, peaceful waiting time in bed with my husband that I expected, as things gradually got stronger. This is strong now.

By the way I've written this all before. About a month ago. I didn't save it, my phone went flat and all the words are gone (don't you hate that!?).

I had written about the early labour. In bed, thinking I should squat & W sit like I did during my miscarriage. How I tried lying down instead and it was worse. How I could barely feel the contractions, all I could feel was the pain in my lower back. How I kept saying I wanted my midwife to come but then would talk myself out of it. How we finally called her in at 7:30am and she found me sitting beside my husband on the floor mattress, head leaning against him trying to relax through the pain.

The back pain. Not uterus pain, just back pain. 

I shared how she got me to stand up, leaning forward, hands on the table and how much better that was! How I wouldn't let them stop pushing hard on my back during every contraction.... My amusement at flooding the bed simultaneously with amniotic fluid and the soup I had eaten because everyone said to eat in early labour.

I tried so hard to eat all day but managed only a few tiny mouthfuls.

I loved labour. Not the first part. I loved the middle part. When they let me get into the pool. The birth pool was in my lounge room in front of the heat pump. I couldn't stay under the water because I had to kneel or stand up for contractions but the water was lovely on my lower half. They wrapped warm towels around my shoulders. I hated them talking during contractions but I could hardly talk to tell them to stop talking! 

That's about where I got up to the first time I wrote this. Now for the rest...

At some point I suddenly went quiet. I remember the midwife saying to the other midwife "She's gone quiet." I didn't need to talk or make noise anymore. I focused in. 

The midwife gave me a job to do. She told me to try not to push. I loved having something to do rather than swimming in what my body was doing to me.

I don't remember pain. The back pain eased. I had no sense of time. I was unaware of what was going on in my house. I was so totally drugged on hormones.

A few times I said "I can't do this anymore." "Tell me it will be over soon!" I pleaded but they wouldn't say that. They just said "it will take as long as it takes." It made me mad but then I would forget about the whole thing and go off into the contractions again. The best feeling was finally being allowed to let the contractions push.

Before long she said "I can see the head!" I was thrilled that it had come so fast.

I needed to get out of the pool to try to get the baby to descend more. We tried the floor, we tried the toilet, but I was feeling uptight because of a vision God had showed me days ago. I had seen a vision of me birthing on a birth stool in my kitchen. I was shocked by the location. I was thinking "I'm sure I need the stool," so I was so relieved when someone suggested the birth stool. One of the midwifes drove to get it.

We put it in the kitchen. I stood and leaned on the oven. The contractions were sometimes more intense and sometimes less. Sometimes I let go more and let the hormones work. The baby was having trouble coming down. I had to push past the force of the contractions. Three massive pushes to one contraction.  I had to start doing hard work. That's when it got exhausting.

His heart beat sounded fine. He moved down a little. He still wasn't coming out. We changed rooms again. We did other things to try to help. 

"It might be time to start thinking about getting some help to get this baby out," said the midwife.

But God had promised me a home birth. He had said "believe and fight for the birth you want." And I had seen myself on the stool in the kitchen. 

"I'm going back to the kitchen."

"Baby come out! Please! God please make him come out!" I begged. My husband and I were in the kitchen pleading with God and believing for his promise.

I've been pushing for hours by now. This is where I could leave out a few details and make it all seem 'okay'. But I won't. My baby went into distress and he wasn't really okay. We saw meconium. We quickly put pyjamas on me and I got into the front seat of the car. We went to the hospital. It was a five minute drive. I was wheeled to the birthing room. "We need to act fast!" Said the doctors. His heart rate was very low. There were half a dozen people in the room. They said it might be a cesarean but they wanted to feel my pushing strength first. They said it was great pushing and they got the suction onto his head. One contraction with a small suction and his head was out. I didn't feel it. Another suction and his body slid out. I felt the slippery body. His shoulders had been a bit stuck too. He came out completely posterior - face up. They wouldn't let us leave the cord attached. They took him to the table. He was healthy and doing well. They put him on my chest a few minutes later. He was an unfamiliar face but I loved him. I never got to see his cord attached or my placenta. I am very disappointed about that.

He was ten pound five ounces, 4.68 kilos and approximately 56 centimetres long. He was too long for the measuring strip. He was born at 7:18pm, half an hour after we decided to head to the hospital.

So many thoughts.

Was my home birth dangerous? Yes. If you mean my baby was on the brink of harm. Or death. It took me weeks to admit that to myself.

Did I ever think he would die? No. Never. Because God had promised him to me. Alive and in my arms.

Did I not get the home birth God promised? I never actually saw my baby in my vision of me in the kitchen. He actually never promised I would have him born at home. I always make assumptions, I always want to know too much. God never let me down.

Should I have gone to the hospital sooner? Maybe. Maybe not. We were waiting for God's leading. I was also being stubborn based on my own version of the promise.

Should I have had a planned home birth? Yes. God told me to fight for it.

Should I have had a planned hospital birth? No. God never led me to the hospital.

Should I have had an induction before he got so big? No. God clearly told me to wait.

Was he ever really in danger? God was holding him. 

Would I go back and change anything? I don't know. 

That is because I don't know if I was following God in the end or if my stubbornness was in the way.

I affected the pregnancy and birth in a million ways. My fear, stubbornness, reluctance, striving, perfectionism, lack of surrender. Honestly, it could have gone so much better if I had gotten out of the way. But I did my best. Oh I tried. I couldn't have tried harder and God's miraculous hand was obvious so Micahs birth just was what it was and I want to be at peace with it.

People would say to me after Micah's birth, "I'm sorry you didn't get the birth you wanted." That always surprised me because I felt like I had gotten the birth I wanted. It hadn't ended the way I would have liked but almost the whole thing was great. I was at home, I was in the zone and my body was working beautifully. Mostly I couldn't shake the feeling that it had gone the way it was supposed to go. It was the best it could be.

God told me weeks before labour, "It will be hard but you can do it." I wanted to do a course or read birthing method books, to do exercises or learn techniques, I really really wanted to and was so stressed when I hadn't started yet! But He didn't want me to. I asked him what I should do for the labour and he said "Be like a child." He didn't want my wisdom or my knowledge or my ability. He wanted me to fully lean on him. I did. Micah's birth was described as a miracle by some, a risky emergency by others. I have a video from the moments after birth and the midwife says "It's amazing the way you got that baby out!" Micah was so big and so back to front but I still pushed him out. I think it truly was a miracle.