in celebration of the new and beautiful

My dear friend Rosa gave birth about a week and a half ago to her second child, a son, H.O. He is just the cutest thing. It was funny meeting him for on his first day of life and being surprised at how tiny he is. Even this past Sunday at church (go Rosa!!!) seeing his little, tiny, skinny red leg and itsy furry-socked foot sticking out of his mama's sling, I could not believe that babies came that small. He was born weighing 6 lbs 7 oz.

Of course it is all a matter of perspective, but this is from a woman who--before E--never had a baby born over 6 lbs. G in particular was really what you want for your first birthing experience: 4 lbs 15 oz and an unusually small head. Thank you, Lord! They got a little bigger each time--5 lbs 10oz, 5 lbs 6 oz (but she was a month early). When E was growing in there, I knew he was going to be astronomically big. Well, for me. And he was--I had to look it up on facebook because I could not remember--7 lbs 8 oz.

And of course it makes sense that H.O. looks so small, because E is 8 months older, and so robust. But I still thought it was funny how quickly I have forgotten. : )

One thing I had not forgotten yet--how to handle a newborn. And this is what I was actually inspired to write about today, how I once again had the extreme pleasure of feeling used by God to bless and support Rosa, even if just for a few minutes. I am sure Rosa will blog about her birth experience sometime soon, so I am not going to take the telling of her story from her--I am just going to give a snippet of when our stories intersected.

I knew when they were starting the early signs of labor that morning, and got some updates throughout that day, and knew by evening that they were still at it, but with clearly a long way to go. So I went to bed that night with Rosa on my heart, praying for her and her husband and H.O. That night, I woke up at one in the morning, praying. I mean I woke up for no discernable reason--without a baby crying or a girl kicking the wall in her sleep--and as I woke, I became aware that I was praying. The same thing happened again at 5 in the morning--I woke up praying. This time I remembered doing it for longer, as if I was praying in a dream and woke up from the dream still praying.

I am not explaining this well, but this has never happened to me before. There have been a few times in my life when I had a very powerful dream and woke up from it and prayed because of the terrible feelings or images I was still reeling from. But I have never come to wakefulness and realized I was praying.

When I got to visit later that evening, and got to hear the whole story, it was fascinating to tell them my experience and for Rosa and her husband, B, to say "Oh yeah, that was when ____ was happening." The coolest part, though, was when they told me that they had heard of another woman who woke up at 3 in the morning and prayed for them--so it was like the Holy Spirit was moving people to pray all throughout the hours when they needed it the most, and God beautifully covered them with His safekeeping.

Then on that first Sunday, we took Rosa's daughter little G home with us after the church gathering. After dinner I took her back to the hospital and then got to hang out with Rosa while daddy took little G to Grandma's for the night. And it was here when, again, things seemed to happen in a way that was beyond coincidence, that pointed to a merciful and loving Father providing for his children in need. While B was gone, I got to hold little H.O. and was so pleased with how easy and natural it seemed, just to tuck him in the crook of my arm and be moving around the room adjusting furniture and fetching things. I have four kids, so I do have some experience. Yet never in my life have I naturally gravitated towards holding or tending other people's children. Especially babies. I love to admire them, but always am too afraid that the minute I hold them they will start crying and everyone will then know that I am secretly inept with children. I have always envied those women who just swoop in and gather up other people's children in their arms and chuckle and coo and the babies just eat it up and are completely at home. I've never been able to do that, even with my sister's kids.

So, it was such a pleasure to have little H.O. in my care, and for once feel like that strong and capable woman who knows what to do and has a way with babies. I got to change his little poopy diaper and knew just what to do (even how to hold his little ankles so those clumsy security anklets don't scrape his delicate skin). And then, just when H.O. was awake and wanting to nurse, Rosa started to feel really ill, and had to quickly hand him off to me again. She called her husband to ask him to come back as quickly as he could, and as she hung up the phone, he was there! He had been walking into the hospital as she called. It was God's perfect timing--for he could then be there to help Rosa and I just hung out with little H.O., awash with peace and love, praying for them all, feeling like I was just the right person to be there and snuggle a newborn who at that moment wanted his mama but who did not cry because I knew enough how to keep him feeling taken care of. And since you understand that I have never been that person before, it was that much more a gift.