Water and Blood, Bread and Wine

    The nurse came running after us. “You forgot these,” she happily pronounced her friendly salvation act as she handed us the two small shot glasses. “I figured they were for your contact lenses.” Uh, huh. Contact lenses, right. I am the only one in my family with nearly perfect vision. Ben's had Lasik surgery. Along with a miniature bottle of red wine, we had smuggled the glasses into the delivery ward of the hospital. (Forgot our essential overnight bag – the one with changes of underwear and toothbrushes -- but we did not forget the alcohol. Oh no, we did not. We have our priorities straight you see.) It had been nine months of abstaining and I wanted to celebrate properly. In the quiet dark of the hospital room then, on the beautiful December night of our first born's birth, we broke bread and gave thanks, sweet precious Communion. In covenant love, we would begin our journey as parents, as father and son, as mother and child, as a family. Holding this marvel of miracle to my chest, Ben wrapped his arms around us and prayed, “God, may we love each other profoundly. May Banner know he is loved beyond measure. May your banner over him, over us, be love.”

    After about twelve hours of labor, Banner Benjamin Maki entered this world. It was Easter that we found out we were pregnant and three days after Christmas, December 28,2011, that our baby boy was born. The celebratory seasons spoke to me as to the significance of what incredible endeavor laid before us - the pregnancy, the labor, parenthood. We hoped to have a natural birth experience without any drugs and we were able to - despite the need of oxygen and the possibility of pulling Banner out in the end as his heart rate had dropped significantly. The last two hours of pushing were extremely difficult. Banner was in posterior position nearly the whole duration which lent to much back labor. Ben was an amazing partner and coach through it all. He held my hand and relentlessly pushed on my back. The counter pressure brought much needed relief as he whispered stories to keep my mind from the pain, “We are on the beach at Point Reyes. It is dark and there is a camp fire that warms us.” After, I was shocked when I looked in the mirror to see that the blood vessels in my face, eyes and around my shoulders all had burst. I had heard about this happening to women before but could not have imagined such exertion.

     One of the reasons I desired natural birth was that I wanted to fully be mindful of the spiritual journey of labor. It seems to me that there are many allusions connecting the experience of birth and death that they almost seem to be one in the same. Jesus said in order to find life, we must lose it. We must take up our cross daily and follow him. “Be born again,” he says. The Hebrew word for compassion includes the word for womb. The Greek word lends to the same idea, Splagxnizomai. It is as if this virtue is conceived in the very place where precious life is formed and is connected to the living breathing heart of the Creator. Brennan Manning, author of Abba's Child, purposes that compassion exists then in the very womb of God. And it is because of this divine compassion, this love for His creation, that He sent His one and only Son. The night before Jesus died, on the night he broke bread with his disciples, he communed with His Father in the garden. It is written that he prayed so hard, he sweat blood. He labored in prayer for the incredible endeavor that was before him - the trail, the beatings, the crucifixion. More so, for the joy set before him, Christ labored. He labored for us. And in such exertion to bear life, to bring life, to be Life, his blood vessels perhaps burst. I believe it was birth pains he experienced in that garden that early morning for on the cross that day His death brought forth life. And from His side, poured water and blood, the very fluid of rebirth. Drink wine. Break bread. Do this in remembrance, he tells us. This is the day you were born. Celebrate in covenant. His banner over us is love.