We are days away from welcoming our fifth child into the world, which seems unreal and still catches me off guard.
The days are full of preparing, which makes me feel almost cliche, but I can't seem to fight these rhythms that run deep... because I'm human? Or a woman? The need to put everything right, to organize and stock up, to make a place for this little person, to hold everyone else a little tighter and worry that perhaps you will miss them if you're not careful as you add another human to the fold.
It still makes me wonder, how in spite of all my misgivings, I've still come to a place where I'm eager and expectant and nothing less than thrilled to have another one to hold. And how do we get to that place, with the storm clouds that we bring this little person into, the ones that will eventually rain over their sweet newness: the political landscape, the family strife, the demons I battle that make me less than the mother I want to be. How is it we can still look with expectation and joy on this new arrival, another life, when we know the pain that will be inflicted?
It's like a procreation narcotic takes over, drugging us into this wild belief that to have life is worth the suffering. But no, I think it is more than some epitemological drug. It's real-life-love. Love for each other, for our Maker, for the world and Beauty. These things are stronger than death, than fear, than grief and pain.
Each morning, I breathe over the last lines of the Morning Prayer and they make me smile in the face of come-what-may for that day, because they sing like a promise over all that we bring into the world through our thoughts or bodies or words or deeds. They remind me to go into the world, unafraid, and bring forth new life.
May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you : wherever he may send you;
May he guide you through the wilderness : protect you through the storm;
May he bring you home rejoicing : at the wonders he has show you;
May he bring you home rejoicing : once again into our doors.