Book Review: Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry

 I read Hannah Coulter this year after hearing good things about Wendell Berry for years and seeing so many people posting about this book.  It was enjoyable!  But also not quite what I expected.

The premise of the book

Hannah Coulter is a novel written as the memoir of the woman Hannah as she reflects back on the key people and events of her life.  Berry does a pretty good job making the reader believe you're reading the voice of a woman, with a couple brief exceptions in my opinion.  It's a very poignant story of a young woman growing up on a farm during the Depression, then living through WWII and the changes in the decades that follow.  As I read, I felt like I was looking at the world through the eyes of either of my grandmothers, and I loved finding that kinship with them through this story.

There are strong themes of love and marriage, the lasting impact of war in people's lives, and what it means to be attached to the land--a place where you belong.  The writing is excellent and very literary.

I briefly looked up Wendell Berry on Wikipedia and found him to be a fascinating person.  He has written several novels, all surrounding various characters in the fictional rural community he invented in Kentucky.  His first novel, Nathan Coulter, was published in the 1960s, and he finally wrote Hannah Coulter, the story of Nathan's wife, in 2004.  He is also an environmental and peace activist, and these ideas come through strongly in his writing.

Is it a Christian book?

Having mostly heard Berry recommended by Christian friends, I was expecting Hannah Coulter to be a rather overtly Christian book.  I was surprised that it wasn't.  There are moments where Hannah quotes the Bible, or speaks of looking forward to the resurrection, yes.  There is an understood normalcy around church-going that you might expect from a rural community in the 1930s and 40s.  But when Hannah reflects on the events of her life, sorting out the meaning behind it all, she never acknowledges God's hand or notices His care of her.  She doesn't speculate on what He might have been doing through the various hardships, as I always want to be doing in my life.  She reflects on deep things, but doesn't seem to have a relationship with God in her intimate reflections.  

There are also a couple of references to fornication within the community--nothing bawdy or very surprising given human nature--nonetheless they are there. The only negative judgment in these references is that fornicataion may produce an inconvenient pregnancy or negative feelings from others.  There is no concern about breaking a higher standard or displeasing the Lord.  

Would I recommend it?

As I was reading of the developing love between Hannah and Nathan, I felt a burden for young Christian women who are hoping for love and marriage in our era.  Their attraction is so very visceral, and Berry dwells on this.  But for me as a Christian, irresistible physical forces were not going to be enough to make me consider marrying somebody.  

I want to be fair in my critique, and so I suppose you could read this romance much as you would read any romance in a not-really-Christian book, enjoying what beauty exists.  Still, in most of my favorite novels (Dickens, Austen, etc), the romances that develop grow as one begins to appreciate the mind and character of the other.  Hannah and Nathan do share a deep sympathy because of what they have lost in the War, besides their magnetic attraction, and they end up building a happy and life-long marriage.  I suppose their chances were good, having grown up as members of a small community rich in what we'd call "common grace,'' rich in understood values.  They had the benefit of having been known in a small town for one's entire life.  If Nathan had been some kind of scoundrel, word would have gotten to Hannah before she married him.  But I'd also humbly argue that this kind of community knowledge isn't common today, and so the attraction that worked for them shouldn't be counted on by any young woman, especially a Christian.   

This book will appeal more to older women, though.  Hannah spends chapters reflecting on each of her children, weighing their upbringing against their innate tendencies, and second-guessing parenting choices as she watches them move away.  These are the kinds of questions dear to many of us as mothers.  Eventually she wrestles with the issues of aging and "will there be a legacy?" as well.   

Generally, if you're looking for a poignant, quick read with an excellent literary quality, which may also leave you pondering life (without being overly depressing), I would recommend it!  

My doula birth: Susanna's birth story, finale

It finally crossed my mind to post the rest of Susu's birth story, 4.5 years late.  Since you probably don't remember the first two parts, you can read them here and here!  

Today we get to the birth itself!  

39 weeks 5 days was Sunday, August 20, and Becca and her family sweetly hosted us for lunch that day. It was uncomfortable to sit and uncomfortable to walk, and I wondered aloud “Am I going to be holding a baby next Sunday?” “Yes. You are,” Becca assured me. The next Sunday I very well could have been 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant, but those encouraging words lifted my spirits. 

That evening in church, I had my first contraction. I knew it was real! But no other contractions came, so then I questioned whether it had been real! 

The next morning was Monday, August 21—one day before my due date. I slept until about 8:30, then woke and had a contraction while I was still in bed. I had another in the shower about 20 minutes later. Was today the day? 

All my previous labors had started at night and with drama—twice with broken waters and once with precipitous labor. There had been no doubt that something was about to happen. Now perhaps I was having the textbook experience of contractions slowly building? During the day?

I started tracking them with my phone app. I decided to cancel school for the day and spent some time cleaning the house in case Becca would be taking over.  While I was moving around and vacuuming, my contractions were getting closer and the app started telling me “go to the hospital!” Exciting! I didn’t think I was having quite enough labor for that, but it was exciting. The next thing I did was to spend some time detangling and braiding the older girls’ hair. I spent about 45 minutes sitting on the floor with them (reading Angelina Ballerina books, I remember!) and during that time I had zero contractions. Now the app alerted me that I was having false labor, so I started thinking that maybe today was not the day after all. 

I have a very strong memory of what happened when I took out the trash a little later. When I came back through the dining room, I had to lean over on our counter-height table with a contraction. It was deep and low and I started to moan instinctively through it. That was when I knew it was serious labor. It was time to start calling people! 

Now, Monday, August 21, 2017 was a very exciting day in the U.S. because of the total solar eclipse which would be visible. My instagram feed was full of people sharing their viewing contraptions. In Durham, we were expecting about 93% of the sun to be obscured, but many people we knew were driving a few hours to where they could experience the totality. We had been pretty low-key about it; we couldn’t travel with baby’s due-date the next day. Johannah had predicted that baby would be born on eclipse day, which I had privately laughed off as pure sentimentality. By late morning, however, John had gotten interested enough to build a pin-hole box and we decided just to see what we could see.

Meanwhile, I called Becca (the babysitter) who had to interrupt her kids’ first day of homeschooling, send her nanny child home, and drive 30 minutes before getting to me. Thank you, Becca! When she arrived around 12:30, I was contracting on hands-and-knees, but still able to function pretty well in between! 

I had also communicated with the birth team by now—doula Johannah and midwife Shannon, who turned out to be on call. We might have waited to contact Abi until we got checked in at the hospital, now that I recall. Johannah and Shannon were both cautiously encouraging when I shared my contraction pattern so far. Judging from noise in the background, Shannon sounded like she was hanging out at an eclipse-viewing party and casually asked me what my “goals” were for this birth. “Um, not to have the baby in the car!” We told Johannah not to come until we were sure I was getting admitted. But I knew it was about time. 

Now, my dear husband, who firmly believes that babies inconvenience people on purpose just because they can 😂 was finally getting excited about the solar eclipse as I was telling him we needed to go to the hospital. I threw our viewing box into the back seat with the birth bag so we could have it. Besides that and the fact that Becca’s day had been turned upside down, the timing was quite amazing. Johannah could be there, Abi could be there (it was her last available day!), and Mom would be here tomorrow. Our whole ideal birth team plus maximum Grammy time! And an eclipse birthday, just as Johannah had predicted! 

I could handle contractions ok in a sitting position at this point, so I settled into the passenger seat of the Civic and put on some makeup during the drive (the only birth I ever did that! Also the only daytime birth and the only professionally photographed birth of my 5!). We realized while we were driving that we hadn’t eaten lunch, so I encouraged John to detour past Wendy’s first. We were approaching the maximum point of the eclipse while we were in the drive-thru line, so after we got our food, we pulled into a parking spot and got out the viewing box. I’m thankful for that memory! I leaned on the car for two contractions, which were getting harder, so once we got some snaps, I was eager to get back on the road.

We arrived at the hospital a few minutes later, around 3 p.m., and the daytime bustle was surreal, as if we were simply here for a scheduled appointment. I opted out of the wheelchair ride but as we entered the double spinning door and headed toward the elevators, I had to wave down my husband and the man carrying our bags to wait for me. I was considerably slower than both of them! 

Once upstairs, I got checked into the little triage room and changed. They usually make you sit in the bed on the monitors for twenty minutes before coming in to check on you, but for whatever reason, Shannon skipped that step and checked on me right away. That was a kindness, since my go-to position for this labor so far had been hands-and-knees, and most definitely not sitting in a bed! “I’m probably 4-5cm dilated,” I had predicted to John in the parking lot earlier, but I was trying to guess low. Shannon tilted her head and looked up at the corner of the room as she evaluated me. “6 cm!” she declared. Yay! That cervical check would be the one-and-only of my entire pregnancy and birth—also a big yay. Shannon looked over my birth plan and we discussed my eagerness to try the tub this time! A middle-aged nurse with an elegant updo and an equally elegant accent helped direct me to the labor room and handed me off to a cheerful young nurse with brown hair named Katie, who would be my labor nurse. She started the multi-stage process of sanitizing the tub for me while I settled onto a birth ball in the labor room. She hooked me up to the wireless telemetry monitoring system and started my IV antibiotics for Group B Strep. I was grateful that, even now, no one was pressuring me to be in a bed. The ball was so much more comfortable. 

Abi and then Johannah arrived, and we took some photos and enjoyed chatting about law school and home school. I had to pause and breathe during contractions, leaning into John’s arms, but mostly it felt like we were simply enjoying a nice afternoon visit with company! By the time my monitoring and infusion were complete and I was free to move to a different position, my greatest desire was to go to the bathroom and get a little more decently dressed. John helped me walk over and I had two contractions in the little room which were fairly hard. The birth ball relieves so much of the heaviness!

When I came out with John’s help, we considered what position I should try next. The tub was ready and swirling—all 8 or so inches of it. It was a nice idea, but I couldn’t imagine lying on my back right then in such a small place. I wanted to be on hands-and-knees but looked askance at the hospital floor and didn’t want to be flying around in the air on top of the bed. Johannah had a few different ideas, and in the end we settled me on the birth ball again, at the foot of the bed this time so I could rest my head on pillows.

It was now approaching 6 pm. I had been at 6 cm 2-3 hours earlier, but noone was remarking that it was “taking so long!” or anything like that. Actually, they were hoping to get me fully dosed on antibiotics for GBS before the birth. I do remember clearly thinking around this point that labor is not fun at all, and wondering why I ever had happy feelings about it!

“Do you want tea?” I specifically remember when Johannah asked me this because I was so pleasantly surprised. “There’s tea?!” She went to hunt some down. Of course the hospital selection wasn’t that impressive; I resolved to pack my own teabags for any future births. But what she did bring back was warm and comforting. A great idea. 

Contractions were getting more and more intense and starting to get past me, so I requested the nitrous oxide. A man wheeled it in after a few minutes to have me sign consent forms and learn how to use it. They started to ask me to sit on the bed, but the instant I stood up from the ball, I sat back down. The difference was immense. “We normally ask the mom to stay in bed,” Katie said, “but with your experience…” She turned to John and Johannah, “one of you just keep your hands on her. And please promise me that you’ll climb up on the bed when it’s time to push!” The machine’s tubing just barely stretched to my spot at the foot of the bed, but it was a winning combination: birth ball, nitrous oxide and somebody squeezing my hips from behind. I could feel the contractions, but they were small—way down deep inside instead of overwhelming. I was basically whoozy and just flopped onto my pillows between contractions. I remember taking off my glasses and Johannah’s hand was  there to take them without me saying anything. I think we were here for about four contractions, when suddenly 

“I HAVE TO PUSH I HAVE TO PUSH I HAVE TO PUSH!”

I could feel the baby’s head RIGHT THERE and immediately flopped my belly right onto the bed and crawled up. John helped me get settled. Suddenly there was an unfamiliar female voice saying “My name is Dr. —- and I’m going to help you deliver your baby” but it turned out that we had a little more time than that. There had been a shift change, and midwife Kathy appeared very soon and asked “Do you want to birth the baby on your hands and knees?” “YES!” I replied, because moving at all did not sound comfortable or even possible. She then clearly explained that they would pass the baby up through my legs after she was born and then help me move to my back. 

I was pushing! John had one hand and Johannah the other, and she was praying for me! They were there with sips of water for me. It took about four contractions to push her out—I always like to take my time with this. “I see eyes!” Kathy soon reported. And then on the next contraction, “There’s a mouth! She’s blowing bubbles!” I think she was also telling me to push more and harder, but she didn’t give a reason for this advice, so I stuck with what felt natural. Her head and shoulders emerged, and I still had another push to get the rest of her body out, which felt very long!

Finally done! They passed her through my legs as promised and Abi took a powerful image of that first hug. Then they helped me turn over and lie down, and we announced that her name was Susanna Providence! She was blue, so they told me to rub her, and the baby nurse who had come in started helping. Rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. I started to be afraid that something was wrong, but she soon pinked up. 

“Wow, sweetie! You did great!” John whispered in my ear, and I was so pleased! It was really the only birth without the wailing and the feelings of being overwhelmed and out of control at any point at all. 

After a while, John went home to help Becca put the girls to bed, but Johannah stayed with me, which was so nice. She was there to layer on extra socks and blankets when I was cold and call the menu line to order me food. She had to keep calling because there was a long line of callers waiting—I would have given up in the post-birth exhaustion and just focused on the baby, so it was a real blessing to have her do that. In the meantime she gave me the peanut butter and honey sandwich she had packed for herself. I came away strongly impressed that doulas are wonderful. 

After the two hours of bonding and breastfeeding (thankfully there was no tearing again and no stitches needed!), the nurses started prepping us to move to a mother-baby room. It was time to weigh Susanna! They asked me how big I thought she was—“I don’t know, 8 pounds like her sisters?” They laid her on the scale—4.535kg. I didn’t have a sense for what that meant until they converted it. 10 pounds! On the dot! My biggest baby (by more than a pound) was also my easiest delivery. The midwife said she was impressed and I was so thankful. The whole birth team had been amazing and the Lord had just been so kind. 

I’ve expressed some of these thoughts in Lilly’s birth story, my fifth birth, which I went into with the prospect of nitrous oxide and without a doula. I fully expected it to be rather easy, as well, and it wasn’t. Of course there are many points of differences between births and comparisons are mostly speculative. Still, I came home from Lilly’s birth determined that I would never again attempt an unmedicated birth without a doula. I think she made a significant difference. Volunteer doula programs like the one at UNC are amazing! And yet we know that the easiness of Susanna Providence’s birth, and all the factors contributing to that, were truly gifts from our God of Providence, who is always “looking out for” His children’s needs better than we could look out for our own. He must have had different reasons and lessons behind Lillian’s birth, but I know that He was still taking care of me and always will. 

My Grandpa, William E. Reid Jr.

https://armerfuneralhome.com/william-e-reid-jr

My Grandfather died last Friday. He was a great man to his little community as fire chief and plant manager of Stewart’s Dairy. I have some childish memories of his retirement party in 1988–the backyard, the laughter, the big cake, his friends. He loved to tell his stories, and I grew up hearing about his early days in Fort Plain, NY and his life as a young man—how he was called up to go to Korea with the Army but evaded the draft by joining the Air Force instead. He was a shrewd man. He told us about the ship with its cramped quarters, about getting to Japan, and about coming home again under the Golden Gate Bridge. He told us about going to Cornell on the G.I. Bill and about meeting Grandma.

But I knew him as a Grandpa. He loved being a Grandpa. He had little rituals like saying “oogly oogly!” and “Number 1 granddaughter!” (That one was entirely because I was the first granddaughter. He had to stop that when there were more of us!) He would show us his foot with only four toes, and when I stayed overnight, he would let me watch him “take out his teeth.” I remember how he would grip his dentures and pretend to pull and strain, and suddenly—pop! He would give me a big snaggly smile and smack his lips, and then drop his teeth into the fizz. 

I remember following Grandpa around the yard to do little jobs like feeding the ducks and watering the garden. He had extensive gardens and it was all very ordered. He also knew how to relax—holidays were always special. Grandpa would carve up whatever Grandma had roasted and give us children little nibbles ahead of time. I can see him dancing in the kitchen with a goofy little smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye. But regular dinners at Grandma and Grandpa’s were special, too. We would eat around the kitchen table with cigarette smoke and milky tea. I never minded the smell of cigarettes because it reminded me of Grandpa. 

He quit smoking around 1990 and we were very thankful. It was probably a hard thing to do, but like most things in life, Grandpa could do whatever he put his mind to. November of 1997 would mark he and Grandma’s fortieth wedding anniversary, and Aunt Melanie convinced everyone that we should celebrate big.  You never know if you’re going to make it to 50, especially when you’ve been a smoker for so many years. We had a big surprise party in the hall of the Catholic church just down the road from their house, with dinner and dancing and my first taste of champagne. Mom ordered engraved invitations with Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding picture on it. There were fresh flower centerpieces and personalized favors. Grandma’s wedding dress was on display and their original cake topper was on the cake. It was a night to remember. 

I was 13 at that fortieth anniversary party. A couple of years later, when I was getting close to driving age, Grandpa decided to take me out in the woods on his four-wheeler to practice. This is one of my favorite memories of Grandpa!  For some people, learning to drive comes naturally; I was not one of those people. We started out in the backyard with me in front of the controls and Grandpa sitting behind me. In order to get to trails in the woods, you have to drive up a fairly steep hill. I was approaching this hill timidly and slowing as we started the ascent, so Grandpa urged me to “Give it some gas!” Oh, ok! I pressed the gas button all the way down, and with that sudden application of torque, the vehicle immediately began to flip. In that moment, it felt like slow-motion as I held on to the handle of the four-wheeler and managed to land beside it instead of underneath it. I looked back and Grandpa was on his back-end in the dry leaves with a huge shocked smile on his face. Thankfully he didn’t give up on me in that moment, and we mounted back up. I think of this story every time I drive the hills of San Francisco—steady gas!

There are many good stories to tell, like when he took me out a few months later to practice driving on his truck and I scared him silly again. We grandchildren each have our own special memories and we have sweet shared memories, too, like the Christmases we were together. Christmas was always so big and happy. Grandma and Grandpa were very thoughtful and very generous. 

Grandpa was also generous with his advice. He had a whole document put together consisting of his thoughts about life. It was stuff like “There’s no such thing as a free lunch” and “Get a B.S. degree because B.A. degrees are worthless.” He taught us to be proud that we were Reids.

In the Lord’s kindness, Grandma and Grandpa DID make it to their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and we celebrated with a family picnic and a replica of their wedding cake in the backyard. They made it to all their grandchildren’s high school graduations, and later to many of their their college graduations, driving eight hours to Pennsylvania to watch me receive my B.S. degree. Graduations gave way to weddings and soon we were placing baby after baby on his lap to meet their great-grandpa. There are 14 great-grandchildren now, and Grandpa loved giggling with them all.

Grandma and Grandpa even made it to their sixtieth wedding anniversary. We gathered at the Chez Pierre three years ago to celebrate together. Yes, they had 63 years of marriage altogether. His later years were not without difficulties and some serious health scares; he recovered from a fall off the carport and even came through an aortic aneurysm just fine. It was COVID pneumonia that he couldn’t beat. 

We mourn him and we will miss him. I’m not jealous for more time with him as much as I am overwhelmed with thankfulness for all the time we were given. For me, the real tragedy is that he never wanted anything to do with his Maker. Life was always about him. “Life is what you make it.” “I did it my way.”

We do not know how the Spirit may have ministered to his soul in his last days; perhaps the words of truth which my dad and others tried so desperately to bring to him, shouted through PPE to his half-awake mind, may have germinated into real faith in his dying hours. We cannot know. If we see Grandpa in heaven, it will be all grace, all grace from a God Grandpa didn’t care for. Then again, the only way any of us will get there is through that same grace. Wouldn’t an eleventh hour conversion glorify Christ? We trust that the Maker will do right. He who has defined right will always do it. 

Susanna’s Story, part 2

Baby was due August 22, and we left California in June. It all happened pretty fast, but we decided it was insane to drive the whole family across the country, and I wouldn’t be allowed to fly after a certain point. So, I flew in late June with Ruth, Mercy, a big pregnant belly, and the kindness of strangers. John and Gemma planned their epic road trip to bring the van home and we met up in NY after maybe 10 days, in time for the big Burchett July 4th picnic. I got pampered by my mother while we waited for them!

After July 4th, we all drove down to NC together and started the GIANT task of moving back into our house. Most of our stuff was still there, but we brought more stuff back with us from CA, so we had to sort, downsize, get everyone adjusted to living in a different house with different friends in a different state, and get ready for Susanna to be born! 

It was during this period that we decided on her name! I have vivid pregnancy dreams, and one night back in California I had dreamed that I gave birth to a RABBIT named Providence. I thought it was so funny that I shared this story with our pastor’s wife, Sue, and she laughed along with me and said she liked the name. That was when I remembered that our church was also named Providence. When the ladies had a farewell baby shower for us a few weeks later, they put a furry white rabbit on the table as a joke and said that it was Providence. 

Well, after that we decided we had to name our baby Providence to honor the people who had meant so much to us in that California season. It was also so very clear that God in His providence was at work in our live directing the job changes, the doctor changes which had been so significant for Ruthie, all the moving about, and even Susu’s very existence. We hadn’t planned her but He had. 

We also liked the old-fashioned, Puritan kind of sound to Providence, but we didn’t want to give her a first name that was too weird. We settled on Susanna mostly because it fit with the theme of honoring our California church, with three Sues among their tiny gathering. We also liked the rhythm of the two names together and thought that it sounded classic enough to go with our other girls’ names. 

It was also during this time that we got our birth team together, and the way that happened was neat. With all my other babies, our birth team was John + whichever midwife and nurse were on call. John is a great birth partner and all our births have been good, but there had been hard moments when he had to step away. I dreamed of having a doula, and wouldn’t a birth photographer be amazing? We’re pretty frugal, though, and some people pay thousands of dollars for this kind of birth support. Our hospital has a volunteer doula program for women who show up to the hospital and want to try an unmedicated birth. We considered that. We also considered my college friend, Johannah, who is a doula and is settled very near us in NC.

Johannah and I hadn’t talked in a while, but I’m so thankful that we reconnected! Connecting with people was a lesson we learned from our time in California and I’m so glad we did. You don’t know how long you have our how life will change—don’t put it off! Johannah was enthusiastic about helping with our birth. She did have a family vacation planned for the week after our due date which she was not willing to miss, so she couldn’t guarantee her presence. Normally that peace of mind is an important part of hiring a doula, but we were willing to work with her schedule and miss having her there if the baby was late. Johannah graciously offered only to charge us half-price for attending our birth. If she couldn’t be there, we had the option of the volunteer doulas as back-up.

We also contacted Abi of artismad.com to see if she’d be interested in shooting our birth. She is a long-time family friend with a photography side business, and she also said yes—if possible!  Our due date was her first day of law school. 

At this point I was 35-36 weeks pregnant and just couldn’t believe how nicely things were coming together. Because of Johannah’s and Abi’s schedules, we were hopeful that baby would come early, and I was pretty confident that she would. Mercy had been born 10 days before her due date—so early that I had been caught off guard. Well, I wasn’t going to let that happen again. I enjoyed shopping for my labor bag and hospital stay and got them all ready in plenty of time.  Nesting is such a sweet experience. The waiting, the hoping—the never knowing when it will be.

On the other hand, my mom was flying into town on my due date. Naturally, we wanted to maximize our time with her and make the most of her help. If baby waited until she came, it would be a blessing to the older girls to have Grammy there during my hospital stay.  We had two friends on call as backup babysitters—Becca and Lolly Wright. It touches me to remember this, as Lolly is now with the Lord.

By 38 weeks, I went to bed every night thinking “this might be it!” And by 39.5, I was already feeling overdue. Once again, the Lord trumped my plans with His greater ones.

Becoming Four Little Women

Susanna was our first surprise baby, and her early existense was a challenge for me. Though we had dreamed of more babies some day, there were good reasons to wait. I had so appreciated the 3 years between Ruth and Mercy, but  Mercy and this new baby would be 21 months apart. I was on two medications for an old shingles infection at the time, and was slowly tapering off them, but pregnancy complicated that; I’d have to stop one of them early for baby’s sake.  The second drug was relatively harmless, as far as we knew, and my doctor advised me to continue it, but I didn’t love exposing my baby to a drug for my sake. These things troubled me. With our insurance situation at the time, I couldn’t even see my familiar midwives. During my previous pregnancies, I had been able (by God’s grace!) to maintain a good and thankful attitude during morning sickness—the prize would be so worth it!  But this time I struggled with acknowledging God’s sovereignty and goodness. It felt more like He was teaching us some lessons of humility. Maybe He was.

Given the circumstances, it was almost shocking to me to see a healthy little bean at the 8 week ultrasound! At this time, Ruthie was about five months post-op and still had hardware in her skull. A few weeks after baby’s ultrasound, Ruth developed an infection related to that hardware and was admitted to the hospital.  That night was a hard one. There would be surgery in the morning, and Ruthie was very congested and inconsolable. She couldn’t get to sleep. As 9:00 PM came and my energy started to drain away in pregnancy fatigue, I didn’t know how I could be there for Ruthie all night. The next day, John had to come in with the other two girls to stay with Ruth while I went downstairs to my OB checkup. I apologized to the doctor because I hadn’t showered, changed clothes, or even put on deodorant since the night before. The timing of everything pregnancy-related just seemed wrong. I cried out to the Lord often to strengthen me, and asked other saints on social media to help us hold the ropes! I know they did. 

As we got into the second trimester, things started looking up. After some encouragement from friends and much persistence, I was finally able to transfer my prenatal care to some midwives in our insurance network. They were new to me, but immediately felt like a better fit. They respected my experience as a fourth-time mom and as a woman who had worked hard to inform herself. They approached pregnancy with positive attitudes instead of seeming constantly to find some little thing that might go wrong. I could give birth here! Everything would be ok. 

A few weeks after that, things changed even more. John got notified by his employers that our request to transfer back to telecommuting was granted! We fully expected them to reduce his salary to east-coast level and prepared to move back to NC. This had been our plan all along, and I was happy! It had been a good, good season in California and the goodbyes would be hard. We would have to move cross-country while pregnant for a second time. But I could have my baby at UNC. Maybe I could even have a doula! Maybe even a birth photographer.

What I didn’t know at the time was that all these steps were leading up to the most smooth and peaceful birth I would experience to this point. God would even be so gracious as to give us the easiest baby ever this time. He wasn’t going to let my plans work out to glorify me and my good sense. No, I am His child and He can’t let that happen. He would work through my life in His own mysterious ways to bring Himself all the glory. He had not forgotten us.