The purest place, I will draw near
Do what it takes to keep me here
in the center of your heart
the purest place
is where You are
It’s been a while since I watched it, but Answers in Genesis has this DVD called Fearfully and Wonderfully Made: When Human Life Begins. In the video, Dr. David Menton, who is a phenomenal teacher, walks step-by-step through every nook and cranny and phase of the female monthly cycle, and then he walks through the progressive stages of life and development that happen deep inside the darkness and protection of the womb.
Something that really stood out to me was when he described birth. For nine months the child is connected to the body of its mother. This is how the child lives and the way God keeps the baby alive. When the baby is born, the placenta must also leave the womb. He said that when the placenta separates from the wall of the uterus, it causes such a rupture and breaking in the thickly established blood vessels, that the mother would bleed to death in minutes if it weren’t for the divine intervention of the body’s design. The uterus contracts and keeps contracting, simultaneously clamping off the vessels in the uterine wall and pushing the placenta toward the needed outside.
In nursing school I saw an example of what happens when the placenta does not completely detach (Trigger Assurance: This isn’t too terrible of a story). In a fallen world our bodies do not always work right, and in this particular mother’s case, the placenta did not completely separate, and even after the delivery, the mother’s uterus continued to bleed more than it should have. The nurse tried gently massaging the uterus from the outside. There was too much blood coming out of her body. The doctor did a D & C right there in the room, where he takes a metal instrument and scrapes the inside of the uterine lining, trying to fully remove any remaining now foreign uterine contents.
She ended up needing a hysterectomy. There’s a name for this, which I can’t think of right now, but it’s when a piece or pieces of the placenta become so deeply imbedded in the uterine wall lining that even the strongest contractions are not able to completely detach them. To leave it like this, the mother would not survive and recover from birth. This particular mother, counting the new baby, had three beautiful children. After the hysterectomy, she was able to go home, and didn’t even seem to be too upset about it, then at least. The hysterectomy ensured that she would never give birth to a baby again, but that she would also go on to be able to be there for the children she had.
If you’re anything like me, then there’s a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, right about now. And I absolutely hate that feeling. Life is way too fragile sometimes, and I sometimes have a hard time dealing with that. It can change too fast and in ways that seem way too cruel and too harsh. But that isn’t all of life. I wrote in my last post that each phase of letting go comes with its version of terrifying and excruciating. But this morning I was thinking of other times, like the evening you let go of a baby’s hands, and for the very first time, he toddles across the room smiling as the entire family cheers.
You may have noticed I’ve had a hard time deciding what to do about this blog. It hasn’t been all that long since I started it, and I actually really like this one, but I go back and forth between being at peace with writing here and not being at peace. Something I’ve been learning through the time of this past year, is that I have to be responsible for my own decisions. I can ask people their opinions, I can search the internet for advice, I can seek God’s word. We are each responsible for the lives we live, and while others may or may not agree with us, ultimately friends, we all make choices that effect our life’s path.
I have made the decision to stop writing here publicly. I don’t mean writing publicly ever, I just mean writing publicly here. (To the email sisters and private subscribers, this doesn’t affect you). I have thought before, and even still now, “But if I can’t have ______, then I don’t even want to write.” But that wouldn’t be fully or completely true either. I have so much more I want to say. There’s so much more I wish I would’ve said or still really wish I hadn’t said. But I also know that God knows the heart, and whether or not I say or don’t say things, doesn’t change what I also know is going on deep inside there.
These blogs are too close to who I am as a person, too close to my heart and my soul and my life. That sick feeling has suddenly turned into a feeling of wanting to vomit. I thought writing this post would be a little more peaceful, and it has been, because I am at total peace about writing it. God’s peace is a wonderful balm in our lives, friends, a true oasis in every occasion. Though I might doubt and fight and thrash and kick and deeply cry against it, though I do not fully understand here the mysterious ways in which the God who loves us works, in him we truly have nothing to fear. There is so much more to be said about that too, and while I don’t think I’ll ever feel as though I’ve completely gotten everything I want to say right now out, I know the powerful and saving work of Jesus Christ is enough. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing.” He restores our souls and delivers his children. He does all right things in perfect love.