Tip of My Iceberg

When you’re about to have a baby, people love to encourage you with the wonders of a newborn and the reality and responsibility of new parenthood.

Or they tell horror stories of their own labor and delivery.

Nobody wants to hear those, but there’s something in the telling that lets women remind themselves they lived to tell the tale.

Women don’t anticipate the down and dirty. They wait for the cuddly bundle.

We got the call from our son-in-law, Ramsay, early Friday morning, telling us they were at the hospital. The time had come, and their little girl was on the way.

We packed, rented a car (neither of our vehicles could feasibly make the trip), and left Orlando, hoping to reach Miami in under four hours.

We thought we had it hard.

In spite of my fears that we’d miss the big event, we arrived with time to spare . Tiffany was uncomfortable as she was hitting the transition part of labor. Having been through it a few times myself, it was hard to watch my daughter work through the pain of the contractions. Her mother-in-law, Lisa, and I were in the room with her and Ramsay. Breathing with her. Encouraging her. Helping Ramsay in any way we could.

Neither of them had slept in over 24 hours.

After 45 hours of labor and attempts at pushing baby Brooklyn out, the doctor talked with Tiff about the possibility of a caesarian section.

Not what she wanted to hear

The baby’s heart rate dropped dramatically every time Tiff pushed. There was the chance the cord could be wrapped around her neck.

That changed everything.

They prepped Tiff for surgery. Ramsay put on scrubs so he could be in the operating room with her.

And we waited.

Brooklyn was finally born at 9:58 p.m. on December 4. 8 pounds, 11 ounces. 20 1/2 inches long.

With the cord wrapped around her neck.

I was so proud of my daughter and son-in-law. They worked so hard to do this the “right” way. To have Brooklyn without incident, stay a day and bring her home. But when it came to Brooklyn’s safety, nothing else mattered.

Over 2,000 years ago, a young woman, Mary, was about ready to give birth to her first baby.

It wasn’t turning out the way she’d thought it would.

She’d been engaged when she found she was pregnant.

With the Son of God.

It wasn’t a Facebook moment. Not a baby reveal. She was pregnant out of wedlock. By God’s design.

Not something she’d prepared for when she agreed to marry Joseph. She’d expected to be a good wife and mother. Eventually.

This wasn’t her game plan.

But it was God’s.

When we choose to engage God in life, we’re no longer the ones in control. Life happens with bigger reasons. Greater purposes.

Like the birth of a Savior. From a faithful young woman who submitted her will to God.

Sometimes our decisions don’t take into account the bigger picture. Or the One who sees that picture clearly.

That’s really the only picture worth seeing.

It’s better than what I can come up with.

Even if it isn’t my plan.