Tip of My Iceberg

She waited. For the right moment.

A crowd was present. It could be indicative of what she expects in the future.

Sloane Sibben entered the world after stubbornly staying put longer than the comfort level of her mom. No amount of labor would move that child from her warm space. They had to do a Caesarean section to get her to come.

Even then, she came out crying.

It had been a rough couple of days. I was with Chris and Melody for much of the intense labor. 36 hours. Melody had been at it for twelve hours before that.

It’s hard when a plan is made that can’t be followed. For reasons that no one can control.

Mel and Chris had planned on doing a natural childbirth. No medication to deal with the pain. (Not something a man would choose. The pain level is intense and sustained. Not commenting on the internal strength of the male gender. Just sayin’.)

After having been induced and having labored hard for a day and a half, no progress had been made. The birth process had stalled out.

That wasn’t the plan.

Melody agreed to have an epidural. She was getting tired and needed a break. Chris was supportive. He’d been fully engaged, watching his wife work through the pain, helping her move when her energy lagged. Holding her when her courage lessened.

She gave up that plan.

She worked hard for another six hours. Moving towards the goal of a vaginal birth. Doing what her birth coach and midwife suggested.

The epidural didn’t work for long. The pain became more intense. It didn’t make sense.

The baby wasn’t moving through the birth canal. Something wasn’t working the way it should.

In all the work she’d done, there’d been no progress. The six more hours of hard labor had produced no change. No baby.

The midwife suggested a Caesarean section may be the only option.

That definitely wasn’t the plan.

The birth coach suggested a few more options. Try a little longer.

Mel was game. But the time and effort were taking their toll. I could see she was tired. Chris was concerned.

Forty-five minutes later, she came to the end of her capacity. The decision was taken completely from them when Mel spiked a fever. To protect the baby from infection, they’d have to do the surgery.

The plan was a bust.

Surgery wasn’t easy. Mel felt more than she should have. She struggled with her breathing. She’d been throwing up before they began the procedure.

Not something anyone would have planned. The result was a beautiful, healthy daughter.

I make plans that make sense to me. To accomplish my goals. My hopes and dreams. To get things done my way.

They don’t always work. Which can be frustrating.

It doesn’t  mean good can’t come from the botched plan.

God has a way of bringing value from things that feel like failure. I often don’t see it immediately, but with patience and faith can come new perspective.

Something new can be born from frustration; birthed from disappointment.

A plan hasn’t failed if it points life. Hope.

It just means Someone had a better plan.