BREATHE. Not happening. BREATHE. Trying. BREATHE. Gasp.

As another contraction surged I gathered my concentration on that simple action to breathe. My body felt like a stampede of wild horses thundering recklessly through the delivery room, completely unaware and dismissive of my attempts to rein it in. My breaths felt snatched before taken, a struggle for confidence and strength as life prepared to surge forth. Deep breaths. Focus. The act of bringing life-giving air into my body, slowly pacing each breath, and exhaling—once such a mindless motion—now took all of my concentration.

“I’m dying” I thought as another contraction surged through my body. There was no controlling these waves of torment that shuddered and rippled through my body. All I could do was ride out each intense moment as it seemed my own body had turned against me. It took all my strength and energy to simply remain focused. Focused on what all of this pain, this vulnerability, and transformative power of my body was doing. The time was not of death but of life. Birth. New life. But bringing new life into the world was so deceptively like death. There was pain and a feeling of spiraling out of control. It was a process in which I simply had to trust that there was something beautiful and miraculous occurring.

“I can’t do this,” I groaned, and then gasped as another contraction hit.

“You ARE doing it,” the midwives reassured me. “Just keep going. You are almost there.”

When I felt I could go no further. When I felt that there would never be a child at the end of this journey my midwives were there to encourage. In their soft but firm voices they assured me that the baby was indeed coming. Everything was okay. That feeling of hitting the wall, that there was nothing left—that just meant that the time of new life was almost here.

I was beyond worn out. My body slumped, completely spent after each contraction. Each break became like a saving gulp of fresh air after being submerged in the water for too long. I no longer felt coherent; I no longer felt my own. I had no control over the rhythmic waves of pain coursing through me. There was no stopping it. I was simply there, trying my best to press forward when there was nothing left and then…

Within a moment everything changed. A new life slipped into this world and was instantly present. Where there was no body there before, a whole, brand new person appeared. My once empty arms now held a precious new life, delivered safely and lovingly into my arms.

“What?!” In my exhaustion I stared in utter amazement at the child I now held. It was unbelievable. There she was, a dark swirl of hair, long, beautiful eyelashes, round chubby cheeks, and piercing blue eyes that stared into mine. I studied her with a heart that instantly connected with her in a way that is simply indescribable.

It had been a long and difficult journey. Moments of fear, doubt, uncertainty, and even blinding pain. During the intensity of labor, there was simply no way I could have imagined the life within me. The time leading up to delivery was so difficult, taking all of my thought and being to simply endure, that I couldn’t conceive of the precious child who was journeying into this world; that every contraction, every pain, brought her closer to breathing her first breath.

I had heard that labor would be intense, but I just didn’t understand the fullness of that description. Several weeks before delivery, I met with the midwives and they asked me who I wanted to be in the delivery room. It was an important question and one that takes some consideration.

In those moments leading up to delivery a woman is in a vulnerable place. There can be a mixture of fear, doubt, and hopelessness as the final and most intense labor pains move an infant from the comfort of the womb into the arms of a loving mother. Because that time is so intense and a woman can enter a place of deep struggle to simply continue, the people surrounding her take on a critical role.

“When you decide who you want present,” the midwives continued, “consider people who will be a positive presence. People who won’t bring their own fears and doubts into the delivery room. You need a supportive presence. People who see this event as a time of life, and won’t project their own anxiety onto you. You don’t need distractions, all your focus needs to be on delivering that baby. We will be focusing entirely on the health of you and your child and that’s what your support team is there for as well.”

With the birth of a new creation there comes the labor pains before. First uncomfortable, later intense, and finally during that time of transition, seemingly unbearable where it looks hopelessly impossible.

We have heard for many years now that the church is dying. Fear and anxiety have entered the room. People are scurrying to and fro trying to find a way to alleviate the discomfort, to halt the process of change. Some experts provide an answer to the pains of the church, proclaiming bold new strategies to ‘fix the problem’.  Others either deny the change altogether or desperately grasp onto the smoky memories of the past in an attempt to go back to the way things were.

But there is no going back. And there is no fixing the problem.

You see the Church isn’t dying. The Church will not die. The Church will flex and morph and creatively grow and be birthed in new and beautiful ways as the Spirit cleverly and vibrantly flows through the open channels of willing hearts. There will be those who are looking and fully expecting God’s hand of creation to move in their midst. They know God is not dead. They know they aren’t in charge or control of building, maintaining or rescuing the church. They are invited to be present and witness the birthing process. Guiding, encouraging, and providing support to the health of the church as God enters their midst.

It will be uncomfortable. At times painful. And perhaps even seem hopeless. But for those with vision they will recognize that they are not at the bedside of a dying church but in the presence of new life entering the world. New generations will experience the power and presence of the Triune God. Hearts will be changed. Lives will be transformed. And with love and adoration we will look upon the glory of God in our midst.

The technician deftly maneuvered the wand across my stomach as the grainy image on the screen blurred in and out clarity. “Hmmm,” she murmured, smiling as she tried another angle. “Let’s take a look at that little hand there buddy.” After a pause the image crystallized further. “There we go,” she continued. “So it looks like there may be an issue with his left hand.” Her voice remained steady and calm. “See there? It seems that not all of the digits formed properly. The doctor will be able to talk more about it with you when he comes in later.”

Stephen and I sat there staring at the screen. It became easy to see the hand our little guy had seemingly hid protectively from the ultrasound’s prodding scope. Sure enough, there weren’t the typical five digits, but perhaps a couple smaller ones on the ends —if that. Heart, kidneys, she continued to check the other organs. “The bowels look a little bright. It’s hard to tell. I’ll let the doctor take a closer look at that too when he comes in.”

Several minutes later the doctor entered with a heavy medical text in hand. “So there appears to be a malformation on the left hand. And Sherry said the bowels may have looked a little bright as well. Why don’t we take a look?” After another scan he confirmed the tech’s findings. “The bowels aren’t extremely bright,” he continued after placing the wand back into place, “but it’s sort of an all or nothing with echogenic bowels. It either is or isn’t and in this case they are just bright enough to classify it as echogenic. Quite often that doesn’t mean anything. But since he has the issue with the hand we need to flag it as a possibility of an underlying issue.”

He hoisted the book up on his lap and opened it to a page with minute text and colorful diagrams. “Your son has what we call a split hand/foot malformation syndrome. Unfortunately it’s very rare. There really isn’t a lot of information about it. It could be related to as many as seventy-five underlying conditions. Or— unrelated to anything. Idiopathic. Just something that happened. Based on some of the other tests I am cautiously optimistic that it may be an isolated, structural abnormality. However, the only way to know for certain will be amniocentesis.”

“And would that change anything? Course of treatment?” I asked.

“Not really. It would just help diagnostically speaking.”

Even though the risk of miscarriage with amniocentesis is small, it was a psychological risk I just didn’t want to take. If anything had happened, it would always leave me wondering. And since it really wouldn’t change anything—? “No thank you.”

“Okay, well we will just continue to have ultrasounds every so often to monitor growth. Sometimes the echogenic bowels can be associated with stunted growth, although it may be nothing at all. If you have any questions” he fished a card out of his wallet and handed to me. “Feel free to call and let me know. We’ll see you back in about four weeks or so.”

I gathered my things glancing at the clock as I did. 1:00 pm. We had already been there for over two hours. “I guess you need to get back to work,” I said, looking at Stephen.

“Yeah,” he mumbled numbly.

“Hopefully it’s nothing. I mean, if it’s just a hand, that’s not a big deal, right?”

Stephen nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. I guess we just don’t really know.”

And we didn’t. And wouldn’t. The doctor had thrown out several possible disorders including cystic fibrosis. Many of those conditions we wouldn’t even know or be able to confirm until he was born. Cautiously optimistic. We’ll go with that.  Stephen and I got back into our separate vehicles and returned to work. It was a long day. That evening was the same old frenzied routine wrangling children through the dinner time-bed time production. Then dishes. Laundry to fold. We both picked at some food briefly before turning in for the night.

It wasn’t until the next evening after a series of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses that we finally settled down on the couch. We sat in silence for several minutes. “How long has it been?” I asked. I didn’t need to say what ‘it’ was.

Stephen released a heavy sigh. “Feels like a week.”

I nodded in agreement. It was strange how time is such a fluid and perplexing thing.  One day it is racing by like an over-exuberant brook, the next slinking through the moments with painfully, exaggerated sluggishness. In this case the heaviness of the news seemed to weigh down the moments into an illusion of days stretched into weeks.

The only certainty was uncertainty.

Not having any answers, not sharing news with our family just yet, the next several weeks between scans were curious. There is always an assumption of a normal, healthy pregnancy. E-mails and baby ads feature beaming parents holding healthy newborns, pregnant women in designer clothes sauntering carefree through flowing fields, and an underlying notion that every pregnancy is just a delightful, albeit occasionally, humorous condition. Public space is limited then, for pregnancies that carry the weight of uncertainty or for some, even grief.

I felt occasionally guilty when people would make the typical pregnancy comments, (naturally not knowing about our current situation), and I would respond with expected, obligatory replies, hoping that they didn’t catch a shadow of sadness or hesitation flicker across my eyes. The joy was still there, just a bit muted as we were concerned over the health and future of our child. I longed to hold him in my arms, to snuggle him close to my chest and gaze down at his precious face, to whisper my love to him over and over between kisses upon his brow.

How remarkable to have someone as close to me as within my womb feel as impossibly far away as a distant star. Oh my love.

The pace of time waxed into normalcy as we went about our daily lives, the busy season of young children and church life. We take each day without overly worrying about the future or that which we cannot change. I simply treasure this beloved life growing within. I delight in his small movements from time to time, a reminder that not long from now we will gaze upon each other’s face. I welcome the snug fit of (even!) maternity clothes, a reminder that we are growing toward a moment of encounter unlike any other. Pregnancy is such a privilege, an honor and a joy for me. This pregnancy is no different, because each moment of his presence is a blessing.

The only certainty with this little one is the uncertainty of variables. But so is life. His condition, whatever it might be, is only a reminder of the illusion of consistency. Our assumptions of impermeability and stability are simply a precarious bubble floating upon the breeze of time— only a temporary condition that inevitably will dissolve in an instant.  So relinquishing any thought of control, we take each day as it comes, with hope and thanksgiving for our lives in this moment and the joyful anticipation of this cherished life to come.

I could feel the intent and even apprehensive gaze of the congregation as I sat down on the floor for Children’s Sermon. I knew what they were all thinking, and I was thinking the same thing: will I be able to get back up off of this floor?

I was appointed to the charge back in July, three and half months pregnant. Now, entering my ninth month, the congregation has been able to lovingly as well as amusingly watch my transformation over the last several months.

The questions that began with, Where is that baby bump? Transitioned to, Well she’s just poppin’ out, isn’t she? And finally, When is your due date again? I don’t think you’re going to make it!

I acquired the nickname “Slim” as some of our more portly gentleman compared their belly sizes with me each week. Just recently did one concede that I finally had him beat. They loved that their preacher became more hot-natured and thus joined the ‘team air conditioning’ group of the congregation that felt the sanctuary was kept entirely too warm. And each Sunday of the last trimester has been an exciting time to come and see if the bulging pastor would fit into her robe for that morning.

The funny thing is that I often forget my blossoming belly despite the ever-present pregnancy symptoms. I am still surprised when I see a picture of myself and the rotund belly. With such a dramatic change in my body over the last nine — but particularly just the past few — months, my self-image or how I perceive my outer appearance hasn’t had time to catch up. I have to be careful to negotiate countertops, or give wider berth when I open doors, realizing that my actual body shape and size is drastically different from what I am used to.

It is difficult to come to terms with a dramatic transformation, particularly one that involves body image. Many people have mentioned that after losing weight, they still have to battle with their self-image of being a ‘fat’ or ‘chubby’ person that plagued them for so long.

The psychological, and particularly spiritual, potency of image is one that permeates virtually all aspects of our reality. As Christians, our self-image and our image of God has profound implications on how we live in the world. The transformation one experiences through an encounter with the Triune God creates a new socio-religious imagination.

Brennan Manning in “The Wisdom of Tenderness” describes such a re-creation of image in this way:

Every change in the quality of a person’s life must grow out of a change in his or her vision of reality. The Christian accepts the Word of Jesus Christ as the master vision of reality. Jesus’ Person and teaching shape our understanding of God, the world, other people, and ourselves.

(When you Pray: Daily Practices for Prayerful Living, Rueben P. Job)

It should come as no surprise that as created beings we are such image-conscious people. It is reflected throughout the history of our cultures and civilizations. Our very creation was sparked and propelled through the act of God forming the created in God’s own image. It was through the loss of that image in humanity’s own tragic disobedience that a cosmic drama has played out in which God has faithfully and unswervingly sought to restore that image in humankind.

The restoration of God’s image is found in Christ, a momentous occasion we celebrate in Christmas. Advent provides the opportunity for us as individuals as well as a church to re-examine our ‘body image.’ Do we still cling to the old perception of ourselves, relying on past failures or shortcomings as a means to evaluate our self worth? Or with joyful abandon do we allow God to remake us into a new image, a new creation in which we can faithfully live out our witness and faith?

At a recent choir practice, our choir was singing the first and last verses of several Christmas hymns. One of the ones we sang was Hark the Herald Angels Sing. After finishing the final verse, many of the choir members chuckled as they remarked they had never heard of that verse before.

Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface, Stamp Thine image in its place: Second Adam from above, Reinstate us in Thy love. Let us Thee, though lost, regain, Thee, the Life, the inner man: O, to all Thyself impart, Formed in each believing heart. Hark! the herald angels sing, “Glory to the New-born king!”

The beauty of these lines is how Christmas is a celebration not just of a single birth, but of an opportunity for all of creation to be transformed and revitalized through a renewed image found in the Christ child. Jesus’ very presence as the second Adam (Romans 5:18-21) gives ultimate hope for all to have a relationship with God through a once broken relationship redeemed, and a once corrupted image restored.

As people freed by the knowledge and hope in Christ, Advent can be a time of reflection by the community as well as a time of introspection for individuals. What is our body image? What self-image dictates our behavior in our relationships and the world? To claim the hope, freedom, and joy found in being bound up in the body of Christ is an image that takes getting used to, but one we have a wonderful opportunity to claim, proclaim, and live into as we enter into this new Christian year.