From dispensationalists to the deists to those being slain,
healed, and delivered regularly, “miracles” are as controversial as politics in
a room of more than three people.
But talk about birthing a baby and the chatter and
philosophizing and proselytizing dies down.
There is little debate as to the miracle of life: prolife, prochoice,
homebirth or a quick train to anesthesia…99% of humans agree: new life is a
miracle. (And the other 1% had a lobotomy).
You and I both love a good pastor’s story of staring into
the face their newborn for the first time. (We all assumed that the pastor was a man, am
I right? Go with it for now.) And all of
Hollywood that feeds that clean image. BUT,
AND, ALSO, just minutes before and steps away, there are two beautiful, bloodied
bodies that have just been through an experience that is way messier than is
often described. I will spare you my
now-experienced details; sufficed to say, friends!, miracles are messy.
You don’t have to troll mommy
blogs for long to get the goods on the mess that it is and the “war” stories
emerge. (And oh the debate between it
being beautiful or traumatic or archetypal or unique). Regardless, please tell me that we can all
agree that giving birth is not a tidy experience. Its messy, messy, messy. And the metaphor concludes: miracles are
messy. Or at least come out of a mess,
most of the time. We don't have to listen to our stories too long, or read the Bible that in depth, to get this simple truth.
