God is in the Midst of Her...

Part II: Finding Myself...Again. I'm back. Time to discuss what I hardly know how to put into words: the over-hauling of my heart and purpose that has taken place without my permission this summer. Honestly, I'm terrified to pen the words.

[This blog of self-discovery has turned out to be much lengthier than I anticipated, thus I am posting it in three sections. Here is the 1st chunk].

For the past three years, my soul has been aglow with the peace of knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life: become a midwife. Most of my 23 years has been spent not knowing who I am at my core and trying desperately to discover it. But in the fall of 2006, I stumbled upon midwifery. I learned to my horror that millions of women are manipulated, traumatized, wounded, and needlessly cut open every day in our "modern" maternity system. I found out to my great happiness that there is another way, a beautiful, under-appreciated, constantly misunderstood, and sometimes illegal way to have a baby: at home with a midwife, a wise woman, by your side. And I instantly wanted to be a wise woman myself. Conception.

Gestation began as I started to nurture this dream within me. I quickly became engrossed with the study of all things birth. I joined Yahoo groups and email lists. I poured over advocacy websites and read every book I could get my hands on. First it was "Baby Catcher," by Peggy Vincent, a homebirth nurse-midwife's autobiography. I devoured it in 3 days; the initial story was about the first birth Peggy ever witnessed. She was a nursing student at the time, and so I felt a special connection to her from the start. Every birth story was beautiful in a unique way and I wanted more than anything to share in that beauty. The next thing I got my hands on was "Born in the USA: How a Broken Maternity System Must be Fixed to Put Women & Children First," by Marsden Wagner. In sharp contrast to "Baby Catcher," "Born in the USA" was an infuriating unveiling of our money-driven bloodbath of a maternity system. "Baby Catcher" warmed my heart and "Born in the USA" made my blood boil. I started nursing school in January of 2007 and I continued to study midwifery ravenously on the side.

During the summer of 2007 I witnessed a birth for the first time. I was working as a camp nurse at a Young Life camp in northern Georgia, and the secretary at the camp arranged for me to meet a friend of hers who happened to be a midwife. Charlotte* invited me over to eat cantelope and discuss all things birth. She told me she had three ladies due in July, and did I want to come to a birth if it was alright with the families? I was ecstatic!!! My dream come true!!! Charlotte called me a week or so later to let me know that one of her clients had agreed, and that she would call me as soon as she went into labor! It was 3AM July 20th when I got the call. We sped off into the Georgia mountains and my heart was racing with anticipation. Grace* labored beautifully with her husband at her side. The lights were low, the house was quiet, the children were sleeping. A sweet baby girl was born at 5:05AM, when she was ready, and she slipped gently from her mother's body into waiting hands on the bed she was made on. No one ever took that baby from her mother. There was no need. I was a silent observer and I took it all in with awe. I was so humbled. So overcome. So enchanted. I knew I would never be the same.

A couple months later I completed my OB rotation in nursing school. The contrast between home and hospital birth was stark and cruel. The second birth I ever saw was a cesarean section. I'll never forget seeing that woman's uterus sitting on top of her abdomen, silverly blue and sickly looking, with the fallopian tubes hanging off like chicken legs on either side. It was so violent, so taboo, and yet all too real. It will be reality for 31% of all the women who give birth in the US today. I'll never forget in OB lecture when we were learning about episiotomies (a surgical cut into the vaginal tissue toward the anus, done to enlarge the vaginal opening for delivery). Our instructor (a mother of 4) talked about episiotomies as if they were no big deal, mundane even. I raised my hand and tersely asked why informed consent was not required for doctors to perform episiotomies (read = surgery) on women. My instructor did not know what to say, and stammered through an answer about how episiotomies are simply part of the labor & delivery process, and a woman consents to a possible episiotomy when she starts receiving care from an obstetrician. (Hmmm I thought, I should keep that in mind if I ever see a cardiologist; I'll be consenting to open heart surgery by walking through the door!).

I should mention here that I started thinking about how and where I would pursue my midwifery education very early on, before my OB rotation, before I witnessed that beautiful homebirth in the Georgia mountains. I have always been a researcher. I have always been a scientist, wanting an answer for every question. (I really don’t know how people lived without the Internet!) I endlessly OBSESSED over what route I would take into midwifery: certified nurse-midwife (CNM), or certified professional midwife (CPM)? I would think to myself, Well, I’m going to be an RN anyways, so it really makes more sense to become a CNM, and it’s more socially acceptable, and it’s legal everywhere…but CNMs practice in hospitals, and pretty much have to do whatever their collaborating physician/hospital says. Two seconds later I would think, Well, then I should be a CPM instead. CPMs attend homebirths, which is what I want to do, and they often have more autonomy. But being a CPM might make me a felon, and the Board of Nursing won’t like me being a RN/CPM! What a quagmire! (OK, maybe I don’t use the word “quagmire” in my thoughts, but you get the picture.)

Eventually I decided that I was going to be a CPM, because homebirth was and is *so* important to me, and I just figured I’d move to a legal state, and the heck with the Board of Nursing. I POURED over CPM schools/distance learning programs/apprenticeship possibilities, but I was enchanted by one of the first I discovered: Newlife International School of Midwifery in Davao City, Philippines. It was everything I was looking for: the mission, the passion for women and babies, the passion for sharing Christ’s love, the clinical experiences and curriculum, the opportunity to learn about a different culture, the chance to stretch myself immensely and grow extravagantly as a professional, as a person, and as a believer. I was in love. Even so, the thought of uprooting my life and moving across the world for TWO YEARS terrified me. I would brush it aside…and the Lord would put it on my heart again…I would brush it aside…and the Lord would put it on my heart again. I did this repeatedly over the course of two years, unable to ever completely dismiss or embrace going to the Philippines. In the midst of my confusion, the action continued…

I feel different. I feel exhausted yet alive, defeated yet hopeful, and unsteady but expectant. Most beautiful of all, I feel more cherished than I ever have. So much has happened and changed in the last three months. In many ways I feel like a different person from who I was when I last posted on May 5th. So much has happened since then, both externally and (more significantly) internally. Part I: Jeremiah.

On April 16th I met the most incredible man. It was a blind date (something of which I have always been cynical), but it was arranged by my aunt, who's judgment I trust thoroughly, and it came at a time I was unusually open to stepping out of my comfort zone. (In the two months preceeding this blind date, I had gone on my first date period since HIGH SCHOOL, plus I had been casually dating someone I met on the INTERNET for a few weeks...somehow I stepped so far out of my little comfort zone I couldn't even see it anymore). "So how bout it?" my aunt said, and I thought to myself exactly this: "What the hell? Why not?" I gave her permission to share my phone number and email address with the selected suitor. Five days later on a Saturday evening, I got a phone call from Jeremiah. (It wouldn't have seemed as long as it did if my aunt hadn't called/texted at least 3 times in the interval to ask if he'd called me yet). Jeremiah seemed friendly and fun and easy to talk to. Our brief conversation basically consisted of..."Oh so you work weekends?" (Yes). "And you live in Columbia, right?" (Right). "Well if we're ever in the same city at the same time, we should meet up." (Will never happen coincidentally, I figured). I quickly decided that I wanted to meet Jeremiah ASAP so that I could know who he was from the get-go, instead of contemplating unrealistic expectations and then potentially being disappointed/disillusioned when we did eventually meet. (Which is exactly what happened with the Internet guy...it was icky). Jeremiah started a friendly email conversation on that Monday, and on my 2nd or 3rd reply I told him I was going to be in St. Louis on April 16th and 17th to see a Cards game with my family, and if he wasn't busy would he want to hang out? (Of course I never had any plans of going to a Cards game with my family during that time span; my sole purpose in driving to STL was to meet him, but I needed a cover story!)

So we met at the Kirkwood Kaldi's on Thursday evening, April 16th. It was natural from the very beginning. I was stunned by how insanely good looking he was (of course I had stalked him on Facebook, but he is all the more attractive in real life). The conversation was easy and fun, and I tried to be a good listener, but it was hard because I was in goo-goo-ga-ga land the whole time. I had a very clear yet intensely magical feeling that I was supposed to meet Jeremiah; that it was a God thing, that it had been orchestrated. Meeting Jeremiah was like meeting an old friend. I knew him before I knew him! It was crazy. Crazy awesome. I was so much on Cloud 9 that I tripped over my own feet twice and would have fallen on my face if he hadn't caught me (which felt wonderful). I happened to order hot wings as an appetizer, which was not a move to impress Jeremiah at all, simply a sensible desicion because hot wings are delicious, but I found out later that earned a point in my favor (too bad the wings also gave me food poisoning!). We talked for about 3 hours before saying goodnight and making plans to tour the A-B Brewery ("How's tomorrow morning work for you?" he said. "Great!" I replied, all the while the butterflies in my stomach were doing back-handsprings with glee). It was chilly so I wore his blazer home, which he had lent me earlier (which also felt wonderful). I gushed to my mom about him when I got home, smiling the whole time.

There were a couple more exciting, expectant weeks of the "I want you to know I'm very interested but I don't want to scare you away" dance. During that time we talked on the phone with increasing frequency and increasing duration (30 minutes, 45 minutes, 1 hour, 1 1/2 hours...). Jeremiah went to Denver for a journalism conference and I went to Seattle for my cousin's graduation from seminary. My travel to and from Seattle ended up being hellish (something out of a National Lampoon movie as JMac said), but it couldn't have had a sweeter ending: a date with Jeremiah. May 3rd. That was the day he met my parents (and my dog), took me to the Chocolate Bar AND out to dinner AND to a movie AND out for ice cream, and it was the date when we first held hands (which made me melt like butter inside), first did the prolonged hug/snuggle (X-men will really put you in the mood), and yes, when we first kissed! Hands down, it was the best kiss ever. EVER! I knew immediately that I wanted to kiss him many, many more times after that :)

On May 7th we had a 12-hour date, noon to midnight. I loved every second of it and wished it could have gone on longer. On May 11th Jeremiah came to see me in Columbia and at lunch we had the DTR (the "determine the relationship" talk for those of you who may not be fluent in Christianese bizarre slang). He said (in the most irresistable way) "So when do I get to be your boyfriend?", and I said "Now!" YAY!!! That was a little over 3 months ago now, and I have been head over heels happy ever since. Since making it official, JMac and I have gone to Atlanta for a weekend, spent a week at the beach with his whole family (who live in Virgina and therefore I had not met any of them prior to us all vacationing together...a bit nervewracking, but it was wonderful and I adored them!), he's hung out with the Watson clan on multiple occasions, and we've had many, many, many great conversations (deep, painful, enlightening, scary, difficult, sweet, or all of the above!) and many, many, many kisses. Every time I say goodbye to him to return to Columbia is harder than the time before, and every time we reunite it's sweeter and more amazing than the week preceeding. I am madly, madly in love with him and it feels so good to say it and hear it all the time.

He's a long-lost friend I didn't know I was missing. He understands me, which is such a precious and rare thing, as many people don't. He believes in me, he challenges me, he wants me, he loves me. I told him yesterday it's like that Lonestar song...he's that easy, peaceful feeling at the end of a long, long road...he's like coming home. I have thought more than once that no one could really be this happy; that surely couples who seem to be perfect for each other aren't actually, because life just isn't that kind. And it's true; life isn't that kind. But as Jeremiah has reminded me, God is that good. It brings tears to my eyes to think that Jeremiah McWilliams is *MY* boyfriend and that Jeremiah McWilliams loves *ME*...I knew the Lord delights in giving good gifts to His children, but I never imagined He had a gift this good waiting for me.

Stay tuned for the related Part II: Finding Myself...Again.