The Birth Village

Early Friday morning, before the first rays of sunlight spilled through the windows, I lay awake in my bed, meditating and praying—surrendering my day—when that first primal, familiar rolling wave surged through my 40+5 week pregnant body.  I joyfully welcomed it and its coming strength along with the rising sun. 

I connected with my midwife (whom after 3 births together is affectionately called Grandma by my children).  Then, I let my village know the day had finally arrived.   

I purposed myself on the task at hand and minded labor and before long our home was intoxicated delightful sounds and smells in anticipation of new life.

The sounds of four excited children ready to welcome their newest sibling radiated through every wall of the home, sounds of village voices tending to those precious souls, sounds of kitchen toiling and home tending bubbled over like fountains of joy.

Aromas of soups and breads being meddled together from whatever provisions were found in the kitchen began to filter through the home and smells of herbs being prepared for life-giving healing excited my spirit.

Just before noon, a break from the bustling about, a warm cup of coffee, and a walk in the sunshine was shared over words of love and encouragement.

And when River arrived, a little after 2pm, we were ushered into bed, greeted with juice and fresh fruit.  Yard flowers in mason jars adorned tables and stands.  And the village voices began to bustle about once more—minding the end of my labor, starting laundry, and feeding my family. 

As the evening came they each returned to their own homes and families and my heart was full—full with love for new life, and full with thanks for the village.