Faith

I was reading part of the crucifixion story the other morning. I’ve read it many times over the years. This time, something occurred to me that never had before. I know the story, and have heard many sermons about it, but my attention has always been on the ‘main characters’. I tend to focus on the last words of Jesus, on the betrayal of Judas, on the scattering of the disciples, on the three denials of Peter.

There is a ‘background character’ I don’t often think much about. Jesus was crucified with two criminals. One mocks him, saying, “Aren’t You the Messiah? Save Yourself and us!” The other criminal has a change of heart. Instead of lashing out the person everyone else is mocking, he says to the first criminal, “Don’t you even fear God, since you are undergoing the same punishment? We are punished justly, because we’re getting back what we deserve for the things we did, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom!” (Luke 23:39-42 HCSB)

I know I’ve heard sermons involving this second criminal. They usually talk about how it’s never too late to repent of sins and ask Jesus for salvation. That’s a good message. It’s one a lot of people need to hear. It’s never too late to turn to God. But that’s not what struck me this read through.

This read through I was struck by the faith it took to turn to Jesus in that situation. I don’t know anything about that man’s life, other than he was given a death sentence, and asked Jesus for help at the last minute. But look at the faith it took to ask. Here was a man who was less than a day away from death, asking for help from someone who was hanging on the cross next to him, also less than a day away from death.

I don’t know what this man’s expectations were, but everyone around them was mocking Jesus, who had claimed to be God, who had claimed a kingdom was coming, but was now dying. This man didn’t mock Jesus. Instead, he told the other criminal to have some respect, stood up for Jesus’ innocence, and asked for Jesus’ help. Even though it didn’t look like there would be a last minute miracle, he put his faith in Jesus. Even though they would both soon be dead, the second criminal still expected Jesus to fulfill his prophecies about a coming kingdom.

Jesus had defied death before. He has resurrected others. Maybe the second criminal had seen one of these miracles, or maybe he’d heard about them. Maybe he did expect to be rescued from the cross by a word from Jesus, or by an angel. Maybe he had figured out Jesus could vouch for him in heaven. Whatever he thought was going to happen, it took some amazing faith to look past the guaranteed death they both faced, believe Jesus was not wrong about a coming kingdom, and ask for grace he didn’t deserve with no time left to try and earn it. I don’t know if the second criminal understood what Jesus was saying about the kingdom to come, but he understood grace, and faith.

We Had A Baby

We had a baby a week ago today, and because it’s what I do, here’s a blog post about it – with all the TMI removed, of course.

Our little bundle of joy was expected on April 15. He came 12 days early. Jon was on the afternoon shift, had just gotten home, and was about ready for the day to be over. I had been having mild, irregular contractions for a few hours, but they didn’t seem like much to worry about yet. Then we started to get ready for bed, and suddenly the contractions got worse, regular, and longer. We waited for a bit to see if it was real labour, or just a false alarm. We had been in bed for a few minutes when we decided it was probably real. I phoned the hospital in Woodstock, we got James up and off to Papa’s house, picked up Grandma, and off we went.

I was hesitant to go, because last pregnancy, I got everyone up and off to the hospital for a false alarm, and it was frustrating and exhausting for us all. I half-expected we’d see the nurse and be sent home, possibly after a long wait, once again making us all exhausted for nothing. Jon said not to worry about it. He’d rather have to drive to Woodstock for a false alarm than put it off and end up having the baby in the car on the side of the road.

The nurse hooked me up to all kinds of monitors, checked me over, and said she’d be back. When she came back, the nurse hemmed and hawed, because it might be too early to admit us, but if she tried to send us home, she figured things might get serious halfway home, and we’d just be right back.

A few hours later, she decided to admit us. I was thankful at that point, because I started talking to Jon about heading to the hospital about midnight, and it was now four in the morning. We’d been up all night, and if that had been for nothing, I would have been upset. I had considered just telling them no, I was staying put, and they could deal with it. Fortunately, they agreed with me, and we were taken to a more comfortable room to wait for the doctor in the morning. We were told our doctor might try to “hurry things along” when she got in.

Four hours after we were admitted, we saw the doctor, who did try to hurry things along. Things would not be hurried. Four hours later again, they tried giving me some medication to get things moving. The medication was through an IV. I have to try not to panic at needles, never mind at having a tube stuck into the back of my hand. Seriously, it was worse than the contractions at that point. And when I had contractions, it was hard to grab a hand to squeeze without tugging on my IV. On the bright side, the IV pain was a good distraction to keep my mind off of the other pain.

For about an hour, nothing. By this time, the contractions had gone from awful to brutal. I had gone into this not wanting an epidural. My first experience with an epidural was unpleasant, and the second time the baby came before the epidural was fully effective anyway. I told myself that if things moved along like they had with my second delivery, an epidural was an unnecessary frustration to deal with.

By this time, however, I was regretting that decision. I had previously asked for a shot of morphine, and that seemed to do nothing. Well, it did make me quite dizzy, and the gently rocking room, reminiscent of floating on a water bed, was at least a nice distraction from the horrendous pain.

I’d also tried switched positions from sitting to kneeling in the hope it would help, but the position change did not help. Instead, because I had my feet curled up under me, I now had two half-asleep feet. And then I had to go to the bathroom, and had to get there while connected to an IV stand, with the room tipping back and forth, and two feet all pins and needles. So that was a fun adventure to throw into the mix.

I changed my mind on the epidural. The morphine, hand-squeezing, position changing, and breathing exercises were not enough. The nurse said it would take an hour for the epidural to work, and if things kept progressing as they were (in other words, not progressing) I’d have time to get one. So I broke down and told her yes, please, find me an anesthesiologist (A word, I’ll have you know, I spelled correctly on the first try. We won’t talk about the far easier words I needed to Google. Baby brain…)

The nurse made the call, informed me that it would be a short wait, but the numbing drugs were on the way. Hurray!

It was not a short wait. The anesthesiologist was busy, and would get there when he could. I was really regretting not breaking down earlier. I was imagining being stuck with these horrible, but useless, contractions, and the horrible, but useless, morphine for hours. I imagined myself worn out, unable to push, and needing a C-section to get the baby out. If I thought an IV was worse than labour, you can imagine how I felt about possibly getting cut open. My stress-induced imaginings were not a good distraction from the contractions. I don’t recommend panic as a coping technique.

It had been about an hour, and there was no relief in sight. The nurse decided to check the progress again, and finally, things were happening. In fact, suddenly things were happening very quickly. I’d gone from halfway there, to basically ready to go. The nurse moved me to a different position, which was apparently all the further prompting the baby needed. She rushed to call the doctor in, because the baby was coming!

The doctor was in her office, across the road from the hospital. If I’d been looking out the window instead of trying not to scream, apparently I’d have seen her running across the parking lot. She got in the door just as the nurse was telling me when and how to push, and after what felt like about five minutes, there was a baby on my tummy.

He looked, as most newborns do, like a little alien. But he was my little alien, and I fell in love immediately. I looked at him, in wonder at how amazing it was to finally be able to see him and to hold him. He was just so little, and so sweet, and so mine. I was also wondering how long he’d look like a little alien. Not that it mattered. He was perfect.

The anesthesiologist arrived 20 minutes later. Thanks, I got this.