Sunday Devotion: Fresh From the Womb

Janet Rubin

There’s a bit of a baby boom happening in my neck of the woods. Two new ones in the last week at my church and more on the way. You guessed it—I’m sticking to bottled water until the epidemic passes.

As usual, the new arrivals have the women I know reminiscing about their own labor stories. Please don’t stop reading. I’m not about to launch into a retelling of my three joyous deliveries. I’m only leading up to a point.

Of all the labor accounts I’ve heard—long and hard, happily numbed or drug-free, early or late, etc.—all have one thing in common. The people present in the room during the event were carefully selected. A trusted doctor or midwife, a husband or close friend to coach, and the necessary number of nurses. No one I know called for a public viewing (okay, there was that one woman who actually had a live web cast of her giving birth, but really, that’s NOT the norm).

We are particular about who will see us at our worst- spread eagle, naked, at moments seemingly demon-possessed. We’re choosy about who gets to be the first to meet our babies too, when they’re fresh from the womb, not yet wiped clean of the cheesy, white coating they come packaged in. Most of us like to get our precious little bundles cleaned and dressed in the cutest of tiny outfits, with their minuscule bits of hair carefully combed before presenting them to the world.

Authors are like that with their stories too. Many of us have one or maybe two people we’ll let see our “babies” in their messy just-born states—smeared with wordiness, screaming with grammatical errors. The rest of the world sees our cleaned up work. The stuff that’s been rewritten numerous times, and edited until it (hopefully) shines.

Of course this is wise and good. After all, who really wants to witness a birth unless the person is someone close or related to the new life or someone whose career involves helping in the process? And wouldn’t you rather visit your friend’s new baby and hold it in your arms after its smooth pink skin and pearly little toes have been wiped clean? Aren’t you glad novels are edited before they hit the shelves at Borders, and you don’t have to read things in their first messy, confusing drafts?

With labor and first drafts, we can choose to whom we’ll expose ourselves. We select those who love us, those we trust not to reject us having seen our imperfections.

But there is One who sees us at our best and at our worst, whether we invite Him or not. Our Maker sees not only what we choose to show Him, but everything we think, say, and do. All is laid bare before Him. And wonder of wonders, He loves us. Like a good friend who critiques our work and can see mistakes we miss, He points out the things that need fixing in our lives and guides us through the editing process. David understood his need for a spiritual critique and requested one in Psalm 139:23-24:

"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."

God, Thank You for putting people in my life who love me for better or worse. And Thank You for Your amazing, unconditional love that doesn’t depend on me being good enough. Help me be open to Your loving critiques and to follow Your guidance. Amen