Birth Stories

I’ve always been astonished at the miracle of birth. My husband says I’m odd. The fact that there is blood and slime involved just makes his stomach churn.

Not me. I get so excited when a cow is ready to give birth. I hang around the barn, waiting. I love the warmth and the blink of new eyes and the way the calves wobble to their feet as instinct takes over.

It makes me happy.

This past year my sister-in-law  gave birth to her fourth child. It was November 17th, exactly three years to the day, after giving birth to her second daughter.

And she gave me the most wondrous of gifts. I always go to the hospital with her (when she’s in the state. She did have one baby in Alaska that I missed.) and I wait, right there, to hear that first cry of a new baby. But this time she put her foot down with the doctors and insisted that her husband and her sister-in-law were going to be in the room with her.

birth stories

I cried through the whole delivery. I cried when Marsha screamed in pain. I cried when the doctor said it was time. I cried when that new little boy whimpered. I snuffled and wondered why I didn’t bring a tissue. And I whispered prayers of thankfulness that I was privileged enough to share the moment with my brother and his wife. (And the doctor and three nurses. 🙂 )

Birth astounds me.

The total transformation of life that happens in a few short minutes.

A few weeks ago I was standing with a group of people in the church fellowship hall. We had just finished eating wax on snow (if you’ve never had such a thing you a poor deprived person and should come visit me asap so we can fix that) and the talking had continued long after the spoons and containers of snow and maple syrup had disappeared.

And somehow, salvation stories began creeping into the conversation.

They are my very favorite type of stories.

One story began, this one I had heard before but it still grabbed me tight. The story of a man and his wife who had moved to this area and didn’t even quite know why. How they lived right next door to a conservative Mennonite family and how this neighbor spoke right bold and true into their lives. “Read John 3,” they were told.

“It was like a light bulb went on,” the man shares and everyone is smiling and everyone is breathing deep of grace. His wife stands beside me and she glows with the glory of those moments.

Birth.

The total transformation of life that happens in a few short minutes.

I have my own story, mine that was scratched into the chronicles of my life when I was so small. Laying on my parent’s bed with my Papa beside me, reading the story of Jesus in that little booklet. I read the words aloud, my five-year-old voice wavering through the difficult syllables. And Papa asked the questions, explained the meaning, whispered the love of Christ right over and through me. I didn’t understand it all, but I understood enough to grab tight.

It was birth. With the blood of Jesus flowing and the slime of my sinfulness being wiped away.

And I’m astounded. Hushed right still at the glory of it all.

Stories of Re-Birth @natashametzler

What is your salvation story? Have you thought about it lately? Told it to anyone? I’d love to hear it! Every birth story is different, some simple, some complex, some agonizing– but they are all beautiful. Let us fill the comment section with tales of glory, shall we? 

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12 thoughts on “Birth Stories

  1. I was reborn less than four weeks after my human birth. The Holy Spirit gave me faith and came into my heart when I was just a tiny baby, too small to understand what was happening–but not too small to be saved by Jesus. Because Jesus does the saving; it’s not about anything I do or understand. I still don’t understand what it really means to have faith–God is too big for my understanding.

    It’s a miracle, baptism. God makes us his children kind of like our parents do–without us having any say in the matter. He loves us not because of anything we’ve done, but because we’re his children. And as our parents teach us as we grow, and as we come to realize, the older we get, how much they love us, so God does the same with us.

    Through His Word, taught to me by my parents, I learned how much Jesus loves me. As a small child I already had the understanding that whenever I died, I would go to heaven. And I looked forward to being with Jesus in heaven. I knew that I would go there because Jesus had died to take away my sins.

    God is constantly teaching me what it means to be forgiven. How to live as his child. How to accept, with thankfulness, the grace that I don’t deserve, but which he freely gives anyway.

    My salvation story isn’t about me, really, at all. It’s about Jesus, and what he did for me (in being born as a human, living for me, dying for me, rising for me). And what God still does for me–strengthening my faith through the Word and through his Body and Blood in Holy Communion. Building up my faith through the encouragement of my fellow believers. Reminding me, in little ways all the time, how much he loves me.

    (Natasha, I think I’m going to rewrite this a bit and use it as a blog post myself…now you’ve got me thinking, and the creative juices flowing!)

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    • My salvation story isn’t about me, really, at all. It’s about Jesus, and what he did for me

      Love this! So, so true. Thank you for sharing, Jamie!

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  2. I was just shy of 6 years old…and I remember walking up front during invitation…and going with my pastors wife into their livingroom (our church used to be in their house) and she led me to the Lord. I had grown up there…and I’m still there and Praise God, my 6 year old daughter has accepted Christ as well 🙂

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    • What a beautiful testimony!! And how exciting that your daughter is following in the legacy you have provided for her.

      Thank you for sharing!!

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  3. I gave my heart to God at 23…the man who is now my husband invited me to church. A second floor rehearsal studio in the middle of Hells Kitchen NYC. I had never known the sweet peace of God but gravitated to it like a hungry toddler. Face and hands in bowl – lapping up every bit of its goodness. Satisfying and regenerating my malnourished spirit – I feasted.
    ” I love to remember what The Lord has done for me”…so goes a song we used to sing at service. Thanks for this love to remember moment!

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  4. I am not brave enough to share my whole story just yet (which is 6 pages long) but I have a shorter version on my blog. Basically I grew up in the church and thought I understood God. Then some kids who had only been exposed to God through me and my friends started asking me questions that I didn’t have the answers to. I spent three years reading the Bible from cover to cover and was finally at peace and mature in my faith. …..and then I had a baby. I struggled with wrong and right and what was fair for a little while. I think it was the devil trying to get at me through PPD. My child is three years old now and I am unwavering in my faith, and curious to see where God takes me to next.
    http://failingathaiku.wordpress.com/about/my-personal-testimony/

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  5. I was raised halvsies. My Mom was religious, my Dad was not. So the most church I experienced as a child was a once a week bible study. (That I hardly ever sat in on, instead I played outside with the rest of the kids.)
    My Mom still taught me scripture verses and Bible stories though. So I knew who God was. I prayed to Him tried to be a good girl.
    Then, when I was about ten years old, I began hearing Him whisper to me at night, He was saying it was time for me to give my LIFE to him. He wanted me to be fully dedicated.
    For several days, I’d just think in my head. “Okay, okay.I am yours. Do what you want with me.”
    But I wouldn’t say it out loud. My mouth just felt… sealed. It was very hard to talk about it.
    Finally, one night, I gathered up the courage and faith to say aloud, “Okay.”
    Then this peace blossomed from inside of me so strongly I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t a magical feeling, I just somehow KNEW that He was pleased with me.
    Then He told me to get rid of some of my New Age stuff I was starting to dabble in. He didn’t like it, or it’s gobbling up of my time.
    I hopped out of bed and immediately went and trashed the stuff. (Deep in the trashcan so nobody would know)
    And from there our relationship began.It was a couple years before I gathered up the courage to admit that I wanted to be baptized. (I had already done it back when I was 7, I’m not sure why.)
    And sometime in those early years His Spirit slipped into me. Quietly, like my conversion. I guess that’s just the way He likes to work with me. 🙂

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