Oh, friends. Now I've heard the one sound that outshines every piece of music I've ever loved.
It's a better sound than any singer I've ever heard - sorry, Good Singers - my baby's heartbeat is prettier than your voice. I'm sure everybody who has ever heard the heartbeat of their Small One feels this way. But I was shocked by it.
People told me I was going to lose it and cry. I thought, "This is a little silly. It's just a noise. The first ultra sound didn't even make me cry."
As usual, I stand corrected. This sound is better than any sound I've ever heard in my entire life.
I've had more than one afternoon of complete writer's block during the first trimester. In fact, I've only written one song about my baby.
Maybe you can't grasp how crazy that is - I have over 200 completed songs from less than 3 full years of writing. Not all of them are great, but they're finished. And this? I can't put two words together about it.
So I wrote this song long before I could hear the baby's heartbeat. "I listen for your perfect heart though it's too soon . . . and know no matter what becomes of us, we will make room."
And then I sat on it - unable to share it - for weeks.
Finally, I got up the guts to record it and called our good friend, Brett Nolan, to help record three special songs, including this song for a first child.
And I called it "New" because I couldn't think of a better word. Now this recording has been done (and done well, thank you Brett!) for over a month! I have intended to share it over and over again . . . but I just couldn't.
And now? Today? I can't wait to share it because the heartbeat is so loud and strong . . . and it's there.
Maybe it doesn't make sense to you yet . . . . "Big deal - you've already seen a picture of the baby. Why does a sound change anything?"
All my life sounds have changed everything. Sounds make things real to me.
When I was a very young girl I was sleeping in my room and had a dream of a voice I didn't know leaning down close and whispering, "You've done alright. You're a good person. Everything is going to be ok. I love you."
It was out loud. It was something Eternal telling me everything I've ever needed to know in four sentences . . . out loud. I think I was only 8 or so when that happened. Clear as a bell.
So today I had a couple of Dr.'s appointments. I'm a singer with asthma - funny, right? A singer with fickle lungs.
My asthma has been rough already - and I'm only 14 weeks along. It's not supposed to be a problem until week 24. I can hear the wheezing when I lay down at night and I can feel it when I try to take a walk. And I know it's bad for the baby.
I went to hear the heartbeat early this morning and to check that the baby was doing ok and then after that, still a little bit teary eyed, I went to get my asthma taken care of.
My doctors are all very nice, but my asthma doctor has to be my favorite. She's just a very kind woman. And she's an Osteopathic doctor. So she comes in and takes my hands, checks my arms and shoulders and back, presses my ankles, asks me questions, listens to my lungs, checks my charts and all . . . she says what I already know, "Well, you're down 15 points and that means that your asthma is out of control. We'll have to look for what's triggering that."
Should I tell her that I already know what it is? That I haven't eaten any strange foods? That it's not environmental from my home? That I already checked the pollen and spore count and that I know the air is ok right now?
Should I tell her that it's stress?
At 14 weeks pregnant I am acutely aware of the fact that my choices directly effect the life of the perfectly imperfect little human growing in my womb.
My choice to be too busy.
My choice to skip morning meditation.
My choice to do 3 meetings back to back after working a full day.
My choice to rush through lunch and dinner.
My choices aren't just mine anymore. We seem to learn this a level at a time in life - attach ourselves to a life partner and we've gone up one level . . . . participate in the creation of a human life and we've moved up to the top of the roller coaster.
So I tell her. I put myself in situations where I have no rest and then wonder what's wrong. I don't make time to pray or even sit still.
She takes both of my hands after the nurse has left the room and she prays for me and little baby T. And I just sit there and cry. And it's the best cry I've had in over a year.
How is it that I get to be part of more than just my own life now? I thought I'd reached the absolute height of thankfulness when I met my husband and realized what he was to me. This is more than that (Robbie's not offended, trust me, he is right here with me).
God, who creates all things bright and beautiful . . . all creatures great and small . . . God, who is the most wise and the most wonderful . . . God made that heartbeat that I heard this morning.
From building blocks I can't even begin to understand, God is making this little life and it's almost completely out of my control. There are only a few things I can do to help this along. Only small things that I can contribute.
The first thing I'll contribute is my quiet. My stillness. I am going to be still and know that God is still God. And then I am going to take a few minutes to remember that I am just a person. My human body is not invincible. My capacity for work is not endless. My ability to give is not without limits. And I will set some boundaries. New ones. And then I will guard them.
We have to do this in life and it's not a sin.
It's not a sin to protect ourselves and our loved ones from over work and over stress. It's ok. God, who made us human, knows that we need rest. God has set examples for us all over the place. Jesus rested. God even rested . . . probably more for our benefit than God's own.
It takes me a long time to get still and quiet. I need some help. Don't you? The only glimpse of any kind of eternity I've ever had has been in the presence of something bigger than myself. The heart beat of my child overwhelms me. It is beautiful and terrifying. I need, more than I ever have, something to be bigger than I am.
Go and be still. There is something bigger than you.