A dear friend of mine went into labor at full term and her son, Noah, was stillborn. This was her 8th birth. To me, she defines motherhood. I so desperately want to do something, anything, but nothing seems to be enough. I thought I would start by writing her a poem.
For the Love of Noah
In the deepest grief,
I call your name in prayer.
This sacred hour. This sacred life.
I ask God that I might share your grief
so that it would not be yours alone to bear.
You are not alone.
I see you in a vision
doubled over and throbbing in pain.
I see your body tremor and your breast ache
for that sacred moment when you would
bring Noah to you to consummate
I cry deep tears through ravenous pain.
I cannot understand any of this.
Who can know the ways of God?
You are a warrior.
You are a powerful woman of fierce love.
You have loved. You continue in love.
It will not go unseen.
In these dark moments
of great despair
God is still good.
Clinging to this in humble trust.
He gives. He takes away.
Blessed be the name of our Lord.
Bless Him through excruciating pain.
Culminating tides of pain.
The inmost belly
a desperate love was allowed
cultivated by the breath of God
This life changed you and made you.
You shaped yourself around it.
Beautiful. Exquisite. Perfect.
In His Father's hands.
"Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed trust my spirit clings I know that God is good!" —John Greenleaf Whittier