It started on Monday afternoon when we arrived at the
hospital. They checked us in and assigned us to our own spacious room. Ashley
changed into a breezy hospital gown and began to nest in a less than
comfortable bed.
My first task was to run down the hall and fetch a glass of
water. After walking back into the room and squeezing past the nurses who were
helping her get comfortable, I handed Ashley the gigantic jug of ice-cold
water. What I unknowingly failed to do was secure the lid. The next moment had
Ashley looking like a coach who had just won the Super Bowl—she and her newly
formed nest were drenched. She let out a polite squeal, and the nurses looked
at me as if to say, Did that really
happen?
I assured them I would only get better.
Ashley endured the next thirteen hours of contractions before
deciding it was time for an epidural. The anesthesiologist arrived and began to
set up shop while ordering me to get in front of Ashley and push down on her
shoulders in order to create the optimal body position for the insertion of the
large needle. Speaking of large needle, where do they get those things? It
looked as if Godzilla ripped off the lightning rod from the Empire State
Building and gave it to the anesthesiologist.
Even though I couldn’t see her face, I could tell she was
crying as I assumed my position. I tried
to encourage her while applying great force upon her shoulders, but I also
noticed my head was beginning to spin. The nurse noticed I wasn’t doing well
and encouraged me to sit down, but I refused to leave my post. The spinning intensified, I started sweating profusely, and
my ears started ringing before I finally decided it was time to heed their
advice.
The next few moments were embarrassing to say the least. My job was to encourage and support Ashley through
this process, and there I was half-passed out on the couch with a cold rag
draped over my forehead. Not exactly the picture of a confident coach.
I eventually started to feel better and sheepishly returned
to her bedside. I spent the next few hours holding her hand and trying to find
the right words to comfort, support, and encourage her to press on.
I’m certainly not complaining about the role God gave men in
the birthing process, but I do think it feels a little strange to stand there
as the woman does all the work. What’s a man really supposed to say to his wife
during labor? Come on, honey…Push HARDER!
Let’s GO!
The truth is it’s hard to know what to say, because we have
no idea what it’s like. At one point when Ashley was 40 weeks pregnant, she
said, “Gabe, I just wish you knew what it was like to be this pregnant?” I
tried to sound as polite as possible, but I responded, “I’ll just take your
word for it, babe.”
The only thing more uncomfortable than carrying a large baby
in your womb during the sweltering heat of summer is actually pushing it out. As
Ashley was huffing and puffing, she gave me the look again: I wish you knew what this was like! I wasn’t
about to say anything this time, but I grimaced as I recalled Bill Cosby’s
words: “I think the only way a man can experience the pain of childbirth is to
grab his bottom lip and simply pull it right over the top of his head!” 
I tried my best to not act like a football coach during the
seventeen hours of labor. Instead, I
held her hand and occasionally reminded her that she looked beautiful (she
paused to reapply lipstick just before the baby was born!). I didn’t know what
else to say or do. I honestly can’t remember a time when I felt as helpless as
I did in the moments leading up to the birth.
It’s easy for anyone to stand on the sideline and offer
encouragement and advice, but words become more powerful and meaningful when
they leave the mouth of a person who has walked the same path. Words that carry
weight come from a person who knows what the other person is experiencing, and
authority and trust are often extended to people who have successfully
navigated the same experiences well.
If this is the case, how much more should we trust the words
of Jesus? I’ve learned He has plenty to say about my life, and He is ultimately
the only one who truly knows what it’s like to walk in my shoes. He understands
what we’re experiencing because He became flesh and made His dwelling amongst
us. For God so loved you that He refused to be contained within Heaven’s
boundaries. He put on skin and faced
every temptation known to man, but he remained without sin. He experienced the
depth of humanity and handled it in a perfect manner. Because of this, He has earned the right to
speak into our lives.
He understands precisely what you’re facing, and He cares
more than you can even fathom. He
doesn’t want to stand on the sideline and offer a few cliché words of
encouragement. He wants to join you in the midst of the struggle, take you by
the hand, and lead you through the valley.
For Ashley, the “valley” ended the moment she held our son,
Owen Michael, for the first time. He was born at 9:11am on September 10th,
and we’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve shared with him since. He’s an
indescribable gift to our family. In fact, the name “Owen” actually means
“gracious gift of God.”
For me, holding Owen has only deepened my understanding of
our Heavenly Father’s love towards us. It’s also deepened my understanding of
how painful it must have been for the Father to give His one and only Son.
Talk about a “gracious gift of God.” 
