“Can you do just this one?”
These words from Cameron, Corbin’s sister who served as my doula during the intense (!) labor of our oldest son's birth.
“Just this one contraction, TJ, don’t go ahead, just stay in this one.”
Cameron stayed by my side every contraction, held my hair while I threw up, walked me around the hospital room and up and down the hall to help the labor along. Early that morning, when I woke to crunching contractions, I told Cameron, “It’s time. I gotta get to the hospital.”
She knew it wasn’t time, but she also knew I was mentally over the edge, so off to the hospital we went. As we loaded my bags in the car and Corbin jetted us toward the hospital, I felt like my abdomen was being crushed in a garlic press.
I told Cameron, “I don’t think I can do this all day,” to which she responded, “Ok, but can you do this one? Just this one contraction. Don’t worry about the next one, this will stop and you’ll be able to breathe and relax. Can you do just this one?”
All day long she repeated “just this one,” encouraging me over and over to stay in the moment.
And guess what, I did it! We did it. Branson was born at a slight 9 lbs 4 oz, and I was able to give birth naturally which also allowed for a super quick recovery. And later Cameron’s coaching and advice to stay in the moment provided similar encouragement for the next three babies. Incidentally, Basden was the exact same size as Bran, and Hud was the biggest at 9, 11. Essie was a tiny 8 pounds even. Taking one contraction at a time, not going ahead mentally - which would lead to certain discouragement - became my most important strategy for natural childbirth.
I’ve found the mantra works for much more than childbirth. I’ve talked myself down many a blistering cold ski slope, especially at 3:00pm when the sun begins sinking and the ski lifts are still running another hour and I’m married to someone who wants to get the FULL experience - make it worth every penny of the full day’s lift ticket. I tell myself, “You can do just this run. You can get down just this one. Your hands are frozen and you may never play piano again, your toes have likely already fallen off with frostbite, but you can just get to the bottom of this run.” And then, “You can ride this one lift up. Again. You can snuggle close to Corbin or this perfect stranger next to you, and you can make it to that aspen tree right there. Then to that one. Then to that really tall evergreen pine. Not going to think about the wind whipping this chair around, the snow piling up on your gloves, or that we’re not even half way to the top - you can do this moment RIGHT NOW. Ok, now you can do THIS moment.” And on it goes (as I write, I’m wrapped in a cozy fleece robe-jacket thing with an a heated throw across my legs, thankful I’m not on that freezing ski mountain).
Stay in the moment has become a lifetime theme of sorts. It’s often my knee-jerk encouragement to close friends, the primary prayer I pray when someone I love is struggling ~ “Lord, give them the grace to stay in the moment, not to go ahead with worry and fear, not to look backwards with regret and with shame, but just stay in the now. With You.”
Father, give them grace to stay in the moment.
It’s my prayer for Jen and Brian as they navigate the tangle of Jen’s breast cancer diagnosis, double mastectomy and recovery, all wrapped up in a (weighty and exhilarating) move to the west coast, and the timing and push back along the way.
Stay in the moment.
It’s my prayer for Sarah and her young daughters who just shockingly lost their husband and father over Christmas. It’s my prayer for this man’s precious mother, who served as our elementary librarian for years and years, to stay in the moment and trust God with losing her oldest son and worry over his wife and girls.
Stay in the moment.
It’s my prayer for Hudson - perseverance for one day at a time - broken wrist in a cast during baseball season, watching the team and not able to take part.
Stay in the moment.
It’s what I whispered in my heart repeatedly during a difficult parenting / family season. There were moments I could scarcely breathe, days I just couldn’t leave the house, needing to be wrapped in a cocoon of safety here at home. I didn’t have the strength to fight fear as it tried its darndest to wrap it’s paralyzing tentacles around my heart - and with some success. But God somehow did it, somehow helped me put one foot in front of the other and trudge through those days, weeks, months… One of my greatest comforts during that time was God’s PRESENCE with me in that moment.
The magic of God's grace doesn't come from us remembering to stay in the moment, the magic comes when God shows up, whether we remember or not, and pours out His grace, His presence. He does it all. He is the great I AM.
The fresh perspective staying in the moment offers me now is encouragement not to live in the past. Not so much regarding shame and regret, but the really beautiful things in the past I can't get back to. I can visit, but I can't live there. With that first-born boy leaving our home for college in five months, it’s freedom to hold his childhood years with a grateful open hand and live in this moment.
I somehow came across this poem in college. I’d recently learned from my Old Testament professor the story of God revealing himself to Moses as “I AM,” and the poem’s theme spoke to me. What a restful, liberating idea - to live in THIS moment because that’s how God designed it.
I copied the poem and sent it to my then-future-Mother-in-Love, who was battling Bell’s Palsy in the midst of planning Cameron’s wedding. Attending all those showers and pre-wedding festivities with half of her face unresponsive and sagging, I learned much watching Jamie endure that season. She walked through it without drama, without drawing attention to herself, and with joy. She kept the focus on her daughter-bride. On my visits to their home in Rockwall, the “I Am” poem greeted me, taped on the front of their refrigerator. And now that I know Jamie well, she doesn’t typically tape things on her refrigerator.
I AM
I was regretting the past
and fearing the future...
Suddenly my Lord was speaking:
“MY NAME IS I AM.”
I paused.
He continued.
“When you live in the past,
with its mistakes and regrets,
it is hard. I am not there.
My name is not ‘I WAS.’
“When you live in the future,
with its problems and fears,
it is hard. I am not there.
My name is not ‘I WILL BE.’
“When you live in this moment,
it is not hard.
I am here.
My name is ‘I AM.’ ”
Helen Mallicoat
Exodus 13:14
For the record, this idea of staying in the moment does not come naturally to me. But it does seem to get easier, more familiar, with practice. I will likely be taping this poem to my currently clean and bare refrigerator door. I know myself well enough to know I need the reminder as our family transitions with our oldest leaving that God is HERE. Miraculously, HERE for God somehow translates to Fort Worth and Waco!