Waiting for Labor = Personal Growth

I checked on Bethany's impending labor at 1:15am and 3:30am. Nothing much appeared to be happening. Nor at 7am, when I was up for the day.

Was she acting a bit uncomfortable? Was she pawing the ground more than normal? I scared myself reading a book about calving problems. Should an old cow with a pendulous udder and weak abdominal muscles try to give birth, her uterus won't contract all the way ("uterine inertia"), and that's bad.

Or, even worse, if a calf undergoes a prolonged labor, it can die in utero, and then begin to decay. In which case, we'd need the vet (no kidding). Who reads these depressing books?! Yikes!

In the end, there was so little evidence of labor that we headed off to church, unsure if we'd find a yet-pregnant cow, a calf delivered, or, worst case, a dead cow and calf on our return.

We found the former on our arrival back home. The baby was still very much alive inside, as we saw leg movements in Bethany's side as we watched her carefully all afternoon.

Since there were still no signs of real labor, we headed off to Bible study, and returned in a downpour.

We haven't had rain in a month, so we are incredibly grateful for the blessing falling from heaven. However, a calf born in a rainstorm is not much fun for the humans, and certainly, I would imagine, not much fun for the calf. To say nothing of the fact that we have no barn for comfort for cows or humans.

So it was with deep gratitude that we found Bethany still calmly ruminating.

I realized today that I have been praying almost with despair over the lives of Bethany and unborn baby. And that's silly. They both might die in childbirth. That would really stink, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. It wouldn't be a vote of "no confidence" from God. It might be due to our poor management, or ignorance, or outside of our control at all.

I think I'm called to a new level of trust, one that offers rest and peace whether we have an easy, healthy delivery of a second heifer calf, or wake up some morning to find a dead cow and calf. In either case, God is taking care of us. Maybe not in the way I expect or wish for, but in a real way nonetheless.

I can live in nail-biting suspense over whether Bethany will die, or I can live in joy and peace, knowing that, whatever the outcome, God is at work in my life and on my farm.

And that's a realization to celebrate.