The Dream
I woke up asking for my baby. I had been put to sleep for my c-section and the place I found myself in now is very different than the one I drifted out of consciousness in. The nurse quietly stepped across the room holding a small bundle in her hands and placed it in my arms. My baby. It was much smaller than my first two children when they were born. In fact, this one was no larger than a kitten. I looked down at her sweet, sleeping face and breathed in her new baby smell. I loved her.
I looked around the room and thought it was strange to not see the usual surroundings of a hospital. This place looked more like a library - in fact, that's what it was. Instead of beds, monitors, and stark walls, I saw half-empty bookshelves and books strewn haphazardly about the floor. The walls were a warm, golden color, which gave it a cozy feeling.
The nurse must have sensed my wondering and explained, "I'm sorry about the room. The maternity ward in the hospital is being renovated so we had to set up a makeshift recovery room here in the library."
The only furniture I could see were two chairs for the two nurses to sit on as they looked after me and the baby. I was seated on the floor, on top of soft blankets and pillows. Despite my recent surgery and the severe lack of amenities (including the lack of a bed), I was comfortable and content.
My own appearance mirrored my disheveled surroundings. The birth had been sudden. There was no time to shower and primp beforehand as the baby came with little warning. I awakened from the surgery in a sweat. My hair was a complete mess and my clothing was no better. I was wearing a plum colored sports bra and a pair of gray, baggy pants. The baby began to stir. I lowered the strap of my bra to nurse the baby. She latched right on. She was ravenous! My heart warmed at seeing how I could nurture her. I felt a sense of purpose. She needed me.
Slowly, family began dripping into the room to visit me and the baby. They were all smiles, each and every one of them. They excitedly gave me their congratulations as they came in. Some brought balloons and flowers to decorate the room. These people loved me and by default, they loved my baby. Despite my appearance and exposed breast from nursing, I didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed. I felt proud - and why shouldn't I? I was feeding my child and giving her the nourishment she needed. I felt completely at ease. Notwithstanding, I decided to ask my oldest child to bring a shawl cover my shoulders and breast with. I didn't want my exposed appearance to cause others to feel uncomfortable. As she draped the shawl over my shoulders, there was another click at the turn of the door knob. A familiar face shown in the room. She was someone who used to be my friend. My best friend.
She was strikingly beautiful. She wore a long sleeved, glowingly white shirt with a long colorful skirt and coordinating jewelry made from gold and precious gems. Her dark hair was perfectly coiffed and her makeup was flawless. Her appearance completely contrasted that of my own. I could tell from her expression that she did not want to be here. I reasoned that her husband must have brought her here in an effort to be polite to me and my family. He was very nice and offered his congratulations before moving to the other side of the room to converse with my family. They brought their kids, which delighted my own, and they ran off to a corner of the room to play.
Soon after I gathered my thoughts, my friend very quickly approached me. I could feel the judgmental glare in her eyes as she looked down at me and my baby. Her expression kept no secrets - it was obvious that she was disgusted by my unkempt appearance and by my unusually tiny baby. She didn't utter a word, however, I could feel her displeasure as she sat down beside me. I expected to feel offended, but surprisingly I didn't. Even in my present state and despite her condescending glare, my happiness was unaltered. I was content. In fact, I felt beautiful.
I decided that the best thing to do was to be friendly so I complimented her beautiful skirt and thanked her for visiting. She muttered a "thank you" and then moved to sit with her family. She didn't have anything really to say to me. As I sat, watching this unfold, I wondered at how while I was a mess on the outside, I felt happy and beautiful on the inside; and while she was the picture of perfection on the outside, she was miserable. I felt sorry for her. She was unable to see the beauty of God's hand in my situation. I couldn't help but feel that she was the one who was missing out.
After a while, they left and I began to gather my things and get ready to leave the hospital for home. One of the friendly nurses handed me a piece of paper and said, "Would you mind filling out this survey about your stay?" Given the disorderly state of the maternity ward and complete lack of supplies, I thought it strange that they would dare to give their patients a survey. But because of my contentment, I gave them high remarks anyway.
My husband came to meet me and as we walked hand in hand out of the hospital, I observed that he was happy, too. We smiled at one another, marveling over the new baby that we were tasked with caring for. It wouldn't be easy, but Love was there and that was enough.
I looked around the room and thought it was strange to not see the usual surroundings of a hospital. This place looked more like a library - in fact, that's what it was. Instead of beds, monitors, and stark walls, I saw half-empty bookshelves and books strewn haphazardly about the floor. The walls were a warm, golden color, which gave it a cozy feeling.
The nurse must have sensed my wondering and explained, "I'm sorry about the room. The maternity ward in the hospital is being renovated so we had to set up a makeshift recovery room here in the library."
The only furniture I could see were two chairs for the two nurses to sit on as they looked after me and the baby. I was seated on the floor, on top of soft blankets and pillows. Despite my recent surgery and the severe lack of amenities (including the lack of a bed), I was comfortable and content.
My own appearance mirrored my disheveled surroundings. The birth had been sudden. There was no time to shower and primp beforehand as the baby came with little warning. I awakened from the surgery in a sweat. My hair was a complete mess and my clothing was no better. I was wearing a plum colored sports bra and a pair of gray, baggy pants. The baby began to stir. I lowered the strap of my bra to nurse the baby. She latched right on. She was ravenous! My heart warmed at seeing how I could nurture her. I felt a sense of purpose. She needed me.
Slowly, family began dripping into the room to visit me and the baby. They were all smiles, each and every one of them. They excitedly gave me their congratulations as they came in. Some brought balloons and flowers to decorate the room. These people loved me and by default, they loved my baby. Despite my appearance and exposed breast from nursing, I didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed. I felt proud - and why shouldn't I? I was feeding my child and giving her the nourishment she needed. I felt completely at ease. Notwithstanding, I decided to ask my oldest child to bring a shawl cover my shoulders and breast with. I didn't want my exposed appearance to cause others to feel uncomfortable. As she draped the shawl over my shoulders, there was another click at the turn of the door knob. A familiar face shown in the room. She was someone who used to be my friend. My best friend.
She was strikingly beautiful. She wore a long sleeved, glowingly white shirt with a long colorful skirt and coordinating jewelry made from gold and precious gems. Her dark hair was perfectly coiffed and her makeup was flawless. Her appearance completely contrasted that of my own. I could tell from her expression that she did not want to be here. I reasoned that her husband must have brought her here in an effort to be polite to me and my family. He was very nice and offered his congratulations before moving to the other side of the room to converse with my family. They brought their kids, which delighted my own, and they ran off to a corner of the room to play.
Soon after I gathered my thoughts, my friend very quickly approached me. I could feel the judgmental glare in her eyes as she looked down at me and my baby. Her expression kept no secrets - it was obvious that she was disgusted by my unkempt appearance and by my unusually tiny baby. She didn't utter a word, however, I could feel her displeasure as she sat down beside me. I expected to feel offended, but surprisingly I didn't. Even in my present state and despite her condescending glare, my happiness was unaltered. I was content. In fact, I felt beautiful.
I decided that the best thing to do was to be friendly so I complimented her beautiful skirt and thanked her for visiting. She muttered a "thank you" and then moved to sit with her family. She didn't have anything really to say to me. As I sat, watching this unfold, I wondered at how while I was a mess on the outside, I felt happy and beautiful on the inside; and while she was the picture of perfection on the outside, she was miserable. I felt sorry for her. She was unable to see the beauty of God's hand in my situation. I couldn't help but feel that she was the one who was missing out.
After a while, they left and I began to gather my things and get ready to leave the hospital for home. One of the friendly nurses handed me a piece of paper and said, "Would you mind filling out this survey about your stay?" Given the disorderly state of the maternity ward and complete lack of supplies, I thought it strange that they would dare to give their patients a survey. But because of my contentment, I gave them high remarks anyway.
My husband came to meet me and as we walked hand in hand out of the hospital, I observed that he was happy, too. We smiled at one another, marveling over the new baby that we were tasked with caring for. It wouldn't be easy, but Love was there and that was enough.
The End.
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