Making Me a Midwife in Montana
Here I am. Send me.
That is what I prayed. Now I walk among the magnificent mountains of Montana. What a beautiful place to be sent to. What a beautiful place to start walking in what I was made to do. The foggy mornings in the early morning sun. The mountains tower overhead. The snow caps at the top fulfilled my childhood dream and the idea of what mountains look like.
Still, I miss my home. The flat plains of Texas. Down to earth and a little further from the clouds. Where I can see the sun set into the horizon, rather than wonder why the lights outside are still one when I can no longer see the sun. I miss the humidity and my soft skin. Watching our TV show with my sisters every night, and listening to them laugh as I fall asleep. I miss being annoyed by them.
I am far away from the people I love the most. A 22-hour car drive away. An expensive plane ticket away. Technically, we are a phone call away. But phone calls don’t allow for spontaneous dance parties or baking at midnight because everyone decided they want lemon cake. Phone calls allow for conversations, but they don’t allow for what makes a relationship a relationship.
I am a midwife. At least that is what I am becoming. That is why I am here. That is why I left my comfortable home. It is only for three months. But three months is a lot of life to live. I am going to be a different woman when I come home. All within three months. Three months to become to grow up, become my own woman, become what I was created for. Three months to decide my own opinions, to stand firm in my convictions, to move mountains.
Do mountains really need to be moved? I don’t know. I’ll ask them.
I know only two things: I am meant to be a midwife, and this was way harder than any told me it would be.
But I am made for this. It has brought great refinement. I feel like olives being pressed into oil. I feel like grapes being squashed into wine. I feel like clay being molded into what it was destined to become.
I moved here in fifteen days. At first, I could not process what I did. My whole life I have always had someone next to me. We do crazy together. This was far away from the people I love the most. I was just here for an extended stay. To cope, I had to think that I was only there for a two-week camp. Quick, speedy refinement and back home. This thinking did not last long. The other ten weeks stood there mocking my face. I processed by rolling in my tears on the kitchen floor.
But I made for this. I am made to do hard things.
Birth is a dirty, bloody battlefield. I was (and still am) clueless about it. It is a battle of peace and chaos. It is a battle of light and darkness. It is a battle of life and death. The battle goes so much further than the rivalry between pharmaceutical medicine and traditional medicine. It goes deeper than interventions and trusting the process. These fights are just the evidence of what is really happening. The battle is not against flesh and blood. But these are real struggles and real questions to ask. Who is going to rule your birth room?
I am a rookie soldier. My past life experiences were my training, and I stepped onto this battlefield completely unaware of how long and rowdy it is. Experienced generals come sweeping in with their squad, instructing me and the other rookies. They can only take us under their wing for so long. Before long, we have to find new generals. Even with their instruction, there are decisions and fights we must do on our own.
“What makes you think you can different than the generation before you? Success will grip you, and you will fall far from selflessness.”
Sounds crazy? It is. War is crazy. But when you are designed for greatness, there are beings that don’t want you to become great.
At night, they have come in when I am tired and worn out. Their deceptive words reach for my throat. They taunt and play with my emotions. I have to keep my sword up. You must always be ready to fight. As the days go by, they have fallen quiet. They have no place. They have not won, and they will not.
I do not want to be a great midwife, a phenomenal midwife, or even the best midwife the world has seen. I just want to be the midwife I was created to be. A midwife that serves her mothers and families with whole-heartedness. A midwife that has buried herself and her desires. A midwife that loves. A midwife who is present and patient. In these things, I hope I get to be a great, phenomenal midwife.
How do I do this without burnout?
I have no idea. I am learning. I only started this journey a month ago.
I left Texas with not much to my name, and I still don’t have much. Schooling is eating all that I have. Though I am scared, I know it will all be okay. I was made for this. Whatever happens in between, I know in the end I will be okay. I will be more than okay because I will be doing what I was created for. This is not a job. This is a calling. This is a mission. And with all that I am, I am going to do a darn good job at this. I am so far from perfect, and I just started walking this walk. I have years of learning left. Though I have already climbed a mountain (somewhat, altitude sickness is a very real thing), I still have the hardest one to climb. Who knows, I might live on the mountain. Maybe the mountain will move, and my journey will become easier. Either way, I go on.
I don’t know where I will end up, where I will finish my training, or what kind of person I will be. I hope to be a pleasant person to be around. I hope I can return to my home in Texas. I hope I can visit Uganda. I hope I can get married and give birth to my own babies at some point through all this.
But, regardless of all this, I am made for this. In the end, I will be the midwife I was created to be.
I hope to keep y’all updated on my journey.
You can help support me and my journey @gracieabigail (Venmo). All donations go towards tuition, NARM tests and fees, and my dream Uganda trip.
