The night I delivered a baby.

At the end of the summer, four of us set out to love some girls on the streets of Pontiac. We brought hygiene kits, and lunch bags consistently every Tuesday night. We had a heart for the prostitutes and the homeless. 

On our first night, we encountered a young girl, K. She was hungry, homeless, and pregnant. 

Quickly we realized our heart in this season was for K. We walked beside her, trying to show her love. We prayed with her, fed her, had hard conversations with her, and tried to just be her friends. 

Because life on the street is hard, and so many basic needs are not taken care of, she wasn't exactly sure when she was due. She was told mid August, beginning of September, and then later told mid November. 

We had no idea what we were doing, but we kept walking along side her, and showing the love of Jesus. 

On a Wednesday afternoon, I received a frantic call that I needed to meet K at the hospital. I had just woken up from a nap, and was so confused. The night before, some people on the street told us they didn't even think she was pregnant, and K herself told us that the clinic told her that she was only 7 months along.

Since my car is dead, I called and called and called, until I could get a ride to the hospital. 27 phone calls later, my neighbor was on her way. 

I sobbed almost uncontrollably the whole way to the hospital. Helllllo. I've never had a baby. I had no idea how to help her out. I wasn't supposed to be going alone. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. 

But my neighbor calmed me down. She told me I could keep crying until I walked into the hospital doors, but then I had to be a pillar of strength. K was all alone, and she needed me not to freak out. We prayed really big prayers, and I walked in, telling myself over and over that I could do hard things. 

I got up to the labor and delivery floor pretty easily. And then I stood at the nurses' station while trying to explain that I thought I was going to be K's person for the night, because I could do hard things. They looked at me like I had lost my mind. I probably had. They ended up asking if I meant I was going to be her birth coach. Ha ha. Um yeah, that's what I meant to say... 

So I walked into the room I was directed to. It was dark with all the lights off, and sitting in a bed all alone was K. She looked so scared. 

A contraction was coming on, so I ran over to hold her hand, but she wasn't really interested. So I sat and prayed. 

We chatted a tiny bit in between contractions, and by God's grace, within minutes she was gripping my hand with superhuman strength. 

The nurse came in to check on us, and K thought her water had broke. So a doctor was called in. She checked her, and she was really moving along. 

In no time at all, it was time for a baby to be born. There wasn't time for an epidural or IV pain meds, it was just time. 

So I held her hand while she squeezed it in pain. I held her leg back, and counted for her as she pushed. I told her over and over, "You can do hard things!" while trying to convince myself of the same thing. 

And less than an hour after I first walked into that room, the tiny cries of new life filled the air. 

He was perfect. 

The doctor turned to me and asked if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord. Oh what an honor. So I did. 

They plopped him on his mama's chest, and I just stood there, in this sacred moment that God had ordained for me to be apart of. 

That month, I was only home 6 days. I had been in Texas and Arizona for weeks before, and had a family trip just two days after this. Other team members were busy and randomly out of town. 

This moment was for me. Just for me. 

Within a few moments, she handed him to me, and I snuggled him close, and prayed over him. I helped him get wrapped up in blankets for the first time, and put on his little hat. 

I held him for a bit while everything sunk in. I just had the honor of helping deliver a baby. 

What is my life?! 

I gave him back go his mama, and stepped outside. I slid down to the ground, and started crying the really big tears. 

Oh that Jesus would go before, and give me this moment. Grace upon grace. Oh what a night. What a sacred and beautiful moment to be apart of. To step in and be someone's person, when they were completely alone. Oh what an honor. 

A nurse came over to me to make sure I was okay. I couldn't stop gushing about what an amazing moment I just was apart of. She gave me apple juice, and told me to go sit in the waiting room for a bit. I was clearly getting a reputation with the nurses. 

I walked back in to her room a few moments later, thankful to Jesus for these moments, and thankful to my amazing mascara for keeping my sobbing fit a secret. 

We chatted, I held him again, and a couple of visitors arrived. 

I helped be apart of choosing his name, and I just prayed over him with such a ferver in my bones. Jesus, use this little babe. Stop the cycle of brokenness. Go before him, and draw him to You. 

I went home a little bit later, thankful for my bed after all of that excitement.

Now weeks later, I am still in awe of that night. Oh that Jesus would go before, and let me partake of such a sacred moment. What an honor. 

Following Jesus is not for the faint of heart. It's wild, crazy, and full of adventure. 

These last few months on the streets have taught me so much. I am so thankful for every sandwich we have given out, every smile we have shared, every hand we have held, and every person we were able to just share Jesus with. 

Oh what an honor to love people, do good, and share Jesus. 

It's not a bad life. 

M.