“And by the vision splendid is on [her] way attended; at length the [wo]man perceives it die away, and fade into the light of common day.” William Wordsworth 1770-1850
Five years after the birth of my second child, I was at home preparing for an ultrasound appointment. The local hospital was only a few miles away, so I was in no rush. My children were at school and the day was quite ordinary. Except I remember feeling a kind of sacredness in the simple tasks of showering, doing my hair, applying make up and putting on comfortable clothing – almost like I was getting ready to attend the temple. Perhaps I was in a meditative state of mind. After all, I was nine months pregnant and on this day I would see images of my unborn child for the first time.
It was September 1988 and routine ultrasound during pregnancy had just begun coming into vogue, so I hadn’t had a pre-natal sonogram. My pregnancy had progressed unremarkably, but the delivery would not be routine. Not in the sense of a typical vaginal birth. Sara, my third child, would be delivered by cesarean section, as had Lauren, my first, and Luke, my second.
By this time I had grieved the loss of vaginal birth. This loss is real and profound for those who anticipate a sort of primal, natural, un-assisted birth experience. But God had granted me peace and I was happy for the miracles involved with cesarean delivery. For instance, I felt awed by resources available to test my child’s fetal development and fitness for entry into her oxygen-breathing life before she would be born. An ultrasound is part of this procedure.
My marriage was coming to an end, for which I was both grateful and disturbed. Looking back, I realize how vulnerable I was, bearing up under the crushing weight of abuse as I carried my daughter in my womb.
I felt especially alone that day, but not necessarily lonely. It was as if my child and I were held in a space created for the two of us, where no one else would enter. The world and its cares retreated into soft focus as I picked up car keys from the desk, pulled my purse over my shoulder and opened the front door. Walking beneath limbs of an ancient Linden tree growing in the yard, I remember looking up into an astounding Autumn sky – where blue becomes a color I can’t name and the air is so clear it makes my heart ache.
I opened the car door, maneuvered my backside and belly into the driver seat, then started the engine. As I pulled away from the curb, I was instantly aware of what can only be described as a host of heavenly beings, praising God and celebrating the child I was carrying. The angels traveled effortlessly above us as we drove the streets of the neighborhood. I remember being amazed at how they adjusted their speed to remain hovering above and around the vehicle. I honestly thought, “This is fantastic!” as I wept and kept driving. “How do they know the car will speed up or slow down? How do they stay so perfectly connected to this child?” It was clear these beings were intensely interested and delighted in my unborn child. They had little concern for me. They were attending Sara’s birth, accompanying Sara’s soul as she prepared to make her way from their world into ours. The depth and breadth of their joyful love, quite frankly, is impossible for me to put into words. And it was more real than any visible expression of love I’ve ever experienced.
These people were familiar with my daughter. They understood the challenges she would face in mortality. They apparently understood the nature of her personality, her strengths and weaknesses, her life mission, her pre-mortal history and every line in the fingerprints of her unborn hands. They were her heavenly posse, her entourage. That’s the closest I can come to describing this group. And, sister, if this is what guardian angels are, then none of us has anything to fear. They were fierce and powerful and beautiful and full of God’s love and light. They were female and male, young and old, varied in their backgrounds, everything good in heaven and earth.
I don’t remember now how long I remained aware of them. And I don’t fully understand why or how I felt this heavenly host, but it was abundantly clear that none of it was about me, at least not in the particulars. I was witness to The Truth of Sara, my unknown, unborn child, her incomprehensible worth to God, and to a body of support that I believe is with her still – and, indeed, with us all.
Melody,
This is such a lovely expression of all of us when we come to this earth. Because I am acutely aware of so many children not being raised by their mother mother and/or father, there is a clarity in understanding the spiritual attendance of all of us upon our entry to this earth. Thank you so much for sharing your witness of this experience.
Thank you for your kind words. I genuinely believe we are each attended in such a way. No matter where we are born or what circumstance we are born into.
What a stunning experience. I hope this 41+ weeker I’m carrying is getting a similar send-off!
Yes! Think of all those Kershisnik paintings – with hords of angels around the central figures. . . that’s how this felt. I’m so excited for you and your family.
That’s exactly the image that came into my mind. The nativity.
Thank you for this, Melody. You’re one of a very few people from whom I’ve heard stories of experiencing something like an almost tangible presence of God’s love. I never have, but I believe what you experienced was real.
Thank you for using the right word. Tangible. Exactly. And, just so you know, this experience is one of the things that grounds me in the truth of Gods’ ineffable love – so when times are hard, I have a sort of anchor in the memory.
This also reminds me of when I realized how strange it was that Jesus called “revelation” a “rock.” In Matthew 16, he used the most concrete form to represent the most intangible idea. This experience with Sara helped me understand that. Also, thank you for believing.
This is lovely. Like, tears streaming down my face lovely. Thank you for sharing. Maybe someday I’ll write my experience with how I was prepared to have a grandson. God does love us. All of us. And He cares. Whether we admit He knows us or not, He does.
Thanks, Tonya. I cry every time I think of it. Over and over. I hope you will write your experience. . . I’d love to hear/read about it.
Oh, how I love this! So familiar to me. I felt the angels with the birth of my first, who was also born into a crumpling marriage. She is now the chief guardian angel for my youngest son. Thank you, Melody!
And thank you, Margaret, for knowing.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
I can’t stop crying. I’m forever grateful that Sara was born. I can picture her ecstatic guardians, ready to share her with the world. I adore her.
What a glorious, wonderful, transcendent experience, Melody. I wish every person knew that their birth was attended by angels. Thank you for your courage in sharing this sacred moment.
Wow. This gave me goosebumps. Thank you for sharing this sacred experience. I loved the imagery and the power. Thank you!
Twila, Tami, Caroline, and Heather – it means a lot to me that you read and take time to comment on this very personal post. Thank you.
I feel like I’m saying the same thing in all my comments for this series…but this is so beautiful and I want to thank you for sharing, Melody. There is a lot of power and sacredness in this story. I am so glad you wrote about it.
I often don’t know what to say about your posts because they say it all. But, I want you to know I’ve read it and loved it and was completely moved by it.
Julie, thank you for reading. You are a true and solid friend. . . a new friend, at that, so it’s doubly meaningful. God bless.
I have been trying to compose a comment that sums up how I feel about this lovely post.
I don’t see much (any?) writing on the Internet that shows us what life feels like when the Veil is thin. I feel like your piece does that so beautifully and each one of us who has read it has been uplifted and edified.
I also can’t help but feel that this is for someone special–a message from her Heavenly Parents to remind her of Their love while she’s in a difficult place. I’m so grateful that you had the love and presence to send that message, Melody.
Emily, these are beautiful thoughts. Thank you so much.