Jobs and Labor

I've been dying to write a post with this title. It's stuffed with multiple meanings, which I'll get to, of course! But I just had to have my little post-title-party first. Thanks for your patience.

So right after our dear daughter C appeared last month, my husband's requested copy of Walter Issacson's new bio on Steve Jobs arrived at our local library. Being the good wife that I am, I immediately confiscated it for breastfeeding company. It might seem like weird reading for an immediately postpartum mama, but then again, practically all texts are, other than psalms of thanksgiving (in my humble opinion).

Here's what I learned from Issacson's portrait of Jobs:

1) Software is the stuff that goes INSIDE computers; hardware is the stuff on the OUTSIDE. (Try not to choke from laughing too hard, dear readers.)
2) The existential battle between closed and open theories of computer design is fascinating with all of its concomitant connections with art, business, and even religion.
3) Control freakiness can produce mixed-bag leadership that leads to freakishly successful products; it also can illuminate deeply rooted insecurity, resulting in constant, ongoing quests for perfection (physical and spiritual).

In sum: Steve Jobs was an extremely interesting, intimidating, often downright cruel man who knew how to win people brilliantly when he needed them and who did not know how to turn outside himself for any Truth.

All this is to say two things. First, I'd recommend the book -- it's a great insight into our culture, and particularly into the prevailing mindset of the Baby Boom generation, all loped around the person of Jobs (who, if you didn't already know, was raised a Lutheran. Once he hit teenage skepticism, he jettisoned whatever he'd learned about the church in favor of generally Buddhist mysticism, coupled with LSD usage.). Second, what I learned about Steve Jobs made me hope that I never, ever forget what laboring a child into the world is like.

Let me explain, with this caveat to women who haven't been through natural labor: I'm being honest here, which might otherwise just sound like I'm trying to scare you. I'm not. I believe in natural labor and hope all moms get the chance to experience it, if only for the great effects on your child (and because most natural labors mean Baby and Mom are blessedly healthy).

Just a little ways in--because we're both still smiling. Seven hours after this I was assuredly NOT smiling.

Anyway, unlike many mamas, I experienced a very smooth, relatively easy induced labor with P, our firstborn -- that's to say that he and I both experienced zero complications (other than he didn't have much amniotic fluid cushion, hence the induction) and, more significantly here, I generally felt that I was in control all the way through labor. I had one breakthrough moment of anguish, in which I thought, "I can't do this!" and the Holy Spirit instantly reminded me that I didn't have to. Jesus already completed all thing for me on the cross. And as glib as that sounds here, that gave me enough comfort to know that He would take care of me even all the way through labor and delivery, which He did.

In contrast, S was a roller-coaster ride: multiple trips to the hospital and midwife in the week prior to his delivery, lots of go-no-go, culminating in a 45-minute ride through dark, rain, and construction to the hospital, where S was born less than an hour later. I screamed in agony quite a bit during the last bit, and a nurse at some point leaned over and said, "Try to stop yelling. You're going to lose your voice." Which is an awesome thing to say to a woman who's nine centimeters dilated. The first concern she's going to have is the state of her vocal cords. But I digress. Anyway, that experience shook me, mainly because I realized that I couldn't control my reaction, I couldn't control the pain, and I couldn't control the fear that overtook me. This was very humbling.

And all this played into how I approached C's birth. Thank God in all of His mercy that He answered my prayer not to have a repeat wannabe-Nascar-race experience and we spent almost my entire labor and delivery in the comfort of the hospital--with our unbelievably wonderful midwife on call! These two facts sustained me heartily through the first hours of labor. (That and, erm, the humongous hamburger and french fries I inhaled five hours into labor.)

"Yeah... Room 0521 here. I'll take a hamburger--extra grease, please."

But the last two hours were, like with S, difficult. Labor is funny. No, not that kind of funny; funny in that it progresses, and you reach a point where you think, "Wow, that really hurt." And some small part of you is yelling, "You can't do this! You can't DOOOOOOOOOOO this!" But the voice is from far off, like through a tunnel; you visualize the bike riding up the hill or whatever and breathe and count through the contraction; the contraction ends, and you go from feeling like you've been kicked to feeling like a Rock Star. I made it through that contraction! Take that, Whoever It Is I'm Talking To In My Head. And then, the contractions get stronger and they get harder and the pain gets worse. Repeat cycle. Until you can't really think anymore, let alone congratulate yourself. The crux is whether you get to that point late enough in the game where you can see the finish line or you can't.

This is what I mean: I had the benefit during C's coming into the world of my terrific, terrific husband's presence and encouragement and Midwife's wonderfulness. But labor progressed the way it does, and for me that meant that for the last hour or so, I felt like I was running a marathon that would never end. Literally never end. Good thoughts would flit through: All pain is temporary! Remember what you get at the end! All pain is temporary! Remember what you get at the end! "When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world!" (John 16:21, exclamation point mine).

This was before the really, really hard part. This was the hard part that precedes it. Because otherwise I wouldn't have given Papa permission to take this picture.

But every time a good thought would appear, I would instantly reject it. I would deny it. Truly, I found myself thinking--no, actually praying--that God would end it. That He would actually cause a complication so I'd have to be surgically split open so it would all be over. That He would end my life so I didn't have to suffer anymore. And even as I prayed this, I was horrified--horrified that I actually desired my daughter to have a problem just so I could not be in pain, horrified that I wanted to die and I was asking God to grant my prayer.

This experience, more than anything else in my life thus far, showed me that I am dust, and to dust I shall return. My horrible thoughts during labor only proved what I supposedly already knew: that I'm a sinner. I AM sin. I'm sick all the way to the core. And though this is the truth, I trick myself every day into thinking that I basically have it together. With one thought I "know" my wretched sinfulness and with the next I'm congratulating myself on my supreme humility in acknowledging that sinfulness. In fact, that happened during my first labor. But with C, all I could see and feel was the black pit of suffering and my complete--absolutely complete--inability to handle it. I was at the bottom, and I could do nothing to save myself.

And, incredibly, Christ saved me--again. He bore with me just as He bore all of my sins on the cross. He felt every kick (for C kicked hard all the way through labor), winced at every beginning contraction, gasped and sputtered for air with every grunt and push. He placed Himself upon me, my husband, my midwife, and even beautiful C. And He still does. This is what I never want to forget, now that I'm way past those few--because they are actually few--moments. This is what Steve Jobs never acknowledged, at least in time for the book's publication: that our incarnate God died for us because we could never do what He required--perfection.

So Jesus did the job for me in labor. He does it every day, every minute, every second. Which is beyond great--because this life involves a lot more than labor.

And He gave us a daughter, too. Richness on top of pricelessness.