The labor sometimes hurts so bad, it takes my breath away.

I need You to sing.

Sing over me stories of pressing pushing productive pain in labor and then that sweet baby’s cry: emancipation and love connected by a c(h)ord. The ontological melody of sweat and blood and creation.

Cause the cloud of witnesses to become a chorus of remembrance. Push. Breathe. Push. Breathe. Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel?

I can’t breathe.

Breathe into me the way You did Adam on his first day and Jesus on the third. Help me to breathe in time to Your rhythm when the pain is overwhelming. To press through what feels like death. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.

Sing over me, Spirit. Remind me of Your ancient notes etched in the air; musical prophecy that guides us home from slavery; that pillar of hope that doesn’t disappoint leading us on. Sing Your comfort and conviction, sing me the promise, priceless and so generous, of life abundant and Your unfaltering nearness. Precious Lord, take my hand.