Thoughts on Pregnancy and Creation from a Labor and Delivery Nurse

Statistics say less than one in 80,000 live births happen like the one I assisted with last week: en caul (here). This is when the baby is born yet still inside the amniotic sac. It’s incredible. And weird.

The baby is born but appears as if he or she is inside a clear water balloon. Moving, squirming, but with no need to breathe—born, but still in a perfect, unbroken bubble of fluid and veiled by the protective, transparent membrane. Already born, but not yet fully born; until the veil (the amniotic sac) breaks, and the baby takes his or her first breath.

Each baby born (including you and me) take that first breath shortly after eviction from our “private Jacuzzi,” as we labor and delivery nurses like to say, referring (respectfully) to the womb. It’s quite a remarkable process. I’m constantly reminded of scriptural concepts and biblical truths when I’m in the delivery room, but this en caul experience really got me thinking.

What if, rather than simply seeing childbirth as a normal physiological occurrence, we expectantly (pun intended) observed it as a means to remind us of spiritual realities? More than that, what if everyday occurrences prompted us to think more deeply about the good news of the gospel? What if we started intentionally looking for illustrations of God’s character in our day-to-day experiences in creation? If we did this, we’d see the whole world differently.

We would definitely see pregnancy differently. We’d see birth differently. We’d notice the process itself as “pregnant” with imagery, all here to remind us of what it means to truly have new life—and to point us back to the good news of the gospel. For example, the “big picture” process of birth reminds me that God delivers us from darkness, takes our sorrow, turns it into joy, and gives us new life.

Let me explain. With each delivery I’m part of, I witness the excruciating pain that comes with bringing new physical life into the world. It’s bloody. It’s painful. The nakedness can feel shameful and exposing. But then, immense pain turns into immeasurable joy! The baby, delivered. The parents rejoice in their son or daughter. The sound of his or her cry overshadows the pain. The baby squints in the light, no longer surrounded by the inside darkness of the womb. And so begins the process of growth in the outside physical world.

It reminds me of the cross, where Jesus suffered excruciating pain so that he could bring new spiritual life into the world. It was bloody. And undoubtedly, it hurt. A lot. He endured shame-filled nakedness as he hung exposed on that tree. But then, the immense pain of Jesus’ death turned into immeasurable joy when he rose from the grave on Sunday morning! The Father, rejoicing in his Son! His people, delivered from sin and death. As we cry out to God for salvation, we find that we’re no longer stuck in the darkness of the world. And so begins the process of spiritual growth in our hearts.

The physical reminds us of the spiritual. “You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy,” Jesus said. He went on to say, “when a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow . . . , 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 16:20–21). He who said this is the very one “who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross” (Heb. 12:2).

I birthed our first son a few months ago, and although I’d previously experienced quite a few births, this one gave me a new level of appreciation for God’s design. The moment I gazed at our baby’s face, I understood more deeply the love God must feel for us—the people he’s made in his own image. “You look like your daddy,” I beamed, my joy eclipsing the pain which only a moment ago held me in its clutches. How much more must our Creator rejoice as he looks upon his special creation and says, “You, child of God, look like your Daddy.”

Another example of this exploration is as simple as noticing the length of a typical pregnancy: forty weeks. Throughout Scripture, we see the number forty representing seasons of preparation, waiting, testing, spiritual growth, and spiritual renewal. We don’t want to get caught up in numerology or trying to find hidden meanings in the things around us, for we are not to be a generation who seeks a sign (Matt.16:4), nor is the Bible a secret code we’re trying to crack. But we can marvel at how a forty-week pregnancy is also a season of preparation, waiting, physical renewal, and growth. Seasons like pregnancy are, in fact, purposeful lengths of time.

We can also look at the very beginning of life: conception. A procedure called “fluorescent microscopy” allows laboratory experts to see the moment of conception—the start of a person’s creation story—as a fluorescent chemical reaction or, inorganically, a spark of light (see here for a scientific paper about this). This is different than claiming there’s a spark of light when a person is created; this is simply a laboratory method allowing humans to observe this phenomenon in this specific way. We have no current method of accurately seeing what this looks like naturally. Nonetheless, these lab methods and results remind us of how the creation story in Genesis began: with light!

Distinct cell division begins after conception, reminding us of the next part of the creation story: God dividing land and water from sea and sky. Amazing mechanisms in the womb are ready and waiting, prepared to sustain life. Similarly, the vegetation in the creation story was made (ready and waiting) prior to God placing living beings in it.

We must not forget that all these reminders come from marred components of creation. They can’t (and shouldn’t) be used as a means to explain or validate the Bible. Numerology and lab methods are human-made ways of observing creation and, let alone, could lead us to some pretty wild ideas and conclusions. And so, the common grace of creation’s wonders should point us to use Scripture as our foundation in our marveling (not the other way around). Creation’s wonders alone are insufficient in explaining the gospel truth.

We also don’t want to fall into the trap of worshiping and serving “created things rather than the Creator” (Rom. 1:25), and therefore, it’s essential to always observe the created through the lens of Scripture. With that premise as our forerunner, and only then, can we explore the ways God’s creation is “pregnant” with imagery—with reminders that his unstoppable story of redemption and love for his people is a good one. In fact, it’s the best one. I guess we could say it’s the “ultimate birth story.” Scripture even hints at this idea when it says, “for we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now” (Rom. 8:22).

And this brings me back to that en caul delivery I witnessed and how it reminded me of the “already, but not yet” kingdom of our God. The kingdom of God that is “inaugurated, yet to be fully consummated,” as David Shaw put it. But the book of Hebrews says it best:

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. (Heb. 10:19–23)

The veil has been broken. We are washed, not by a gush of amniotic fluid (thankfully!), but with “pure water.” We serve a pure Creator: the God who came down from heaven to bear our sorrows and bring us peace. What a gift it is to be reminded of these realities as we expectantly observe God’s intentional design in Creation.