The Birth of Calling

Pregnant pause. I am enlarged with expectancy.  Hoping, dreaming. Making plans, but waiting.  Waiting. For life to come forth. Waiting for the arrival of something new. The weight of all my longing is slowing me down and I am heavy with it. 

I am eager, but I am unsatisfied.
Thick with anticipation.
Bursting, growing, things unseen are being rearranged.

There is movement inside that something new is coming: stirrings, heartbeats, evidence of seeds You have been growing in me. I feel it, a recognition of the sacred within my own flesh, and I have not yet beheld it face to face. But I will trust. Trusting You to bring forth life in Your time. I don’t have to make things happen; they are happening. What is meant to grow will grow. What is meant to be born cannot help but be born.  I am a vessel only for Your mystery to flow out of me. I am a life-giver, an idea birther, a maker in the making because that is who You’ve made me to be. Cell by cell, limb by limb, dream by dream, idea upon idea until all that you are forming within me cannot help but be free.

I am scared. I am scared to release what lies beneath. I am stretched beyond ability to contain, but to give forth is to make vulnerable. To release all I have held within is to allow gravity and opinion to have their opportunity, and I am uncertain. I watch expansion take place in my mind, in my soul, as what You have placed in me takes up more space.  Sinews upon bones, skin on muscle, all by Your voice, Your breath. By your divine spark, gifts are deposited within, to grow, to develop, to be born into the world and bring forth wonder.

What I bear does not define me.

I am a bearer, of Your image. Exhale: the lies that there is not room for this life also. Inhale: I am loved to be a bringer of Your love, which has its own heartbeat, its own life, its own place in this world.  Exhale. Inhale. I am filled to be emptied.

Even as I cry out in agony, as I labour over the work which you have asked me to release, I trust and entrust.

Fighting, and groaning, I try to be brave. But it is ripping me apart.

Relief. Exhilaration. Flushed with joy. All fear gives way to poetry, and my pain gives way to praise as I marvel at what You have made within me that is now outside of me. Your gift to me, from within.

It is beautiful. It is miraculous. It is worthy to have a voice. It was planned before time.

With awe, I praise You and name her:



My name is Shannon, I am a mother of 4 and a nurse by profession, but I am currently unearthing my creative soul which I have buried under the rubble of years of shame and fear. I love writing metaphorical narrative and am on the journey to try to publish my first book and re-launch my blog. God keeps using my writing to explore the themes of waiting, grieving, calling, beauty, and hope. I come from Vancouver, Canada but my family and I are currently living abroad in Malawi, Africa. You can me writing here.