I was out of my mind and miracles happened.
It’s 10:00 p.m. when I peek through the bedroom curtains. I look at the snowcapped trees gently swaying in the wind. I admire their willingness to bend without resistance. Snowflakes twinkle in the air and smile at me. The sky looks magical with her brightly shining stars. The time has come to birth my fifth child.
When the first wave sweeps over my body, I take a deep breath. I surrender and let go of my thoughts. I allow birthing to begin. I don’t push to achieve, but listen to my body to receive. My body’s innate wisdom is age-old.
I watch the snowflakes play in the air while I hold onto the window ledge. I let my hips sway with ease, like the trees outside. I look at my big belly and sense in awe as my body performs a miracle. I completely surrender to my body. My mind is turned off and my body is in control. I have no fear. Contractions and resistance belong to another world. I feel no pain, only a rush of excitement that takes me to the top of the waves. I ride them as they come and go. I feel empowered and free.
I tell my child that I don’t want labor, but birth. If he’s ready, then I am, too. I reach deep within and let him go. I sing him into the world and with my bare hands I receive my son. At 10:20 p.m. my son Gideon is born.
A Year Later
It’s April 2000 when I hear my Soul’s voice loud and clear: “It’s time to leave,” she whispers. I walk to the window of our house in Holland and my gut contracts as I see again the cramped way we live our lives. Our yard is no bigger than a postage stamp, or so it feels. My Soul longs for endless fields of nothingness, just space. I want to float in the air and touch the sky with the tip of my toes. Suddenly, I feel so alive. Yes, my Soul’s wisdom is age-old.
Who could have guessed that those whispers of my Soul would lead our family of seven to leave the life in Holland that we dearly loved? Without jobs, with little money and no contacts, and with five kids who don’t speak a word of English, we leave Holland. “You must be out of your minds,” people say.
As we cross the ocean, our plane is literally on fire. I wonder why God would let our journey end on the bottom of the ocean. I panic as I look around at my kids, who can’t swim. And then, slowly, I surrender to the bigger plan. On July 6, 2001, we land safely in America, the land of our dreams.
A Few Years Later
My head is pounding and my body is in pain. Sweat drips off my forehead as my mind contracts. I feel so uncomfortable and alone. I look at all the experienced writers around me and ask myself why I came to this writer’s workshop. Coming here feels like a kamikaze action, like I must have signed up to I die.
Tom, the workshop leader, instructs us to write as fast as we can and then count our words. “You need to write at least 1200 to 2000 words per hour – otherwise, you write from the left side of your brain,” he says. It’s easy to understand that I’m writing from the wrong side of my brain when I count and I’ve written only 927 words. I feel everyone’s pity. I have to admit that, for the first time in my life, I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time. My headache gets worse. My inner dialogue is loud and disturbing.
Then Tom says these simple words: “Pain is resistance. Pain is contraction.” His words hit me like a punch in the stomach.
In that subtle moment, my life changes forever. I get it. I remember the births of my five children and how we followed our dream and came to America. Why were they so easy? I realize that surrender was the key. And surrender is the key now, again. Instead of pushing to achieve, I have to let go and listen to my heart so I can receive.
I put pen to paper and I’m unstoppable. My mind is silent as I ride the most magnificent wave. The wisdom of my heart is age-old.
Twenty-two days later, my book, A Suitcase Full of Faith, is born.
In my Soul’s journeys, I’ve learned to be out of my mind because the path of the Soulis not the path of the mind. Birthing a child or a huge dream or a book requires surrender. A trust in the Soul.
Today, my passion is to teach women the joy of listening within, and the adventure it brings to leap into their purpose and live their wildest dreams. I’ve been there.
With a leap, there becomes here.
