Click on any television, news outlet, laptop and there it was: The throng.
A hovering buzzing droning throng under white umbrellas and shiny camera tripods.
Across the street stood two british bobbies, stoic, sentry-like.
The Duchess of Cambridge had given birth and all the world rejoiced.
It’s no wonder it is such a wonder.
We are hard-wired for this kind of thing. A child emerging from the dark womb cocoon, all birth wet and screaming, and our hearts leap hope because we really believe that this little, perfectly vulnerable human carries something sacred that we, who stand on the outside watching, can only marvel.
We marvel at the infant form that contains all the possibilities of God’s assignments.
It is why thousands flock to get a glimpse of a baby who may be king.
It is why newpapers splash headlines announcing a birth that carries all that royalty in its little veins.
My favorite comes from a satirical British rag called The Private Eye that simply says: “Woman Has Baby”
So perfectly and wonderfully, full-of- wonder ordinary. A woman has a baby.
Millions of women deep breathe the breath of pain throughout hospitals and bedrooms and fields today and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that; all that writhing, all that ordinary violence of bringing forth.
Shouldn’t every birth follow with trumpets and gold framed announcements?
There were no reporters waiting for me and my husband when we swaddled our little ones into their car seats for the first time. There were no newspaper headlines declaring my country’s great joy over the births of my sons or my daughters.
Yet there was fanfare nonetheless.
Fanfare and great rejoicing threatened to explode my heart when I saw my child for the very first time.
I wanted to tell the world.
I wanted to let everyone know the gift I held in my arms was the most amazing, beautiful, sacred piece of humanity that would ever walk the planet.
God had not only given me a child, He had given me the capacity to be ruined by rejoicing over it.
Children are a gift from God and blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.
Some think the royals across the pond are making much ado about nothing. Women have babies all the time, they say.
Yes. They do.
Giving birth is so dang ordinary.
So are stables and feed troughs and dirt floors.
But it’s there you find the heavens ripped open and angels trumpeting and shepherds running wild because of all the shouting about a Child Being Born.
Because of their privilege, because of their assignment in the world, the royals can tell the whole world the news of their new baby boy and the whole world can rejoice with them.
For me all this worldwide rejoicing doesn’t diminish for a moment the quiet fanfare that goes on in another delivery room in some remote place unknown to the papparazzi camera pop. Hearts pop gladness there, too, and it’s all the same with God.
I want to be ruined by rejoicing because all children are a gift from God.