Birth of a Hazel Tree

Birth of a Hazel Tree

It was night when I felt you stirring

In my womb of earth. 

Awakening, sending forth

The first tremors of change,

You pressed against the dirt. 

I opened my eyes in the dark. 

Was it you?

I had been wrong before. 

Again, you moved within me. 

Could it be?

The ground began to pulse,

Responding to your tiny touch

With living ripples and waves. 

My whole being joyfully cried,

"It is time!"

My hazel seed, on the final day,

Was ready to transform.

She was coming at last. 

The tremors grew as dawn approached. 

Restless and excited,

I could not sleep. 

With busy hands I put the world in order

To make ready for you.

In the next room your father slept.

I knew he would need 

All of his strength

To sustain us during your birth. 

With the sun he rose,

Warm and comforting,

To accompany me in my joyous wait

For you. 

Together

We watched the ground rise and fall,

Timing every wave. 

We ventured forth

To test the soil. 

Would it yield to your tender shoot?

We found it ready. 

Patient rain made hard clods soft,

Breaking them; leaving earth

Fertile and smooth. 

Gentle hands stirred and tilled the dirt above you. 

With every pulse of the ground 

You told us,

"I am coming."

The sun crept across the sky

As morning turned into noon. 

I paced in my dark and quiet house,

Leaning on door jams, bookshelves,

And countertops

While you rocked my frame. 

You grew insistent,

And I laid down to rest. 

At last I knew

It was time to go. 

Your daddy drove us

To the birthing place. 

I carried you, rocking and shuddering,

Up to a darkened room. 

You and I laid down on a snow white bed

And rested. 

Helpful hands tended us. 

Your heartbeat and mine sang together,

"We are well."

We arose from the bed and labored,

Kneeling, sitting, bouncing, crouching; pacing.

We shook together. 

Suspended and carried, 

You turned within me

Into just the right place. 

While the waves rocked us,

Your daddy held us. 

Together we groaned

Deep sounds of making

Like the earth being born;

Like trees bending beneath

Wind and storm. 

But I was not afraid. 

We rested secure;

Heavy in strong arms. 

Again I grew tired

And laid down to rest.

Groaning, stretched out on the snow,

I closed my eyes. 

In the darkness, I felt a pop. 

You rushed toward the surface. 

"She is here. I have to push."

Then we were rocked by a sudden storm. 

Every part of me cried out 

As I strained to bring you forth. 

When the first wave passed,

I shuddered and wept

As gentle hands smoothed my hair

And soft voices consoled me. 

Another wave arose and broke. 

I curled up, screaming with the wind,

And pushed again.  

And again. 

And again, the wave passed away. 

You were so close to the surface. 

The top of your head

Peeked through the soil. 

Excited voices told me

They could see you. 

You were on the cusp of being.

Another wave shook the ground.

With earth-shattering force,

The wind and I

Became one

Calling you out of the depths. 

As the wave began to recede,

A distant voice cried,

"One more push, and she's out!"

In the swirling storm 

The earth and I

Heaved with unfettered violence. 

I, the wind, screamed with all that was within me,

And you burst from the ground

And into your father's hands. 

Your first cries floated into

A quiet room

For the storm had dissipated with your arrival. 

Rooted in patience, labor, and love,

Your new shoot unfurled,

Tender and green with life. 

I cradled you close,

You who grew within me,

And welcomed you to the world. 

The wait was over. 

The sun shone down 

On a precious, perfect

Hazel tree. 

To the Beachcomber

To the Beachcomber

By: Joy Ortiz

I've traveled far 

From where I was;

Made tracks that stretch backward 

Like sunset-lengthened shadows.

I've grown and become

Wiser;

Stronger;

Tender.

I've ventured out of my shell.

But tonight I feel naked

Instead of free. 

Exposed and soft,

Weak and raw,

I lie on sand. 

Will you find me

Gasping for life;

Longing for home?

Stranded on the shore,

I'm panting;

Withering 

In this foreign air;

Baking under glaring sun. 

Oh that a knowing hand would 

Lift me up

And fling me far out to sea. 

Then I could sink beneath 

Saving waves

Settle to the sandy bottom,

And continue my search

For beauty, growth,

And the next size in shells. 

Do you see me lying here?

Will you pick me up 

Or pass me by?

Lift me from this lonely strand

So I might live. 

Birthing experience letter

May 30, 2014

To the OSF St. Elizabeth Hospital in Ottawa, IL:

Thank you so much for making my labor and delivery everything I hoped it would be.  I gave birth to my daughter Hazel Joy Ortiz at your hospital on Friday May 16, 2014.  Sherry Hartenbower the Certified Nurse Midwife was my care provider, and I was so pleased with my whole birthing experience and how accommodating the OSF staff was to my and Sherry’s requests regarding my all-natural delivery. 

I was already in labor when I arrived at the hospital.  I went straight up to the OB ward, and my nurse Alyssa made me comfortable and allowed me to wear my own clothes rather than a hospital gown.  She patiently waited for me to answer the registration questions in between my contractions.  She also allowed me to turn off the lights and have my room dark.  When she inserted my saline block, she was able to get it in on the first attempt.  Usually people have a hard time finding my veins because the veins roll.  I was impressed that it only took her one try to get it, and it didn’t hurt.  Later, when the nurse removed the saline block, there was no bruising, and there wasn’t even a mark where the needle had been.  I also liked that the nurses took my blood samples through the saline block so that I didn’t have to be poked a second time.

Sherry Hartenbower arrived at the hospital shortly after I did.  She checked the monitors on my belly that were measuring the baby’s heart beat and my contractions.  After she conferred with Alyssa, they took the monitors off, and I never had to wear them again.  This pleased me very much, because it gave me freedom of movement during my delivery.  I was not tethered to the bed and the machines, so I was free to stand, squat, walk, bounce on the birth ball, or to do whatever I needed to make labor more comfortable.  I am so grateful that I did not have to be hooked up to the machines.  Sherry and Alyssa intermittently monitored the baby’s heart rate with a portable Doppler, and I was able to continue in whatever position I was laboring without any distractions or interruptions.

The OB ward was well-equipped with tools to help make my labor more comfortable.  I was impressed by the size and variety of birth balls that were available to me, and the staff was prompt to find someone to inflate one of the balls a little more at my midwife’s request.  They also had a gymnastics mat that we were able to put on the floor in my delivery room so that I could do various different positions comfortably on the floor.  Sherry used many different techniques to help my posterior baby flip over into a better position for delivery.  These techniques would not have been possible if the OB had not been so well-equipped.  Thank you for having everything we needed.

At one point during labor, my husband and I were able to go out of our room and walk up and down the hallway.  Having freedom to do this helped me through one of the transition phases.  I also appreciated that there was a large shower available for me to use during labor if I wanted it.  I was saving the shower as an emergency technique to deal with pain if I ended up feeling like I needed to request drugs.  However, I never ended up using it until after I had already given birth because I had been able to manage the pain with the help of my husband’s and Sherry’s presence in the delivery room.

The nurses’ shift change occurred near the end of my labor, and I was honored that my first nurse, Alyssa, chose to stay with us in the delivery room and witness the birth even though her shift was over.  Thank you for hiring such thoughtful and caring staff.  Our second nurse, Shannon, did a great job at making me comfortable after I delivered my baby.  Her helpful presence and her warm and cheerful personality made her a good companion as I got cleaned up and moved into my recovery room.

I really liked the hospital’s policy on visitors in the OB ward.  All of my guests felt welcome, and my 4 year old daughter was able to visit her new sister.  The nursery nurse, Megan, also allowed my daughter to help give her new sister a bath.  That was so special.  We took a lot of pictures, and that is a memory we will always cherish. 

The dietary staff did a good job accommodating my vegan lifestyle and dietary preferences.  They provided me with a good variety of options for every meal, and for my king and queen’s dinner, they crafted a custom dish of noodles and sautéed veggies that was not on the normal hospital menu.  I would, however, like to see a thoughtful vegetarian entrée added to the menu in future since all guests may not be aware that there is a vegetarian option.

Overall, my husband and I were very pleased with our birthing experience at St. Elizabeth hospital in Ottawa.  From beginning to end, everything went perfectly.  Thank you for providing such a wonderful hospital experience.

Sincerely,

Joylyn (Joy) Ortiz

Mother of Hazel Joy Ortiz, born 05/16/2014

Dedication thoughts

Here are my thoughts on a dedication for the girls:

Brandon and I belong to Christ Community Church.  We have been transplanted and rooted into this body. Its members are our family, our companions, our confidants, our support, and our help in times of trouble. They rejoice with us. They hold us when we cry. They pray for us. They provide hospitality in their homes, offices, and hearts. 

As we bring our children before God and our biological families to seek God's blessing on their lives, we also ask for the great privilege of grafting them into the living body of Christ; our body; our church. The church has joyfully joined us in anticipating, welcoming, and celebrating our children. We now ask them to join us in dedicating Zadie and Hazel to God, in blessing their lives, and in vowing to love and nurture them within the body as they faithfully have done for us. 

Zadie's name is a derivative of Sarah, which means princess. We chose it because we liked the name, but I think its meaning also dovetails with Zadie's character. A true princess is born into a royal heritage that comes with both privilege and responsibility. As a leader and political figure, a princess must be strong and upright, intelligent and wise. She must also be gracious and gentle without being weak. She must use her power and influence to care for her subjects and kingdom, yet she is herself still subject to the influence, care, and leadership of the king and queen.  Zadie is independent and possesses a strong will and conscience. She is kind-hearted and generous, affectionate and thoughtful. I desire to see her grow into the fullness of her name. It is my goal to nurture her leadership qualities while also cultivating humility, wisdom, and generosity. 

Hazel's name is also just a name we liked. It means the Hazel tree, which, to me, symbolizes life; growth; one who is rooted in the earth and reaches toward heaven; one who provides shelter and bears fruit in season. Hazel is also derived from the Hebrew name Haziel, which means "God Sees" or "Prophecy of God."

Waiting for Hazel

Waiting for Hazel

Before you ever were,

I was 

Waiting for you;

For the right time to plant

The seed of a hazel tree. 

Through a long and stormy winter,

Holding hope close,

I waited

For the first stirring of spring. 

At last

Warm winds blew,

Sun thawed frozen earth,

And I scooped out a hole in my heart

For you. 

We planted you there,

Safe and surrounded

In the dark. 

You began to grow,

Sending out a shoot and a root,

Transforming from hope to new life

Within me. 

I held you close;

Gave you water and nutrients 

To feed your wondrous growth. 

As you stirred within me,

I knew love and mystery;

Life within life. 

Your roots pressed into

The walls of my heart,

Digging deep and holding fast. 

Your tender shoot

Reached for light,

Pressing toward the surface 

Of the soil. 

Patiently I waited for the day

When time would complete 

Your germination,

And at last

I could meet you

Under the sun. 

Eager as I was,

I stilled my hands

And did not dig to find you.

I knew you were coming

In your own time. 

I waited and waited

In the sun and rain,

Blown by the wind,

Pacing beneath the moon,

Singing in the night,

Sitting, standing; lying. 

I put my ear to the ground to listen

For you. 

I pressed the earth with my hands

To feel you move. 

Every day

I looked for a sign

That you were coming. 

You did not come. 

Days passed, then weeks. 

Where were you?

I longed for you. 

I watered the ground with tears. 

I pulled and pushed my body,

Emptying myself to make room 

For you. 

The window of time was closing,

And you had not come.

What could I do?

I lie, listening to the rain,

Waiting for the shoot

Of a hazel tree

To emerge. 

Day One out of Egypt

Day One out of Egypt

I am nine months pregnant in a silent house.  The only sounds besides the clicking of my fingers on this keyboard are the hum of traffic, the chirp of birds, and Olive, the little black dog, snoring.  It is Monday morning, and my new job begins today.  Right here.  Right now.  I am a stay-at-home-mom.

Where are my children?  I have two.  I just dropped Zadie, the 4-year-old, off at daycare for the day.  Hazel, the unborn, is still cocooned in my belly, waiting to arrive.  She is due to be born tomorrow, but who knows?  Babies don't have calendars or clocks.  Her timing is her own, and I am waiting for her.  While I wait, I relish the silence of this house, the freedom of my solitude, and the gift of my new role.

My heart has been at home for a long time.  I have fingers that itch to tidy and arrange my home; to sweep a paint brush across the neglected walls; to finally cut the trim board that will fill the empty space near my bathroom floor.  I want to wash the dishes in my sunny kitchen instead of leaving them piled for days.  I want to fill my house with cooking smells and present my family with delicious, thoughtful meals instead of the frazzled hodge-podge I usually come up with.  I want to give my first and best to this place and the people who share it with me.  Finally my chance has come.  I am terrified.

What does day one of freedom look like?  I think of the nation of Israel and their story of deliverance from slavery in Egypt.  Oppressed and trapped, they cried out for God to rescue them from their misery.  God heard them and sent Moses to lead Israel to freedom.  Joyful and triumphant, they victoriously entered the unknown.  No more slavery.  New life.  God was with them, moving before them in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night.  Great miracles occurred to reinforce Israel's faith in God and Moses.  The Red Sea waters parted to let the people cross on dry ground, then surged forth to crush the enemies that were giving chase.  God provided water and food to sustain his people as they traveled through the wilderness.   Finally, God led them to a holy mountain where he could give their leader, Moses, his ten commandments and laws to teach the people how to live in peace with God and each other.  At every step God was with them, leading, reassuring, providing, and sustaining.  What could possibly go wrong?

Fear crept in.  Whispers, doubts, and rumors turned into a clamorous rebellion.  Fear of the unknown, fear of the mysterious, fear that the good things might not be the best things, fear of being in a rut, fear of never arriving at a final destination...fear grew.  It grew so big and loud that the people rebelled and cried out for a golden calf: something tangible that they could control and worship instead of the great and mysterious God who had delivered them; something safer than faith and easier than waiting. 

God was so angry about the rebellion that he at first considered just wiping out the whole nation.  Moses interceded for the people, however, and God changed his mind.  Even after the golden calf debacle, God still chose to lead the Israelites to the promised land, but he refused to be with them in person anymore lest he get angry again and destroy them all on the journey.

When they finally reached the border of the promised land, God commanded Moses to send twelve spies to scout out the land and its inhabitants.  Two of the spies returned with news of bounty and goodness in the new land.  The other ten, however, filled the people with fear by spreading rumors of a land filled with fierce giants who would destroy them.  The voices of fear drowned out the words of promise and hope, and instead of trusting in God's faithfulness to his promises, Israel gave in to despair and plotted to overthrow Moses, choose a new leader, and return to Egypt.  Fear birthed a panic that shattered Israel's path to the promised land.

God was so angry by this final act of faithlessness that he again wanted to wipe out the whole nation.  However, Moses interceded for them as he had before and convinced God to let them live.  God disciplined his faithless children by sending them to walk in pointless circles in the wilderness until the whole generation of fearful, selfish adults had died out.  After the unfaithful generation had passed away, God led the next generation of Israelites back to the border to give them a new chance to claim the promised land.  The second time, lead by Joshua, one of the faithful spies who had brought a message of goodness and bounty to the people all of those years ago, the younger generation found enough courage to trust God and enter the promised land at last.

This is my first day out of Egypt.  I know God is with me.  I can see him behind me in the history of my life.  I can feel him with me in the pressure of my friends' hands as they pray over me.  I can glimpse him going before me in a shimmering cloud of promise and hope, beauty and goodness.  As I make tracks away from Egypt, as I follow a mysterious God into the unknown, as I leave a life of slavery to walk toward a life of promise, may I be one of the faithful.  May I keep looking toward the holy mountain when I really feel like making a golden calf.  May I speak words of trust and hope.  May my eyes see the milk and honey instead of the giants.  Above all else, when the time comes to enter the promised land, may I have the courage to take a deep breath and go. 

Growing Up

Growing up

By: Joy Ortiz

I was an acorn

Shaken and fallen,

Buried and alone,

Cold in the darkness

Underground. 

My shell was hard. 

At my heart

Lay a bitter kernel,

Small and green,

Shielded and rough-capped,

Yet alive. 

I remembered the sun;

The rustle of my parent's leaves;

The songs of birds;

The view from high boughs

Before I fell. 

As I lay in the dark,

Entombed by earth,

I wept for the loss

Of light and life. 

Was there anything left for me

Besides death?

Yet something unseen

Hovered above my cold bed. 

The world I had left

Was over me still

Beyond the dirt. 

How long did I lie

In the unchanging ground

Shivering in fear and doubt?

All the world was silent. 

But time passed; the season changed.

The soil around me grew warm,

And at last I knew

The sun still shone somewhere. 

When the earth became damp

And water bathed me,

I remembered April storms

And the beauty of falling rain. 

When neighbor roots

Pushed down around me,

I recalled the verdant grass

Spreading beneath my parents' tree.

They reminded me

That black earth is no tomb

But life for many

Who draw their strength

From deep roots. 

Something stirred above me,

Curious and penetrating. 

It was a red ant

Tunneling downward. 

 

He made his bed in the depths,

Safe from hungry foes,

And daily trekked from soil to sun

And back again. 

His presence told me

Dark solitude is not death

But safety and refuge 

For those who make perilous journeys

And need a place to rest. 

Hope rose in my acorn heart. 

Through a shell softened by rain, soil, and time,

I reached,

Sending the palest shoot upward,

And downward,

A tiny root.  

Through the warm earth I climbed

Upward and downward

Past the ants and neighbor roots,

Toward life above and below. 

No longer a resident of one world

But two,

I emerged again into the sun,

Transfigured from acorn to oak. 

Slow-growing yet sure,

I reach toward heaven. 

Rooted in the death that remade me,

I am growing up.