Everyone loves a good superhero movie. Marvel and DC have made them a staple for the silver screen. The stunts are so spectacular and the actors make running at the speed of light or fighting waves of invading aliens so easy, you feel like you could do it yourself given the right circumstances.

You look at yourself in the mirror and see Captain America’s forehead, Thor’s muscles and maybe Wonder Woman’s smile. Then you think of that one time you won first prize in the long jump at one of your primary school sports days and wonder if you have been suppressing some hidden super power all this time. Its good entertainment I admit. After watching one such movie with collective of heroes banding together to defeat a powerful foe, I thought to myself what an awesome example of teamwork.

Then my spirit whispered Christ came alone and saved the world ALONE. He didn’t need help. His super powers did not come from a radioactive spider, a vat of toxic waste nor did they come from an atomic testing accident. His power lay in his boundless love, self-sacrifice and his precious blood. The same blood that he willingly gave to save that part of us that lasts forever.

Though Tony Stark gave his life when he “Snapped” in Avengers: Endgame to undo Thanos’ initial snap, his sacrifice pales in comparison to the price Jesus Christ paid. A little back story to my ramblings: When I found out I was pregnant with our first daughter, I was ecstatic. At that point we had two boys so she was going to be and still is our princess. I remember calling my husband and telling him the sex of the baby to his extreme annoyance since he wanted it to be a surprise. His infuriation was a small price to pay however, because I couldn’t contain my happiness. A girl, yeah! Finally, I could whip out the purple ribbons and princess outfits I had been stocking up on over the years. Her pregnancy, by God’s grace, was a breeze. We had a few hiccups here and there and her projected size was below the accepted average so I had to monitor her progress closely by watching everything I ate. I didn’t care however; our princess had arrived.

True to princess nature she was fashionably late by 3 and half weeks, by far the longest 3 and half weeks of my life. I was as big as a 4-bedroom duplex and moving around was beginning to be close to impossible. She would threaten a couple of times but I guess she would reconsider right at the exit. I kept pleading with God to just pull rank on her and make her come out. I was tired. I remember my prayer request was to have a quick and painless delivery.

As always He listened. I woke up one morning for the usual 2 or 3 am bathroom visit. That morning, however, was very different’ I could feel her coming. I remember walking back to the bedroom waking my husband and saying “Baby, wake up, I feel funny.” With one foot still in Dreamland he said “Define funny...” I could only muster the instruction, “Don’t go back to sleep…” in between the moans of pain. Ten minutes later, I got up, went to the bathroom and felt the first major contraction. I literally crawled back to our bedroom and my husband was like “Chii?” I grabbed the duvet and lay on the floor. The baby was finally coming. He knelt next to me and even though I was in pain I could clearly see the blood drain out of his face as he saw the baby crowning. He was a big fan of Chicago Med and Grey’s Anatomy so we were about to find out if he learned anything on midwifery. I just did all I could do which was push and after a brief shot of pain, there she was. After one firm smack she was screaming her lungs out. My husband cut the umbilical using a pair of scissors and clipped the ends with a clothes peg. Not exactly medical school but I guess he did learn “something”.  

The ecstasy of my princess’ birth was short lived because the placenta didn’t come out with the baby. The ambulance only arrived much later to take me to the hospital. To explain the pain that I endured in the following hours would take an eternity. All I remember doing was praising God as I felt my life slipping away. I kept hearing a voice encouraging me to just give up. It hurt too much. Why are you suffering? The devil is a liar!

As I was praising I remembered that I was born again in Jesus Christ who lives in me. I used the little energy I had left to connect with the authentic, original and ever living superhero. The man who changed water into wine at Cana, healed the royal official's son in Capernaum, healed the paralytic at Bethesda fed the 5000, walked on water and the ultimate miracle, his own resurrection. It was only through him that I managed to pull through.

When the midwife finally got the placenta out I couldn’t speak, I just mumbled “Thank you Jesus Christ, I am free.” I felt relief and so much gratitude. The pain was so intense it was beyond tears. I appreciated my faith more than ever because if it wasn’t for that I would not have had any hope. In His book of Psalms 103 vs 3, it says “…He heals all your diseases.” I clung to that word. I also clung to Deuteronomy 31 vs 8 “He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you.”

So I guess the ultimate superhero for me would be Jesus Christ. He gave me hope in a hopeless situation. For all those women who are blessed to have wombs that carry these beautiful blessings may the peace of the living God be with you always.