I was lead to this birthing center, I did not seek it out. In a way I was blindly guided to my internship there. It all fell into place as I moved my life to Guatemala for 8 months to learn from indigenous midwives in the highlands outside of Quetzaltenango. I knew nothing of why I was being drawn to explore Guatemala, I just knew that I was. So I listened, and I surrendered to the pull of the river like I have committed to doing in this life. It was not until being there, in the throws of the reality of working in a birthing center in a developing country that I understood that I was brought there. To fully, without question, discover the work that I came into this body and onto this world to do.

The birthing clinic has a distinct smell to it. Its not what you might imagine. Its very unique to this center, an intricate mix of random fragrances. Its like detergent, soap, latex, rich boiling corn, and a hint of smokiness from a wood burning plancha stove. Probably because all of those things are used very often throughout any shift. I have come to know this smell. Opening the doors in the early morning and inhaling the smell triggers me to all that goes on in there. The air is thick.

Jenifer’s baby was born at 7:55pm. It was a beautiful birth. Her smile filled the room between her contractions. She was simply lovely. And so was her beautiful baby boy born just a bit premature. She was a young second-time mother, accompanied by her toothless, pushy (in an endearing way), mother-in-law.

Imelda and I were in the washroom after the birth. Our hands and arms gloved up to the elbows. Conversing. Laughing. Scrubbing the remains of birth that clung to the fabric and towels. The stone ridges of the homemade washbasin pulled the blood from the towels with every scrub, and washed it down the drain. Though the white towels in front of me sparkled clean at this point, I continued to scrub them even so. I was so enthralled in the beauty of conversing with Imelda, I was not wanting to break away from it just yet. My right shoulder was becoming sore. You’d be surprised what you can get out of white towels with stone washboard, a bit of elbow grease, and a beautiful conversation between a teacher and student.

The door to the clinic opened. The sound of its familiar creek interrupted Imelda and me from our conversation at the washbasin. We looked at each other, knowing what this meant at this hour: another birth. And we were right.

Haidey was 15 years old. She came in at 6cm, very scared, and in a lot of pain. She was extremely anemic, you could see it in the yellowing scleras of her eyes. We had to try four different veins before one supported the IV we hooked her to in attempt to mitigate her pending hemorrhage. With the small size of her very-young body, and the intensity of her anemia, a heavy postpartum hemorrhage was not out of the question.

Between checking on Haidey’s progress in labor, we stirred the boiling corn in the kitchen. Tending to both the pending tamales for tomorrow’s big lunch as well as the labor tonight. Like the smells of this clinic prove, there’s a mix of just about everything here in this birth house.

Haidey was nearly fully dilated when I checked her again. Her cervix was 9 ½ cm. As my fingers still found a subtle lip of her cervix, this told me she was not ready to push yet. This tiny half centimeter was enough to hold the baby back. As I massaged her cervix in circling motions to help her along to full dilation, I felt her bag of waters pushing against my gloved hands. It felt just like a balloon. It felt taught and pressured. Using my first and second fingers working together ever so gently and delicately, I gave the bag a slight pinch to puncture the membranes. I had been taught that this release of pressure of the amniotic fluid would allow her to get to 10cm, fully dilated, quickly.

Haidey pushed for a long time. Her hips were not mature, and pushing a baby out of them was proving to be a big challenge for their small stature. She herself was very small, probably 5’2” and under 100 lbs. She had barely begun to grow pubic hair, and probably only had one or two menstruation cycles before falling pregnant. It was hard to watch such a young girl taking on such a task –one that I would have been happy to see her wait double her age to first experience. But she was very strong, and nothing could be reversed at this point.

We could see the baby’s hair for nearly an hour. It took a long time for her vagina to reach the ability to be open enough to move the baby through. But in her own time, her body adapted, softened, stretched, and the beautiful baby girl came into the world, eyes wide open. There was no vaginal tear or no postpartum hemorrhage like we had anticipated from such a small, young, and anemic mother. The baby girl was beautiful. Her eyes huge and explorative, taking in all the strange new sights.

As I tied and cut the cord I was lost in complete presence with this beautiful little being. Feeling her weight in the palms of my hands, I felt divine energy grow in me. Channeling pure love and acceptance for her entire Being. My roots to the earth deepened and strengthened as Earthly divinity moved up them, out of my hands, and poured into this new Being I was holding. As if to welcome her, and to tell her—perhaps for the only time in her life—that she has the right to be.

To some people it might feel like a “deep interest,” others might feel it a “calling,” others might recognize it as a “divine obvious alignment of all that they are.” It does not matter what you call it, you know when you find the thing that you are meant to do. It becomes so clear, you feel it in every cell of your being. There’s nothing to decide or ponder about, it just Is.

O! to find the one thing in this life that makes everything else trivial. To find what fills you in all sides of your being. To find what brings alignment to the two (or more!) side of your being that seem opposing and polaric. To find what drops the mind into the heart into the roots, quieting everything because the only sensation is complete, centered, balance. To find what grounds you to your original roots. To find this, to know it, to feel it, and to not be afraid to walk it… now that is a life of divinity.