50. Earthside: Atlin’s Story
There are moments in birth work where I am reminded that I am not simply attending births, I am being invited into holy ground.
Atlin’s birth story began long before the day she arrived. It began in the quiet months of pregnancy, in conversations, prayers, monthly visits, and the sacred privilege of watching a family prepare their hearts and home for a new soul. It began with feeling her little kicks beneath my hands and witnessing the connection between mother and baby deepen long before they ever met face to face. Every conversation, every prayer, every moment of anticipation was leading toward this sacred moment.
On the morning of July 8th, the story began to unfold.
Early Wednesday morning, I received a message from Tavia sharing that she had woken to bloody show and mild to moderate period-like cramps that were coming and going. She described them like gentle, unpredictable, and without rhyme or reason—like waves in the ocean. Baby was moving beautifully, and their plan for the day was simple: continue living life, pick away at their to-do list, nourish their bodies, eat well, hydrate, and allow their baby’s birth story to unfold in its own timing.
As Tavia stepped into the beginning of labor, I also stepped into a posture of waiting.
That morning, I was saying goodbye to friends who were leaving our campground. We laughed together, drank coffee, and watched our children play. I soaked in the sunshine, put my toddler down for a nap, and intentionally cared for myself while waiting. Birth work requires presence, and presence requires being filled. So I rested, prayed, and nourished my own spirit while holding space for theirs.
A few hours later, Tavia updated me that things had settled down a bit. I encouraged her that she was doing beautifully… that she was flowing with her body, listening to the waves, and surrendering to the process rather than trying to force anything to happen.
She wasn’t simply waiting for her baby.
She was already living inside her baby’s birth story.
The rest of the day continued quietly. I remained in a place of gratitude, praying, resting, and staying open to whatever direction the Lord would lead. Later, another update came that everything had ceased for a few hours. I reminded her that this was okay. Birth is not always a straight line. Sometimes the body gathers. Sometimes the baby adjusts. Sometimes the mother is invited deeper into surrender before the next unfolding begins.
I encouraged her to continue her evening as normally as possible. Things could pick up overnight, but for now, she could simply be.
And that is exactly what she did.
Thursday morning came, and I checked in to see how the night had gone. Her update was encouraging. The waves had returned shortly after midnight and had continued throughout the night, waking her every few hours. More bloody show appeared, another sign that her body was continuing to change and prepare.
Around 6am, something shifted.
The sensations changed from simple cramping into something deeper. Stronger. More purposeful.
Her body began asking something different of her. She found herself getting up and moving rather than continuing to rest. A couple hours later, another update came. The waves were now lasting 30–60 seconds and coming every 5–7 minutes. They were no longer something she could casually move through. They were requiring her focus. She was breathing, moaning, and working with each one.
I continued praying.
I prayed that the Lord would give her clear discernment. That He would make it obvious when my physical presence was needed. That I would not move ahead of Him or behind Him, but walk exactly where He was leading.
Just before 2pm, the request came.
It was time for me to come.
As I loaded up and started driving, I prayed. I worshiped. I asked the Lord to be present in this space.
As I drove, a cardinal crossed my path. Immediately, an overwhelming peace washed over me.
The Lord will provide.
Hallelujah.
I arrived around 5pm and walked into the room of a woman fully immersed in the work of labor.
Tavia was on her left side in bed, deep in labor land. Her waves were coming every 2–3 minutes, and she was meeting each one like a warrior. She was releasing emotion. She was vocalizing. She was surrendering. There was a strength about her that was undeniable—the kind of strength that comes from deep within. The kind that comes from knowing her body, trusting her baby, and allowing the process to unfold.
About 25 minutes after my arrival, the atmosphere began to shift.
That familiar earthy feeling filled the space.
Something was changing.
Around 6pm, the waves intensified even more, and her body began releasing through vomiting—a powerful sign that she was moving deeper into the process. By 7pm, she was still working through waves coming every few minutes.
And in the quiet spaces between those waves, I found myself reflecting on our journey together.
Birth work is never just about the moment a baby arrives…
It is about everything that leads us there.
From our first meeting early in pregnancy, through monthly visits, through conversations and prayers, through feeling Atlin’s movements beneath my hands… I had the honor of walking alongside this family as they prepared for this moment.
The moment of witnessing.
The moment where I sit on my hands and simply hold the space.
The moment where I go to war for my clients through prayer and intercession.
The moment where I witness women stepping fully into the God-given power placed inside them to bring forth the next generation.
Just before 8pm, we ventured downstairs. We sat together, walked outside, and even spent some time playing with the baby goat. There was laughter woven into the intensity. There was normalcy mixed with the sacred.
But when we returned inside, Tavia became restless. Discouragement began creeping in.
Labor has a way of bringing a woman right to the edge of herself. It reveals places that need surrender. It invites trust when the path ahead feels unknown.
Around 8:30pm, Tavia decided a bath sounded good. I gave her and Jordan space together, allowing them time to reconnect and prepare for what was coming.
A little after 10pm, I laid down to rest.
The night continued.
And then, just after midnight on July 10th, everything shifted.
Tavia was on the toilet. Baby was moving beautifully. Baby was low.
The moment felt different…
And as I watched, I wondered if this was the reason I was there.
Not necessarily to do.
But to encourage.
To reassure.
To remind her of what she already knew.
Around 12:48am, the sounds changed. The grunting began. The bearing down. Her body was working powerfully with each wave.
At 1:12am, she felt a pop. She continued grunting and bearing down, talking to her baby, encouraging her baby to come close. She prayed. She asked God for help.
And as I watched, I had the strong impression that baby was descending quickly.
I could feel it.
I could see it.
And then—
Baby was born.
1:38am.
July 10, 2026.
A little girl had arrived.
A daughter.
A gift.
A promise fulfilled.
Mama, daddy, and baby basked together in those first precious moments as a family of three. The placenta was born nearly an hour later. Tavia enjoyed a shower while Jordan soaked in skin-to-skin time with their daughter.
Then they were tucked into bed together.
Nursing.
Resting.
Eating nourishing post-birth meals.
Laughing.
Talking.
Soaking in the miracle they had just witnessed.
This birth will stay with me for many reasons… because throughout this entire journey, I saw God’s fingerprints everywhere.
I saw Him in the cardinal that crossed my path as I drove to their home—the reminder that He was near.
I saw Him in the worship songs that played on shuffle, songs that seemed to answer prayers I hadn’t even finished praying.
I saw Him in the quiet moments where I paused, prayed, and sensed gentle impressions bringing peace and direction.
I saw Him in the strong impressions of baby’s station and position as I prayed.
I saw Him in the vivid picture placed in my mind of Tavia birthing her baby on the bathroom floor—only to watch that exact moment unfold hours later.
I am continually amazed by how Christ meets us in sacred spaces. How He shows up in the waiting. How He speaks in the quiet. How He guides us when we surrender.
Birth is holy.
Birth is powerful.
Birth is a place where heaven and earth feel incredibly close.
And Atlin’s arrival was another beautiful reminder:
He was there all along.
Stay Wild & Free,
-Brandy
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