The "Credits"

We are made up of one another.

I’ve become strong and confident in my perspectives, opinions, teachings, and wisdom regarding childbirth and being a birth servant (though I'm growing always and will never stop learning). I’ve found my voice, I own and inhabit it, and I use it. Over time, I’ve come up with “trademark” phrases and concepts even. There isn't another birthkeeper in the world like me.

But I am, like all of us, a composite of sorts, comprised of the silver strands of wisdom sisters and foremothers have so generously unfurled in my direction and the deposits they have made in my life, knowingly or unknowingly, through various modes of transmission.

The best of their offerings —having spent some time rattling around inside of me, bumping up against and being transmuted by those life experiences, thoughts, and Holy Spirit whispers that are no one else’s but mine — are then sent back out into the world as the message I teach, the perspective I hold, the birth worker that I am (and am not). 

My teachers, I want to honor and thank you. 

Here they are, roughly in order of appearance:

The makers of The Business of Being Born because until I viewed that documentary as a single 20-something woman, it somehow hadn’t registered with me that I was not obligated to give brith in the hospital (and what good news that was!)

Jennifer Holshoe, at the time a student midwife and doula, who introduced birth photography to me before it was cool, nudged me to follow my heart into giving birth to my first baby at home, even when I didn’t think I could afford to… and then photographed it so beautifully. Who also, years later (and now a midwife), affirmed my experiences and hurts when I badly needed it and reassured me that I’d make a wonderful midwife if ever I wanted to become one.

All the midwives who bravely penned their honest and affectionate memoirs, which I devoured like so much candy during the first decade of my motherhood, indirectly teaching me the way of the midwife through their story-telling.

Charis Cooper, (now a CPM), the sister-like friend whose brave decision to pursue midwifery sparked the jealous meltdown that ultimately clarified my desires and calling, and who graciously has forgiven me for how badly I behaved toward her at that time, and now “talks shop” with me (the highest honor) and has become such a beautiful birth servant.

My own first midwife (four times over), who took me on through a barter late in my first pregnancy, then stood by me through a very long labor without wavering in her belief of me (and then 3 more mercifully short labors thereafter). Who 6 years later took me on as her apprentice and allowed me to get 43 births and countless prenatals’ worth of hands-on experience, as well as to overhear and adopt so many of her truisms and tricks of the trade. Who ultimately also showed me that I was on the wrong path apprenticing with her. 

Annie McLaughlin, the elder midwife who told me that birth work is like a winding river, but I could trust it to carry me. I’ve held that picture of a river ever since.

Yolanda Visser, one of my area’s OG midwives, who told me over lunch that “the work will always be there because women will always be having babies,” thereby showing me that there is no rush when it comes to becoming a birth attendant. Who later years later cheered me on through a wild pregnancy and free birth.

Indie Birth Association who reaffirmed what my heart was screaming but couldn’t find validation for elsewhere at the time: that licensing an ancient vocation alters it to the point of unrecognizability. Who also showed me that the only authority I’m to come under is The Lord’s, even if it means saying no to something I really want.

The “Christian Indie Birth Midwives Voxer group” (Cindy, Melinda, Angee, Rebecca), those wise and wonderful autonomous midwives led by the Spirit and rather miraculously introduced to me, who were willing to share an inside look at their work and lives with me, counting me as one of them, even when I hadn’t yet fully unfurled. 

Anne Frye, Sarah Buckley, Ina May, Elizabeth Davis, Carla Hartley, and Gloria LeMay, none of whom would know me from Eve, but each of whom put into writing the beautiful art of midwifery, the way to the wise woman, and the way to serve women skillfully and respectfully in birth.

Heather Meyers, who hosted a local live viewing of the Indie Birth Conference in her living room and went onto become a trusted and much admired friend, an example to me in motherhood, faith, "treasure-hunting", and birthing lots of babies at home without assistance. Who showed up for me in the most meaningful ways in my 5th birth.

Tami Hayden, that mother-of-many and Biblical midwife who had lunch with me more than once and encouraged me to see midwifery as a calling from God (not the state), and one to fearlessly answer. Who believed in me enough to try to refer a midwifery client to me, whom I was too scared and not at all ready to take at the time.

My own children, who have slowed my pace of pursuit in birth work, but have also more or less cheerfully released me to go serve other families many times each year for their entire lives, and always welcome me back with grace and joy. Who gave me a knowledge of pregnancy, birth, and postpartum on a cellular level. Who also grow me in character, wisdom, grace and an ability to manage all sorts of health-related challenges also applicable to my role as a birth worker. 

FreeBirth Society, for showing me that birthing in power and on my own really was indeed something to seriously consider (and convincing me I could do it), and whose podcast demonstrated how beautiful such a choice could be, over and over again. Who also cemented my conviction that the New Age and shamanism have no place in the quest to reclaim birth as God intended for it to be, and who showed me what it looks like when the pendulum swings in the opposite direction of medicalized birth.

The business coaches — The Kings and Melissa Ricker— I’ve hired to teach me how to build and market online courses/programs, who broke down that intimidating process into manageable steps, told me I was “allowed” to teach and coach and “allowed” to make money doing it, and who helped smash imposter syndrome. 

Sarah Schmid and Heather Baker, who have written my two favorite books on the subject of unassisted birth with such practicality and down-to-earth wisdom.

Lauren Hall, for reaching out to me through the awkwardness being “competitors” and choosing to cheer me on instead. Who then become my partner in kingdom mischief in the forms of our podcast and Birthkeeper training program, has twice traveled long distances to spend time withe me, and who teaches me mind-blowing facts about physiology, nutrition, operating in integrity as a traditional midwife, and scripture nearly every day and is my dear friend.

Laura Slater, CPM, the midwife I reluctantly chose to hire after thinking I’d birth unassisted forever, but who turned out to be exactly the midwife I needed for so many reasons, one of them being that she lent her hands to help me with that which I could not do for myself during my sixth birth. Who keeps the ways of the "old school" midwives alive and thriving in her practice.

To the beautiful up-and-coming certified midwives in my area who network with me, support and respect me even though I'm "rogue." (Delanie and Kattrina, I'm looking at you).

The women of the Believing BirthKeepers Circle (and especially Molly who practically begged me to begin it), who — though scattered across North America — have filled my life with such support and wisdom and sisterhood in this work that I am nearly in tears when I dwell too long on the gift of them.

The mothers who first trusted me to serve them, before I was tried, tested, and found to be sufficient. They saw things in me that perhaps I couldn’t even see in myself, and invited me to walk with them through the most sacred of spaces, as a photographer, a doula, a student midwife, or a birthkeeper. Without them, Sister Birth literally could not exist.

I’m sure I must be forgetting someone(s). But this is a good start. 

We are made up of one another.

We are made up of one another.

I’ve become strong and confident in my perspectives, opinions, teachings, and wisdom regarding childbirth and being a birth servant (though I'm growing always and will never stop learning). I’ve found my voice, I own and inhabit it, and I use it. Over time, I’ve come up with “trademark” phrases and concepts even. There isn't another birthkeeper in the world like me.

But I am, like all of us, a composite of sorts, comprised of the silver strands of wisdom sisters and foremothers have so generously unfurled in my direction and the deposits they have made in my life, knowingly or unknowingly, through various modes of transmission.

The best of their offerings —having spent some time rattling around inside of me, bumping up against and being transmuted by those life experiences, thoughts, and Holy Spirit whispers that are no one else’s but mine — are then sent back out into the world as the message I teach, the perspective I hold, the birth worker that I am (and am not). 

My teachers, I want to honor and thank you. 

Here they are, roughly in order of appearance:

The makers of The Business of Being Born because until I viewed that documentary as a single 20-something woman, it somehow hadn’t registered with me that I was not obligated to give brith in the hospital (and what good news that was!)

Jennifer Holshoe, at the time a student midwife and doula, who introduced birth photography to me before it was cool, nudged me to follow my heart into giving birth to my first baby at home, even when I didn’t think I could afford to… and then photographed it so beautifully. Who also, years later (and now a midwife), affirmed my experiences and hurts when I badly needed it and reassured me that I’d make a wonderful midwife if ever I wanted to become one.

All the midwives who bravely penned their honest and affectionate memoirs, which I devoured like so much candy during the first decade of my motherhood, indirectly teaching me the way of the midwife through their story-telling.

Charis Cooper, (now a CPM), the sister-like friend whose brave decision to pursue midwifery sparked the jealous meltdown that ultimately clarified my desires and calling, and who graciously has forgiven me for how badly I behaved toward her at that time, and now “talks shop” with me (the highest honor) and has become such a beautiful birth servant.

My own first midwife (four times over), who took me on through a barter late in my first pregnancy, then stood by me through a very long labor without wavering in her belief of me (and then 3 more mercifully short labors thereafter). Who 6 years later took me on as her apprentice and allowed me to get 43 births and countless prenatals’ worth of hands-on experience, as well as to overhear and adopt so many of her truisms and tricks of the trade. Who ultimately also showed me that I was on the wrong path apprenticing with her. 

Annie McLaughlin, the elder midwife who told me that birth work is like a winding river, but I could trust it to carry me. I’ve held that picture of a river ever since.

Yolanda Visser, one of my area’s OG midwives, who told me over lunch that “the work will always be there because women will always be having babies,” thereby showing me that there is no rush when it comes to becoming a birth attendant. Who later years later cheered me on through a wild pregnancy and free birth.

Indie Birth Association who reaffirmed what my heart was screaming but couldn’t find validation for elsewhere at the time: that licensing an ancient vocation alters it to the point of unrecognizability. Who also showed me that the only authority I’m to come under is The Lord’s, even if it means saying no to something I really want.

The “Christian Indie Birth Midwives Voxer group” (Cindy, Melinda, Angee, Rebecca), those wise and wonderful autonomous midwives led by the Spirit and rather miraculously introduced to me, who were willing to share an inside look at their work and lives with me, counting me as one of them, even when I hadn’t yet fully unfurled. 

Anne Frye, Sarah Buckley, Ina May, Elizabeth Davis, Carla Hartley, and Gloria LeMay, none of whom would know me from Eve, but each of whom put into writing the beautiful art of midwifery, the way to the wise woman, and the way to serve women skillfully and respectfully in birth.

Heather Meyers, who hosted a local live viewing of the Indie Birth Conference in her living room and went onto become a trusted and much admired friend, an example to me in motherhood, faith, "treasure-hunting", and birthing lots of babies at home without assistance. Who showed up for me in the most meaningful ways in my 5th birth.

Tami Hayden, that mother-of-many and Biblical midwife who had lunch with me more than once and encouraged me to see midwifery as a calling from God (not the state), and one to fearlessly answer. Who believed in me enough to try to refer a midwifery client to me, whom I was too scared and not at all ready to take at the time.

My own children, who have slowed my pace of pursuit in birth work, but have also more or less cheerfully released me to go serve other families many times each year for their entire lives, and always welcome me back with grace and joy. Who gave me a knowledge of pregnancy, birth, and postpartum on a cellular level. Who also grow me in character, wisdom, grace and an ability to manage all sorts of health-related challenges also applicable to my role as a birth worker. 

FreeBirth Society, for showing me that birthing in power and on my own really was indeed something to seriously consider (and convincing me I could do it), and whose podcast demonstrated how beautiful such a choice could be, over and over again. Who also cemented my conviction that the New Age and shamanism have no place in the quest to reclaim birth as God intended for it to be, and who showed me what it looks like when the pendulum swings in the opposite direction of medicalized birth.

The business coaches — The Kings and Melissa Ricker— I’ve hired to teach me how to build and market online courses/programs, who broke down that intimidating process into manageable steps, told me I was “allowed” to teach and coach and “allowed” to make money doing it, and who helped smash imposter syndrome. 

Sarah Schmid and Heather Baker, who have written my two favorite books on the subject of unassisted birth with such practicality and down-to-earth wisdom.

Lauren Hall, for reaching out to me through the awkwardness being “competitors” and choosing to cheer me on instead. Who then become my partner in kingdom mischief in the forms of our podcast and Birthkeeper training program, has twice traveled long distances to spend time withe me, and who teaches me mind-blowing facts about physiology, nutrition, operating in integrity as a traditional midwife, and scripture nearly every day and is my dear friend.

Laura Slater, CPM, the midwife I reluctantly chose to hire after thinking I’d birth unassisted forever, but who turned out to be exactly the midwife I needed for so many reasons, one of them being that she lent her hands to help me with that which I could not do for myself during my sixth birth. Who keeps the ways of the "old school" midwives alive and thriving in her practice.

To the beautiful up-and-coming certified midwives in my area who network with me, support and respect me even though I'm "rogue." (Delanie and Kattrina, I'm looking at you).

The women of the Believing BirthKeepers Circle (and especially Molly who practically begged me to begin it), who — though scattered across North America — have filled my life with such support and wisdom and sisterhood in this work that I am nearly in tears when I dwell too long on the gift of them.

The mothers who first trusted me to serve them, before I was tried, tested, and found to be sufficient. They saw things in me that perhaps I couldn’t even see in myself, and invited me to walk with them through the most sacred of spaces, as a photographer, a doula, a student midwife, or a birthkeeper. Without them, Sister Birth literally could not exist.

I’m sure I must be forgetting someone(s). But this is a good start. 

We are made up of one another.