There is a moment, when a handmaid in the midst of her greatest duty will look up to the heavens and cry out to God. There is a moment, in the midst of her cries and our chants for her to continue, I can feel that my Lord is near. Each bead of sweat I dab from the poor girl's brow is a baptism to God. I know the responsibility, the honor, the joy, the pain, and the sacrifice that I am a part of in welcoming new life.

Life.

It is a sacred gift that we was humans squander. We blot out the light that has been given to us with our selfishness and our sins. But suddenly, when I hold a squirming little babe, the light is anew. I am usually the first touch a babe will experience. My finger tips is the child's first inclination of Gilead. I weep openly each time. The cries of a newborn child brings me to my knees everytime. Even the shredders. Even the broken little babes are worth a tear of joy. They are so pure. They are so good. They are the closest God.

I weep for my girls as well.

I am stern with them. I lead them with a strong arm. I must. These blessed young women hold the key to life. They are scared and lost. They know not what great beauty and responsibility our Lord has placed upon them. I am their guide on their path to righteousness and it is a mark upon my soul if I lead them astray. I am aware that they look at me with hate and with fear. I understand it is part of the job. A mother must not expect their child to look upon them with joy after being deciplined. In time, they will know that all I've ever done is help them. In time, they will know that despite their obstinance all I have ever done is love them. How could I not love the vessel that brings along new light?

I honor their pain.

From the pain in their eyes when I inform them of their duty, to the pain in their hearts when they witness the retribution of their sin, and to the pain in their cries as they bring a child into this world, I honor them. I am aware that Gilead is founded on their pain. But I truely believe that their sacrifice will be honored by God. I have to believe that.

I believe in my God.

My very being lies within the words of the gospel. I honor my God with every moment of my existence. But I must confess only to myself and my Lord, that in one small moment I have doubt. There is a moment, when a handmaid has performed her duty, I must carry the babe to the wife. In my weakness, I glance over to the girl. I glance to all my girls huddling around such a brave young thing. I will hear her cries and I will look towards the wife who at times, I admit, almost appears bored. How could she be bored in the very face of such beautiful sacrifice?

In that small moment, I doubt. Lord forgive me.