By Dr Noel Maturlu
Change—even when it’s designed for our good—can feel like an assault on everything familiar. That’s why many of us cling to the comfort of the known, even when it begins to limit us. We can become very comfortable in our “wombs”—our familiar patterns of thinking, our ways of living, our opinions, our habits. But when God begins to stir the waters of our comfort and gently, or not so gently, nudges us out into something new, our first response is often resistance. Discomfort. Screams. Kicking. Even tears. We seldom recognise it in the moment for what it truly is: a sacred opportunity to grow.
“Smiles, relief, congratulations and applause do not begin when a child is born,” explains Dr. George Malcolm Morley. “They start when it cries.” In the silence of a delivery room, the sound of a baby’s cry is not a sign of weakness or fear—it is a signal of life. A declaration of survival. That cry confirms that the newborn has taken its first breath, activating the lungs to sustain life outside the womb. Without that cry, concern floods the room. If necessary, doctors will work to make the baby cry—not to cause distress, but to help it live.
Yes, our first act in the new life is crying. And birthing anything of significance is painful. According to both divine design and medical science, crying at birth is essential. It is the body’s way of announcing: I’m alive. I’m here. I’m becoming.
Yet the baby doesn’t cry because it understands this. The newborn has no awareness of oxygen levels or developmental necessity. It cries because its world has been turned upside down. For nine uninterrupted months, it knew the warmth of the womb, the rhythm of the mother’s heartbeat, the effortless flow of nourishment and breath. But birth changes everything. The baby is thrust into bright lights, cold air, and unfamiliar sounds. It is no longer carried—it must begin the work of living independently. And it does not like it. It protests. It mourns the loss of the womb.
This is the truth behind every newborn’s first cry: it is not just about physical survival; it’s an emotional response to leaving behind everything familiar. The baby, if given a choice, might prefer the safe enclosure of the womb forever. But it was never meant to stay there. The womb, while nourishing and essential, was only a temporary holding place—a chamber for preparation, not permanence. And so it is with us.
God never intended for us to remain in our comfortable “wombs” of yesterday’s growth. The very fact that you feel discomfort or disruption may be the divine signal that you’ve outgrown your current space. To stay would mean to suffocate your potential. So, like a loving midwife, God births us into something new. And yes—it’s scary. Yes—it’s painful. But it’s also the beginning of something magnificent. God is more interested in your growth than your comfort. He is moving you from safety to significance.
Growth is the unmistakable sign of life. And growth demands change. As uncomfortable as it may be, change is the cradle of transformation.
Jesus taught this profound truth when He said, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain” (John 12:24). Here, death does not mean extinction but transformation—the shedding of what was, to become what must be. The seed cannot become a tree unless its outer shell is broken. Likewise, we cannot reach our fullness unless we surrender to the cracking open of our lives.
To be “born again” is not a one-time event. It is a rhythm of the soul. We are born again and again—out of fear, into faith; out of complacency, into calling; out of bondage, into freedom. Each new stage demands a cry. A disruption. A push.
If we were truly honest, many of us don’t want to grow. We resist the contractions of divine labour. We resent the discomfort of transition. But we cannot stay in the womb of yesterday. The labour pains we feel are not punishment—they are prophecy. They declare that new life is about to break forth.
Adversity, then, is not always a sign of abandonment—it is an indicator that you are on the brink of a breakthrough. If your world feels like it’s collapsing, it may be because you’ve outgrown it. You’re not being buried; you’re being planted. God is moving you from the safety of what was into the significance of what will be.
So cry if you must—but let it be a cry that opens your lungs. A cry that breathes new life. A cry that marks your arrival into the next glorious phase of your purpose.
Because you were never meant to stay in the womb.
May the love of God and His peace, which surpass all human understanding, fill your heart now and always!
