Thursday 31 July 2014

Hallowed Haunting

you are in the silent cry
that calls when everyone is sleeping

you are in the instinct to look over my shoulder
when I can see all three up ahead

you are in the noiseless thump
that beckons from an empty room

you are in the headcount
that comes up eerily short

signs of you are in my heart
in my house
in my past
in my passion
in my dreams
in my being
in my prayers
in my hopes

there is nothing tangible
claiming you are near
or even coming
but this hallowed haunting
has me living in hopeful anticipation
of one day holding you
not just in my heart
but in my arms

Just for Girls

"Is it so bad?" she asked me as we sat beside the pool watching our kids learn to swim.  "Is it so bad for something to be 'just for girls'?"

We'd been talking about our sons wanting to wear nail polish.  She told hers no, I told mine yes.

I didn't answer her in the moment, but two days later I think yes, it is so bad.  As much as male is male and female is female, what makes a man and what makes a woman is so much harder to define.  There are things that bond my girlfriends and I together, yet there is really not a definable personality trait, gift, talent, struggle, passion, interest, desire, strength, weakness, ability, or characteristic that we ALL share.  Beyond anatomical similarities, I can't imagine what one thing all women would have in common.  Tendencies, perhaps.  Generalizations, maybe.  But a universal concrete woman-only-thing?  I have yet to hear of one.

It is a long-held truth that men and women are different.  But aren't men and men just as different.  Or women and women just as different.  People are different.  People are unique and individual and should be celebrated for who they are.  I don't fit into a box because I am gloriously and wonderfully made.

Neither does my son.  He likes nail polish.  Who wouldn't?  I mean, colourful toes: what's not to like?

Friday 25 July 2014

Pardon My French

L had his damn breakfast taken away after throwing damn Cheerios all over the damn floor (again) this morning.  He was quite angry and never recovered.  That set the damn tone for the damn morning.

E spilled his cereal four times.
N cried because he couldn't have a car at the table.
L cried because he wasn't eating breakfast anymore.
N & E fought about which one of them could sing at the table.
L cried because I didn't pick him up while mixing a cake.
N & E fought about which car L could have. (L didn't want any cars.)
L got mad that I was trying to read him books and he hucked them across the room.
L cried because I left him alone in the living room.
N & E fought about cars.
N & E got mad at L for stealing their cars.
L cried because he couldn't have their cars.
N & E complained because I split them up to play alone for a while.

Silence.

L cried that he couldn't go into the bedrooms N & E were playing in.
L cried that I didn't pick him up while taking the cake out of the oven.
I burned my arm taking the cake out of the oven.
We all went outside.
E cried because he couldn't have N's car.
N got mad because L kept sucking on his car.
N got mad because E kept wrecking his Hot Wheels track.
I went and hid.

Silence.

They found me.
N had a tantrum because I didn't feel like pushing him on the swing.
E pooped in his underwear.
L put his hand into the poopy toilet bowl.
L cried because I put him outside the bathroom and closed the door.
N complained because he was hungry.
L cried because I didn't pick him up while I made lunch.
L cried because I put him in his room and closed the door so I could make lunch.
L cried because I put him in his booster seat to eat lunch.
I ate cake out of the pan with a spoon.
N complained that he didn't want to eat.
E complained that he wanted more to eat.
L cried because I was putting him to sleep.
I cursed because L's diaper split and exploded weird diaper molecules all over his carpet.
L cried because I had to clean them up.
L cried because I was putting him to sleep again.

Silence.

The moment I watched L transition to the slow breaths of sleep, I ran to Jesus.  My first words were "I'm sorry I couldn't hear you over my own yelling, Jesus."  He heard me and met my need immediately with his comfort and strength.  We lay there for at least 14 seconds, Lachlan, Jesus, and me.

E screamed because N - actually, I don't even know why.
L woke up and cried.
L cried because I left him in his room to deal with E.
E cried because I took him to the bathroom.
E cried because he couldn't carry two stuffies and a blanket up the ladder into his bunk.
N complained because I was cutting lunch time short to put them to bed.
L cried because he was still not sleeping.
L cried because I was putting him to sleep again.

Silence.

It was 12:01pm.

Tuesday 22 July 2014

My Man

How in the world do you make me feel like I am lovable when you see me at my very nastiest?
How do you make me feel like I am fun to be around when you see me at my lowest?
How do you make me feel like I am strong when you see me at my most vulnerable?
How do you make me feel beautiful when you see the nooks and crannies I carefully hide from even myself?
How do you make me still feel exciting when you've seen it all before?
How do you make me feel like I am interesting when you've been by my side for years?
How do you make me feel desirable when I don't think myself worthy?

Thank you, Jesus, for giving me a husband who blows my world on a regular basis.

A Very Little Big Brother

The day that L was born, E bounced into the hospital room positively gleeful.  His grin was widespread and genuine.  He was only 21 months old, but he knew the joy of becoming a big brother and immediately climbed onto the bed with me to see his brother's face.  He asked to hold him right away and his whole boy emanated pride as he clutched the swaddled bundle of newborn.

The next major adjustment between the two boys came when Lachlan started crawling.  Slowly things started to change.  E still loved to make L giggle hysterically.  He still choose to play with his baby brother.  He still went over to him to give him hugs throughout the day.  But he also got angry when L came after his toys.  He seemed to sense the competition, now that L wasn't 'just' a stationary blob.  Tension started to build at times.

Things seem to have ramped up another notch in the last few weeks.  L has become very vocal, opinionated, and fast.  He doesn't want to be left behind.  He follows the older boys incessantly, finding them wherever they go in the house.  He deliberately grabs toys and repeatedly gets in the way.  And all of a sudden, E has to be the big brother.  He has to use words, not hands or feet.  He has to be the one to stay calm and walk away.  He has to find a solution.

He has to be the bigger brother.  And it is so so hard for the little guy.

Lord, give me the grace and compassion to remember that he is still a very little big brother.

Saturday 19 July 2014

My Inner Birthing-Mother Paddles a Canoe

The day dawned bright and sunny - well, actually we didn't make it out of the the tent until almost 10:30, so I don't really know how it dawned.  But when the six of us groggily unzipped our sleeping bags, it was beautifully warm and inviting out there.  A morning swim was followed by a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs and we started to pack up camp at a leisurely pace.

It was day two of a four-day canoe trip and while we were excited to get out on the lake and explore new terrain, we were also dreading our first stretch.  Looking up as I jammed my sleeping bag deeper into my pack to make room for the cooking pots, I slapped yet another mosquito and let my gaze return to the ominous lake just south of us.  We weren't really talking about it, because we all knew what was ahead of us.  Four kilometers of wind and waves.  We had to cross the lake and it was going to be hard work.

There was some risk involved, which also went unspoken as we loaded packs, tent, and food into the canoe and zipped up our life jackets.  But we all knew how critical it would be to direct our canoes enough into the waves to avoid the swells rolling over the side for the whole length of the canoe.  A couple of those and we'd take on too much water to continue.  Not dangerous, per se, but certainly a major hiccup in our weekend as we'd have to deal with a swamped canoe and soaked gear.
My husband and I were the first of the three canoes on the water and I snapped a few pictures of the island as the others loaded.  Soaking in the last relaxing moments of the next hour.  And off we went.

Barely a kilometer in, I was already looking back, hoping our starting point would look farther away and convince me that we had made some real progress.  Not so much.  My paddle strokes became more difficult, my bicep reminding my that I don't ever work out.  I'd complain under my breath, rolling my eyes at yet another windy canoe trip.  The task felt more insurmountable with each time I looked up and saw that the point in the distance was not getting any closer.  
And before you know it, I was in labour mode.

I had always heard, of course, that labour and birth are horrible.  That the pain is worse than you could ever imagine.  Jokes about mothers holding it against their children for a lifetime.  Comments about how awesome the drugs were and why would anyone ever want to do it without.  Pregnant women dreading the end of nine months because it means labour.  Movie scenes of screaming women cursing the men who did this to them.  And, having done it three times, I know that none of these things are unsubstantiated.

However, I also know that my three labour experiences have done me a world of good.  They have put physical suffering into perspective.  They have given me a new ability to persevere and work harder.  They have empowered me in a nerdy-granola-hippie-one-with-nature-and-all-mothers-who-have-gone-before-me kind of way I would never have dreamed of.

I was asked the other day if I was nervous for my second or third labours, because I knew what was coming.  I answered truthfully that I was not, but I wondered if I was just forgetting.  Upon further reflection, I am certain that I was indeed not nervous.  Despite knowing how bad it would get and how long it was likely to be, what was closer to the forefront of my mind was that I had done it.  My body had slowly but surely birthed a baby before, and I had been there to see it.  I had felt what each contraction did to my body, my mind, and my heart and I had come out on the other side - a mother and a changed person.

Now that my three labours are behind me, I think about them so much more fondly and more often than I ever would have imagined.  They say you forget the pain, but I'm not sure that I ever will.  I remember exactly what those intense hours felt like.  I remember the physical agony and the mental anguish.   I also remember clinging to the knowledge that my body knew what it was doing.  I remember simultaneously diving in to what was happening and trying hard to stay afloat above what was happening.

While it would have been reasonable to dread them, welcoming the power of each contraction made me feel like I was giving my body permission to do what it was made for.  While it would have been easy to not even notice them, relishing the short time in between contractions as pain-free made me feel like I was recharging as much as it is possible in those momentary breaks.  While it would have been natural to be overwhelmed at the magnitude of what lie ahead, thinking in one-contraction increments made me feel like I had the confidence and energy for just one more.  While is would have been understandable to be consumed by the suffering, focusing on where the edge of the pain was made me feel like I was able to keep perspective.  While my tendency would have been retreat into myself, drawing on the strength and encouragement of my husband, my midwife, and my Creator made me feel like there were others to believe in me during the moments when I could not believe in myself.

My labours were meaningful experiences for me and it never ceases to amaze me how often I think about them.  When I look back on them, I remember the incredible moment I met my baby.  And I remember the hours leading up to that moment; hours that make me feel strong, confident, empowered, determined, tenacious, and proud.  I am so thankful that while I know all those truths about how horrible labour can be, I also know how wonderful labour can be.  Neither the horrible nor the wonderful are untrue and neither are the whole truth on their own.  In fact, it seems to me that labour couldn't be wonderful in the way I have known it to be wonderful if it hadn't also been horrible.

So there I was, a quarter of the way across a ginormous lake, paddling my heart out against intimidating waves, feeling like the end would never come, and not sure how in the world I was ever going to make it there.  Sound familiar?

My labour memories came flooding back and before you know it I was in that mindset again.  I took on a wave-by-wave perspective, reminding myself that I could paddle through just one more swell.  I confined the pain to my biceps, recognizing that past the edges of that pain my body felt okay.  I delighted in the gaps between waves, appreciating the easier strokes used in those brief, refreshing breaks.  I pushed my paddle into the water, then let it glide through and pop out of its own accord, the way it was made to.  I relied not only on my own strength, but took motivation from my husband who was paddling in the back of the canoe.  I focused on the Maker of the waves and gained my confidence from His power and greatness.
We made it to the other side of the lake.  And we probably would have, even if I hadn't harnessed my inner birthing-mother.  But the skills I learned from labour mean I don't just have to survive through the tough stuff - I can thrive through it with confidence.

Wednesday 16 July 2014

The Weight of Knowing

The weight of knowing is heavy on me right now.  

I have been asking, prodding, worrying, wondering, praying, pondering, pushing, speculating, and crossing off my mental list all the things that aren't wrong.  So I am very glad that she told me some of what is going on.  It feels like I can stop running on the same hamster-wheel in my mind.  I finally have some answers and a picture of what/why/how this is a difficult time for her.  

So now I start running the hamster-wheel in the other direction and realize that I have just replaced one endless cycle with another.  I know, but there is nothing I can do.  And hence I can just continue to worry for other reasons.  How will she deal with that issue?  What can she possibly do about this other one?  Who can she go to?  Is there anyone that can help?  What does she need?  How can she figure out what she needs?  What can I do to show her that I care?  

This loop feels as hopeless as the last.  

But I am thankful that she ended my last one.  Thankful that she was willing to talk.  I know it's hard.  And now I know why.  

You can trust me with that information.  You can trust that I will treat it gently, with the respect and tender compassion it deserves.  It will find a home somewhere in my heart and God will water it and maybe one day I will see what ideas grow.  Maybe one of them can be an encouragement to you.

Wednesday 2 July 2014

Love Hurts

I remember when loving you was the most natural part of my day.  Back when we carpooled everywhere, or house-sat together, or shared classes at university.  You were almost everywhere I went and it was so easy to get along.  I knew what you were up to and how you were doing.  Because it was natural.

Right now, loving you hurts so much.  I'm worried about you and I don't know what to do.  I'm frustrated and concerned and annoyed and I don't get it.  I just wish I knew what was wrong.  I just wish I knew how to help.