Letter to Liam, age 3

My dear little man, William—

You have been 3 for four whole months now… every one of those months I have meant to sit down and write you—something to help you know your own three-year-old self later one; something for me to read and remember these precious days.  Daddy and I agree that this age is so much fun; YOU are so much fun.  You giggle and are amazed by everything.  You make us laugh so much.  You are sweet, thoughtful, empathetic and caring.  You love to kiss and hug your baby brother, having dubbed him “Chubby” and giving me a play-by-play of his well-being if I have to leave the room.  Once I came in to find you just watching him, saying “I’m your big brother (“brozzer”); that’s why I’m watching over you.”  You’ve never resented him or shown anything but affection towards him.  I can’t wait until the two of you are fast friends, just like you and Eowyn already are.

If you are unkind and I explain to you how the other person was affected, even if at first you shout that you want them to be sad or that you like being mean (and yes, you do say those kinds of things), without fail, when you’ve calmed down, you will come to me or your dad and very sincerely apologize, and show that you are very sad that you hurt someone else.  You love to hug us and your little arms around my neck is one of my favorite feelings.  After naps –you still take a good 1.5-2 hour afternoon nap every day—you are especially snuggly.  I love the smell of your curly head, slightly damp from sleep. Today you lay your head down on Daddy’s shoulder completely unprompted, and he just melted.  You have our hearts, big boy. 

You are a sensitive little soul, correction often bringing you to cross your arms, drop your head and the whispered words “I’m embarrassed” followed by tears.  Or just tears.  Lately you’ve been crying a lot.  The phrase “threenager” applies very aptly.  I might ask you to do something very routine—come to dinner, or clean toys up in preparation for bedtime—and the response will be incredibly dramatic.  Suddenly, you’re on the floor screaming, or you’ve thrown your hands up and are shrieking “I HATE DAT!!” or are wailing that you weren’t done playing… as if eating and sleeping were totally unexpected, unreasonable events.  Liam, you are a small person of very big passions.

Bedtime continues to be our most difficult time.  You (and your sister) tend to pop out of bed repeatedly.  You usually come out quietly, crawling into my lap saying “Mommy, I just need some love” or “I just want you.”  It’s very hard to resist those hugs.  I usually snuggle you for a while and send you back to bed.  Othertimes there is great weeping and gnashing of teeth... on all sides.  Often at bedtime you’ll ask me to “stay with me just one more minute?” and I usually do.  I have to take off my glasses and you put your arm around me. You tell me, after about a minute “ok, Mommy, you can go now.”  You want me to say the Aaronic blessing over you, and sometimes will try and say it in turn to Patrick.  So sweet.

You have a keen little mind, memorizing songs and spoken words very well.  You listened to The Big Picture Story Bible on CD as you went to sleep for several weeks, and often will quote passages of Scripture at the most hilarious of moments.  Once, while you were washing your hands alone, I heard you intone in a deep voice “Go! Wash in the Pool of Siloam!”  Yesterday you remarked that only Cesar Augustus was the king of the world—not your sister.  Another time you used “Do not make My Father’s house a house of trade!” in an argument with her… we aren’t sure how you thought it applied but it definitely had us laughing behind closed doors. 

Your imagination is amazing.  You often delve into a world all your own, complex and usually heroic.  You jump off our steps wearing goggles and begin flailing, waving a block and shouting.  In moments you are on your belly, groaning with faux exertion as you crawl along.  When I ask what you are doing, you explain very calmly that you dove into the water to fight a shark with your sword, because it was trying to eat your baby, and you will kill the shark even though it bit your leg off, and the doctor will put your leg back on.  Then you’ll be back in your play.  Your imagination always demands full-body involvement… It’s always detailed, extremely energetic, and often quite violent.  You love to be a superhero (usually Superman flying around with sound effects), Mike the Knight, a swimmer or occasionally a wild beast.  When you play with your sister, you like to be the “daddy” or “husband” (or her little boy).  Up until about a week ago you didn’t grasp the idea of play names, and referred to everyone by their title as you played.  We’d hear you shout out in your fake man-voice “Wife!” whenever you wanted her attention, and you responded only to “Husband.”  Lately you have assumed the name “Davis” whenever you play pretend.  Not sure where you came up with that one.

Another little quirk of late has been your obsession with what you call “up sleeves,” ie short sleeved shirts.  Despite the weather turning cooler, you insist that you do NOT want “downsleeves,” and especially that you do NOT want “downpants,” but only “upshorts.”  The past few days you have even further narrowed your tastes to Superhero-themed clothing, most especially the Superman shirt with a detachable cape you got for your birthday (from me), and a pair of navy blue knit shorts “with a tie (faux drawstring) on the front.”  You also want to wear your Batman pjs.  We finally have reached a compromise of you wearing various shirts to school or church (often “downsleeved”) or the Superman shirt with a sweater over it, and pants OVER your shorts (mainly one pair of grey fleece pants because they are “soft”).  As we leave, you assure us that “when I get home, I’m gonna change into pajamas!” and sure enough, there will be a trail of shed clothing as soon as you walk in the door.  This is quite a change from your prior attitude towards clothing; you loved making your own outfits and were always quite deliberate in how you (mis)matched them.  Well, I guess that’s the common theme:  you really do care about your clothes and shoes.  Even when you are freezing, you insist on your “upshorts”—though there have been a few times when you willingly put on something warmer with a sheepish grin!

You had your first haircut two weeks ago.  Your favorite Sunday School teacher ever, “Mrs Charla” from TCC, cut it at her studio and did an excellent job.  We kept your mop-top of crazy blond curls but tamed the back a bit so it gets less tangled and matted.  You look less like Einstein and your hair stays curly instead of becoming a blond frizzy halo.  You were so nervous about your haircut, even though you asked for one.  The day before, you asked if it would hurt, and were reassured as Eowyn and I explained to you that only the part of your hair still in your scalp could feel and your haircut wouldn’t hurt at all.  You were so stoic, self-conscious and then proud during your hair cut.  You wouldn’t hardly look up, much less talk to Mrs. Charla!! 

You love Legos and little figurines of all kinds.  I find play horses, Playmobil knights, dinosaurs, cars and dragons all over the house, often with weapons and in boxes of some kind.  You build very well and surprise me with your abilities.  However you still need your sister to assemble your Legos following the visual directions, or your Playmobil castle or train tracks which you regularly dismantle.  Yesterday you and she made a “hideout” behind our downstairs couch and you all have stocked it with all sorts of necessities.  I love to hear you play together and truly interact.  Your sister often has very specific ideas about how things should go, and you usually are content to go along with her.  You are a very sweet little brother, really you are!  Lately she has been learning (with encouragement) to let you have more input because your ideas are really good!  And… she does love you and doesn’t mind indulging you—she’ll come to me laughing behind her hand at how cute you can be.  She’s a good big sister… when she isn’t bossing you around or threatening to not let you play if you don’t do what she wants. :) When you are in trouble with Mommy or Daddy, 9 times out of 10 she will run in and hug you and comfort you.

Your typical day starts around 7:30.  Some mornings you start playing in your room, others you come crawl into our bed… often you beg to look at our phones, and we usually let you look at our pictures and home videos.  You usually are the one to let Alina (the cat) out of the laundry room.  We get up around 8 to make you breakfast, usually yogurt, sometimes eggs, or if we are running late, a banana and milk (two of your favorites!).  Mondays we go to CC, Tuesdays and Wednesdays you go to preschool in “Miss Kassie (Kathy)’s class.”  Usually there is at least one meltdown involving not wanting to eat or wear something.  After school we come home for lunch and usually Levi is with us.  You two really are best buds.  You usually play outside while I make lunch and then we eat together—I read sometimes while you eat, usually from the Bible, sometimes from picture books.  Then it’s a nap for everyone (Mommy too!) and afterwards you and Levi (and Sis sometimes) play until he’s picked up.  On Thursdays and Fridays you like to do some school with me and Eowyn.  In the late afternoons you might get to watch a show—your favorites now are Super Why, Jake & the Neverland Pirates or the WildKratts.  You also like Mike the Knight, Diego and Kipper the Dog. Daddy comes home & we eat dinner together—these are some of my favorite times as now you and Eowyn are old enough to really talk to us.  You tell Daddy about your day, and we laugh and laugh together.  Daddy reads a Bible story and a chapter or two in “Johnny Chuck”, we sing a song (your usual requests are "Jesus Draw Me Close," "Be Thou My Vision," and "Jesus, what a friend for sinners") and pray together, and then you are tucked in bed with your Bobo & Baby and a music CD on. You still have a bit of a hard time sleeping alone in your room since Eowyn moved out, but the penguin night-light pillow helps.

Spiritually you are sensitive.  You love to memorize Scripture and remind me to read our devotional every morning and to drill you on your catechism.  At night when you’re scared you ask me to “pray for Jesus!” and draw comfort from knowing that while you can’t see God, “He always sees me!” and that He is stronger than any bad guy.  You are quite aware of sin and your own part in it, yelling angrily that you KNOW you are disobeying and you WANT to run away from God.  This makes me so sad, but also I have to smile because your words are exactly what my own heart screams when I tantrum, too.  Daddy and I pray that you learn to see the Enemy’s lies in those words!  I’ve been surprised at just how much you grasp—last night I asked you a question after our Bible story, not expecting you to know the answer, but you did!  You really are listening and absorbing everything you hear.  Oh, I pray that these seeds bear good fruit!!

I love you so much, my wild-haired compassionate, passionate little hero!  You always have my heart.  I’m so glad right now you still need hugs and kisses and snuggles from me.  I love that you still want me to hold you, and that my arms are still strong enough to do it.  I love that you are spirited and funny but also tender-hearted and teachable.  You forgive easily and are a loyal friend.  

I can’t wait to watch you keep growing up into a heroic man… but it also breaks my heart to imagine you being any older than you are right now.  I love you dearly, William Christopher, and thank God every day for the blessing of being your mommy.

Love, hugs, kisses, and every good story I can tell,

                                    Mommy.

Cleaning What Will Be Dirty Again Tomorrow

I just posted a simple status to Facebook that has sparked some very encouraging conversation... so here it is:

At 9:05 pm, contemplating the food still out, the dishes piled unwashed, the baby crying to be fed, the baby toys scattered, the laundry in the dryer/on the line/in the washer/needing folding (we have a lot of laundry right now)... I quipped: "and now to try and summon the energy to clean what will only get redirty tomorrow..."

This struck a chord, probably with all my fellow home-makers pondering similar tasks at this late hour, with similar energy levels... postponing the inevitable with "one last Facebook peek."  My friend (and former Sunday School teacher!!) Holli replied: "My mom used to say we spend our lives rearranging generations of recycled dirt. She was sure she was sweeping out the same dirt Martha Washington had swept."  Another laughed: "Welcome to the life of a mother :)"  Another, "I've heard it said that cleaning house when there are toddlers around is like trying to brush your teeth while eating Oreos." Yet another posted a quote from Brooke Foss Wescott (1875): "Great thoughts go best with common duties. Whatever, therefore, may be your office, regard it as a fragment of an immeasurable ministry of love", and commented "At least in doing the rote thing over and over, since you do it automatically, you can think greater thoughts than how to do it. I still like hot dishwater and sweeping the floor last thing at night. It's a lot easier without the toddlers, but I miss having those rascals too."

I once heard housekeeping/motherhood described as a "sisyphean task" (Sisyphus being the Greek dude condemned to push the same rock up a hill every day only to have it roll down during the night, until the end of time)... so true.

Isn't pretty much any job like this at some level?  We do the same things over and over, because no matter what we do, it's never enough, or the last word, or the final answer... whether we are counselors, farmers, fishermen, social workers, policemen, teachers, engineers, or bankers.  As Sara Groves puts it:

"Everyone, everywhere, somewhere, somehow, is setting up the pins for knocking 'em down!  

you can find joy in the fertile ground, setting up the pins and knocking em down, [or] 

you can try to fight it till you're anger-drowned, setting up the pins." --"Setting Up the Pins"

My friend Mary mentioned her husband Matt's sermon series through Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes is one of my all-time favorite books. Such a great antidote to our overly pie-in-the-sky-leave-the-temporal-behind-and-dwell-only-on-the-spiritual-Reformed tendencies.  I guess I'd call it Redeemed Hopeful Cynicism.  (Yes, I know that's an oxymoron.)  It's hard to think God only cares about your "quiet time" with verses like "Go, eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart, for God has already approved what you do. Let your garments be always white. Let not oil be lacking on your head. Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your vain life that he has given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life..."  He cares about everything because it's ALL prayer-- or at least, proof that we aren't praying to the Right God!  I think I will be listening to Matt's sermons as I clean.  :)

I'm just glad that no matter how "unproductive" it seems (because I'm doing it all tomorrow again), I KNOW that it actually doing at least three things:  It is producing greater Christ-likeness in me,  It is fighting the Curse and bringing a little bit more chaos into Beauty (for a few minutes, anyway). And it serves people who will one day (I pray!) be so glorious that I would be tempted to worship them if I met them in my current state (as CS Lewis put it-- there are no ordinary people).  The Sisyphean task of motherhood would surely crush me, were it not for the even greater weight of glory pulling me onward.


But still... it is so tiring. I think that's why I like to do crafts-- at least at the end of my labor there I can hold up a cute dress or quilt or fairy slippers and say "TA DA!"

"my grandmother had a working song
hummed it low all day long
sing for the beauty that's to be found
in setting up the pins for knocking em down"

Hopefully I can remember to sing for the beauty of comforting a congested little soul wanting his mama in about 3 hours... :)
 So Blessed,
-- Christina

Motherly Musing

This little guy has me physically exhausted and mentally spent from trying to convince him to eat... some days my chief accomplishment is getting enough ounces into him to keep him gaining weight.  There's a lot of shushing, singing, dancing, swaying, and trying of innumerable positions on my part and a lot of crying, face-burying, choking, spitting and thrashing on his part.  My back and arms are so tired from holding him, my neck is aching from trying to see what he's doing, my patience is tried to its limit, and my mind is working overtime trying to remember all the therapies and exercises I'm supposed to be doing even as I try and weigh the options for care (second revision? pursuing the specialist out of state? cranio-sacral therapy? OT? suck training? letting him sleep?  pushing to eat? bottle? try nursing? correct his latch?  let him eat however so long as he eats?).  It's a lot of responsibility for one person to carry.

And yet.

When I think of today, what first of all comes to mind is his little hand reaching out and grabbing at a toy for the first time-- a giraffe on his swing tray.  I remember the joy I felt at seeing him reach this developmental milestone.  Next I remember the sweet smile and coos he gave me-- the way his eyes connected with mine and it seemed like he was genuinely talking to me.  And then I think of his joy at finding his thumb no matter what his position.  My mind is full of his baby-smell, nestled slurping away on said thumb against my shoulder.  I think of the joy of him, my son.  I'll take all the long hours- for the rest of his life- gladly, for the sake of having him.

And I wonder.

Isn't this how the Lord thinks of me?  Not of the tremendous trouble I put Him through-- not of all my failings and illogicalities and weaknesses.  Not all the ways I make my own life difficult.  Not all the ways my weaknesses trip me up.  But the joy of me, His daughter?  I can't imagine Job was a perfect man, and yet we overhear Him bragging "Have you considered My servant, Job? There is no one like him!"  God describes Himself as "taking great delight in me, quieting me with His love, rejoicing over me with loud singing!"(Zephaniah 3:17)

It's mind-blowing, incomprehensible. It'd be heresy to say things like this about how the God of the universe feels about a warped fragile insignificant creature like me if He didn't say it first. "Oh Love incomprehensible, that made Thee bleed for me!  The Judge of all has suffered death to set His prisoner free!" (hymn by Augustus Toplady & Anne Steele)

Like I said, pregnancy and child-bearing is good for my soul. :)

Joy in Our Hearts-- Lots of It

I listened to music while laboring with both my babies. With Eowyn, the song I most remember (the one playing as she was born, actually) is Sandra McCracken's "Close of the Day"-- fittingly a song about all the simple blessings of life -- "close of the day/ fireworks and rain, feels like a holiday/ unburdens my frame"-- as well as the deep blessings of the Gospel-- " the marks of my name/ torn into Your Hands" --with the refrain "and this is not what I deserve." Really perfect to remember as I contemplated the joy of bringing forth a child contrasted with the Hell I'd have earned myself with all my sin, as well as the far greater pain He went through for me!

Anyway... the song that will always remind me of Liam's birth is Sara Groves' "Joy is in Our Hearts." It's got a great tempo, great contemplative, calm, intense vibe that is perfect for the work of labor. And the words... wow, the words are great for the discomfort, pain and trial of waiting that is the last stage of pregnancy and all of labor. It's also been perfect for me as a new mom full of fears: once you've been given such a precious gift, it's easy to fall prey to the temptation that it will be taken from you. This song helps me remember that even if I lost my little son or worse, I would have Christ, and Him for all eternity!- and that would be reason enough to sing for joy. This song was written, I think, with the persecuted church in mind.

 I pray this little montage encourages you! I get teary just watching it. :) Pregnancy and labor are good for my spiritual condition. Which means we'll probably be having more kids.

"Joy Is in Our Hearts"

"We were pressed on every side,
Full of fear and troubled thoughts;
For good reason we carried heavy hearts

"It is good to come together
In our friendship to remember
All the reasons hope is in our hearts:

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Christ our joy and strength!

"Now with patience in our suffering,

Perseverance in our prayers,

With good reason this hope is in our hearts:
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Christ our joy and strength!

"Oh, we saw the face of angels--

Many good things well-secured

For good reason this joy is in our hearts:

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Christ our joy and strength!

For good reason joy is in our hearts."

The Shadows Prove the Sunlight

Yesterday I packed a snack and water cup for my two-year-old daughter, dressed her in a pink sundress and pigtails, and dropped her off at the church nursery.  I sat next to my husband and held his hand as we sang hymns, shared a electronic Bible with him, and poked him when he made funny comments during the sermon.  It was a very normal, happy day for our little family.

Across the continent, my friends were crying.  Their baby girl had just died in their arms.  After 9 months of expectation, of waiting, of doing everything just right, after a labor and delivery that seemed absolutely perfect, they spent 24 hours wondering why their baby girl wouldn't breathe on her own... and then held her as she was welcomed home to her Father in Heaven.

A few states north of me, another friend was also grieving.  A year ago she was excitedly telling me about her and her newly-wed husband's plans to move West and start their dream life.  Then, all of a sudden, I saw on Facebook that he had cancer.  Just like that, their plans all changed.  We all prayed for healing and for persevering grace.  Yesterday, the Lord answered those prayers by bringing her husband into a perfect body that will never suffer again, and His grace has shone through her testimony (and his) throughout this entire trial.

It hit me that they both just lost the things I most treasure on this earth.  I mean, what would it be like to make that post to Facebook: "my husband is with Jesus now."  Or "Thank you for all your prayers; we'll need them even more as we head home from the hospital with empty arms"?  I can imagine all too well.  It would tear my heart to shreds.

And at the same time, the Lord is bringing other thoughts to mind.  Their shadow has opened my eyes to the light I am enjoying.  Shadows are supposed to do that-- to draw our eyes in search of the Light casting them.

And yet I complain to my Father in Heaven that my husband didn't help with the dishes again, that I'm so tired of being woken up to take a toddler "potty" again, that my marriage isn't the easy companionship it is "supposed" to be every day, that my daughter has those days where she tests every single limit in our home (including my sanity).  I complain, and I whine "this isn't what I asked for!  I've obeyed You so well-- can't I get the perfect happy life I "deserve?"" (hah!)

This has been such a reminder of just how happy my life is;  of just how much the Lord has given me in plain, undeserved kindness.  If and when He calls me to go through the trials of loss (someday, I will lose everything I love to death), I know He will give me His Joy and Peace even then.  But in the mean time, really, why do I complain?

Not only do I have the eternal blessings of Holy Spirit to comfort, guide & convict, of a Savior's love so deep it went to Calvary for me and constantly pleads my case in front of God, of a Father who looks at me with pure affection and pride because He only sees His perfect Son when He looks at me-- as if that wasn't enough, I also have a beautiful, safe home in a peaceful country, with a hard-working husband who makes me laugh, and a baby girl whose preciousness only grows every day.  That's just the important stuff-- there are so many other blessings that are gifts I forget about.  As someone once said, "Anything short of Hell is Grace."  And anything on top of that?  I guess it's just extravagance.

May I always treat my Father as an extravagant Giver instead of a stingy kill-joy.  No matter what hardships He ordains for me, I know they are temporary, and are intended to make me happier-- infinitely happy!-- later on.

“For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

  

Soul, then know thy full salvation-
Rise o’er sin and fear and care
Joy to find in every station,
Something still to do or bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee,
What a Father’s smiles are thine,
  What a Savior died to win thee--
Child of heaven, canst thou repine? 
(-"Jesus, I my Cross Have Taken")

  

Seeking to walk as one who knows that Beauty and feels that Smile everyday,

~Christina

Eowyn's Birth Story, Part 2: Settling in for the Long Haul

Finally, Ryan gets to hold his daughter!

Day 2:  Settling in for the Long Haul
(read Part 1 here)
Once home, contractions slowed enough for me to think I might be able to sleep through them.  Mom fed me a little food, heated up the water bottle one more time for me, and propped it against my back with pillows.  Ryan slid into bed beside me and within 20 minutes the house was still and quiet.  I awoke 4 1/2 hours later and updated the blog & FB, and curled up in my blue recliner to try and pray.

I was quite frustrated, and told the Lord so.  :) Hadn't I felt like she'd never be born?  Why tease me like this?  I just want to see my baby... what is going on?  In His kindness, He met with me in my fear and unbelief and comforted me with His Word:  "Tremble, O earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob, who turns the rock into a pool of water, the flint into a spring of water." (Ps. 114: 7-8)  Ok, Lord-- if Your presence can make hard rocks refreshing, You can make times of waiting sweet.  Your nearness is enough.  I'll be content to sit with You.

By this time, Ryan's mom, step-dad, sister, and grandparents were all en route from Georgia & Virginia, as they'd been told we were headed to the hospital the previous evening.  Our small house got very full, but everyone was very respectful and quiet.  Ryan's step-dad hung the new curtains Ryan's mom had made for us, the two grandmas-to-be made a roast (my request) with plenty of potatoes.  People asked me questions, and I found myself unable to answer.  I'd hit my wall with decision-making.

Meanwhile, I tried to follow my midwife's advice and rest as much as possible.  "In my experience, walking doesn't really help much with getting labor going-- it just tires you out.  When you're ready, your body will start back up again, and you're going to wish you had more rest!"  With my abs already feeling like I'd done 100 too many crunches, I believed her.  Contractions continued throughout the day, many of them strong and semi-regular, but we resisted the urge to time them.  I worked through them with breathing, swaying, rocking, and spent most of the day lying on the couch or on the birthing ball.  Reading back over my journal I'm reminded at just how many people were praying for me, and how the Lord kept me trusting Him, at peace in His plan, His will, His timetable.  Ryan & I went to lay down for a nap for about 2 hours in the afternoon.  I couldn't actually sleep, but being just the two of us in the dim quiet was good for my nerves.  By dinner time I devoured two plates of roast & veggies (my mother in law later admitted she was shocked at just how much I ate!)-- my body knew I'd need the strength.  I was SO glad I wasn't in a hospital with someone telling me I wasn't allowed to eat!!

By day's end (9 pm) I had a head-ache and sciatic nerve pain during contractions-- still plenty of contractions, many of them strong, but no change in frequency. .  I couldn't resist running up and down the stairs a few times around dinner, but gave that up fairly quickly as a stupid idea. :)   I called Beth again, at my family's insistence, and she assured me that neither headache nor nerve pain were cause for alarm. "The headache probably has something to do with the fact that you didn't get any sleep last night!" she chuckled.  She recommended hands-and-knees to try and shift Eowyn off whatever she was pinching.  And then she encouraged me to go to bed.


Intense Labor, Round Two
Of course, as soon as I lay down, Little Miss Drama Queen decided it was a good time to be born after all.  I couldn't take it lying down, either, so Ryan & I back to our old standby of walking through contractions.  As soon as I'd feel one starting I'd lean on him, we'd slowly walk with him keeping my breathing deep and even, until I told him it was over. Between contractions I usually rested on all fours or leaned on the birth ball or against the bed.  We kept the lights low and paced slowly, around, and up and down.  I remember the calm, yellow-golden light, the gentle burnished glow of the hardwood floor, the feel of the beige blanket on my cheek, and the pattern of blue plaid on the bedspread.  I was most happy moving through contractions.  Hardest for me was remembering to breathe deeply and to relax instead of tensing up during a contraction-- so counter-intuitive for me.  Ryan helped so much at this point, helping me relax, reminding me to breathe slowly, and pressing against my back & hips as I requested. 

Mom worked quietly keeping the hot water bottle filled & applied, and timing contractions.  I lost all track of time, life becoming a routine of contractions and strength-gathering.  I vaguely remember Ryan calling Beth a few times-- I asked him not to tell me how close or far my contractions were. It was all I could do to just work through the contractions one at a time, without worrying about "progress" or how much longer it would be. 

By 3 am we re-packed up the car (forgetting much more than the first time), tiptoed through the house to avoid waking sleeping family, and drove to Clark Memorial again.  Again we went to triage.  Again I got hooked up to the cuff, the monitors.  This time I spent very little time in the bed, though, and  spent the next 2 hours walking the halls.  All night, I sang to myself "When through the deep waters I call you to go/ the rivers of sorry shall not overflow/ for I will be with you, your troubles to bless/ and sanctify to you your deepest distress." and praying "Lord, I want to meet my baby.  Please help me meet my baby."  I cried at times, but nothing uncontrollable.  The hospital felt so bright and white.  Ryan, who had been up with me two nights in a row now, bearing much of my weight, was so tired he laid down in my bed, asking us to wake him in a half-hour.  We let him sleep. :)


Day 3:  Begging for Mercy

I think it was around 5 am that the nurse on duty checked me.  All that labor and still only 4-5 cm.  Again the check was very painful;  Eowyn was still descending in front of the cervix, meaning all these contractions weren't dilating me much at all.  They were strong & regular, but not getting harder or closer together.  They were also on the long side-- about 1 1/2 minutes long.  (all signs of an unevenly or malpositioned baby)  Beth advised me to be admitted and start a pitocin drip, concerned that without getting the contractions closer together, I would labor another 24 hours and be too tired to push.  Ryan & I asked everyone to leave so we could decide what to do.  I totally fell apart.  So much was at stake, and I was too exhausted to make this choice... but no one else could.  I knew I could manage these contractions, but wasn't sure about the pitocin-augmented ones.  Worse, the nurses informed us that their portable fetal monitors were malfunctioning, meaning I'd be tied to the bed, since continuous fetal monitoring is a must once drugs get involved.  No way did I think I could handle pit contractions in a bed, without the option of hot water to ease the pain.  I saw a clear slide from pitocin drip to some form of pain killer to ...C-section?  I cried & cried and begged Ryan to pray for us.  We asked for wisdom, for peace, and for God's mercy to move Eowyn so that my body could work on its own.

It took about an hour for the room to be readied, for me to get a Hep-lock for the IV, for the paperwork to be finished.  The Lord's peace fell on me; I knew I could trust Him, and that He is Good.  By 6 am we were in our new home.  I met my L & D nurse, Judy, who turned out to be an amazing help-- totally no-nonsense, capable, yet motherly and reassuring.  I trusted her right away.

Our first "miracle" came in the form of a nurse bustling in, saying "let's see if we can't get this telemetry (portable fetal monitor) unit to work!" My heart leapt-- if they could get that working, suddenly I had the option of laboring in a tub again, not to mention unlimited movement.  My miracle-worker fiddled a bit, then, presto!  It worked!  I couldn't stop thanking her, or God.  Then, Judy told me it was time to start the pitocin drip.  Something told me to wait.  "Please, just wait until my midwife gets here-- she's on her way-- just let me check her one more time, ok?"  They agreed.

Within 10 minutes, Beth arrived and I felt myself relax even more. It's amazing what feeling like you are safe and in good hands does for a body!  She checked me, and for the first time I screamed-- "please!"  Beth "emerged" with a huge grin:  "You're not going to need that pitocin!  You're at 8 cm, and I just stretched you another 1/2!  I can break your water right now if you want!  That'll probably speed everything right up!"  Breathless with disbelief, I asked "you can reach the cervix?"  "Yes! No trouble at all!"  God had answered our prayers.  Eowyn had moved, and in one & 1/2 hours, my body had dilated 3 1/2 cm, when 36 hrs of labor had progressed me less than 1.  I was so thankful I was almost giddy, and I said "yes, yes! do it!"  I'll spare you the details of having your water broken, but I didn't much like it. :)


On to Transition

Now, the real fun began.  Steadily, the contractions grew harder.  I got louder, actually yelling, to tell the truth.  Judy helped me get control of myself, making sure I was one top, riding the contractions instead of being pulled, dragged, behind them.  I found a huge difference between vocalizing (yelling) as a way to keep focus and as a sign of losing control.  I often stared into Ryan's deep brown eyes, and he'd breathe with me.  I remember doing what my mom had told me she did in her labors, and crying out Jesus' name-- and having Him help me.  He kept giving me the endurance for one more contraction, never failed.  We kept the lights low, my "labor mix" playing, and I hung little E's white eyelet dress as a visual focal point.  Out the window was a pro-life billboard featuring one of my preK students as an infant in his father's hand, and that was another encouraging focus point.

By 9 am I tried getting into the labor tub.  The warm water felt great, but I got frustrated at how slippery I found the tub-- no hand-holds or places to push against.  I tried a few different things, but felt so insecure, like I'd just slip all the way under the water.  I remember begging Ryan "help me, please!" and drawing on his calm unflappable strength.  Looking back, I'm pretty sure this is when I hit transition.  I made my way back to the bed, and I remember asking Ryan "how many more do I have to do?"  "Just a few more, Baby, you're almost done."  "You don't know that!  You're just saying that to make me feel better!" "No, I really mean it- I promise."  (Internally, he was praying, "Lord, don't make me a liar!")  I remember thinking "women who do this more than once are clinically INSANE... yeah, I'm sure I'll be one of those insane women eventually..."  Once I think I shouted that I was going to DIE... but not once did the thought of pain meds cross my mind.  I was way too busy getting through each contraction as each came.

Beth & Judy suggested various labor positions.  Some helped, but being on my side was unbearable.  We tried it twice, since this often helps malpositioned babies rotate and descend, but I completely fell apart each time.  Something about childbirth is so intimate and precious-- the utter vulnerability you have in your nakedness and pain, yet the amazing power and confidence you feel as you alone must- and can- bring forth this mingling of you and your husband.

Final Phase:  Pushing!
11 am found me dilated to 9 1/2 cm, and Beth had me push a little bit as she stretched me the last 1/2 cm.  A few pushes later, and my body began giving me that unmistakable, undeniable urge to push.  It took me a little while to figure out how to coordinate pushing, breathing, resting, and the urges-- I actually did find it helpful for Judy to count once I started pushing with the urge, with me not stopping pushing for 10 counts.  Some women dread pushing, but I loved it.  It was like the pain of lifting weights vs. long-distance running.  With running, there's a persistent pain, but all you can do is keep going, confident that the pain will get you where you want to go.  With lifting, there's a specific pain of muscles giving all they have, with the sweet release of rest in between and the knowledge that that specific pain just accomplished some thing.  Also encouraging was watching the "baby team" assemble around me-- that meant she was close, right?  Between contractions, I collapsed against the pillows, with Ryan spooning ice chips into my mouth and my mom putting cool cloths on my forehead.  When another contraction started, I sat up, Mom snatched away the cloths, and I grabbed the squat bar and pushed with all my might.  Hah!  I just remembered Ryan's live-Tweeting of the event.  He would grab his phone and type a few words, then as soon as I sat up, rush back to my side.

By noon, Eowyn was crowning.   I gave a last huge push and her head was out.  I watched her be born, finding it fascinating that the grey mass suddenly became a face-- one looking straight at me (hah! THAT's why she took so long to come out-- she was "posterior" or "sunny side up").  Beth kept her hands ready to catch and coached Ryan on where to grab as I gave another push and she was out!  "How do I grip her? She's so slippery!" he laughed, and she was slippery!  I've never seen such a vernixy baby-- she looked like she was a wedge of white-rined cheese!  I reached down and caught her too, and pulled her straight up to look me in the eye.  My mom somehow snapped a picture of us staring at each other-- her mouth open in a cry of her first breath, mine in amazement that she was here, in the air!  12:09, and my family waiting outside the door heard a healthy lusty cry, and my amazed "Daddy!  We have a baby girl!"

It was another miracle to see the pink spread throughout her body, starting with her face & chest, and moving down to her grey-purple perfect fingers and toes.  The cord was long enough for me to cradle her and kiss on her easily, and she quieted down in my arms very soon.  I was totally blissful.  One of my favorite parts of natural labor is how amazing Mom feels once Baby is out, and how awake Baby is!  (This is how "high" I was:  soon as she was out, in my arms, and nursing, I turned to Ryan-- this is as they are still delivering my placenta, mind!-- and grinned "Let's do that again!" Apparently I'd already forgotten that an hour before I classified such "repeat offenders" as "clinically insane."  Yeah... endorphins, my friend.  They really do a body good.)  Delivering the placenta, being stitched up (2nd degree tear, 11 stitches), whatever!  I had my daughter in my arms!  She latched on and began to nurse very quickly, and as soon as she did my uterus started contracting again, stopping my bleeding and allowing me to forgo even a shot of pitocin.  Ryan cut the cord once it stopped pulsing.  We got a shock when the scale told us she was 8 lbs 10 1/2 oz!  "Where were you hiding her!?" Beth asked me. I remember Ryan saying that the family wanted to see the baby, and I freaked out "no! don't let anyone in!"  My modesty was returning, heh.  He assured me that no one would come in, but he did hold her up at the door so they could catch a look at the first grand child.

I remember crashing (energy-wise) as I was on the phone with a friend, telling her the good news.  All of a sudden I just wanted to sleep for days.  I was wheeled to recovery holding my baby, and was so proud to get all the compliments in the elevator-- could she be any more perfect?  Once we got to our room, Ryan took sleeping 2-hour-old Eowyn to the nursery for her observation & hearing tests, etc., and I pretty much passed out on the bed.  Sleep felt like ice cream... yummmmmm. :)  (Note:  we opted out of all newborn interventions except the Vitamin K shot, blood screen, and hearing test)


I'll just add that the one thing that I found surprising was how painful recovery was.  I'd expected a painful labor, but no one had told me how bad the renewed contractions would hurt every time I nursed Eowyn.  Nor did I anticipate a very bruised pelvis, combined with overall exhausted-muscle pain, and swollen "everything else."  It made moving very difficult and sitting impossible.  Thankfully I'd brought my own pillow and we had plenty of others to work with. :)  Oh yes, and good thing my reward was so precious!! :)

Marveling at Adoption

A good friend of mine from my college days, Kyle, recently released his first book, The Dream Key (a children's adventure/sci-fi novel) on Amazon as an ebook.  He's offering it free right now, so I snagged it.

It's a fun, fast read, with cool nuggets of poetry and truth throughout-- stuff that got me thinking.  One such snippet describes one aspect of life under the harsh religion known as The Order:

"Adoption is illegal here. It isn't theologically sound, they say. If someone receives new parents, they are receiving what they have not earned. The Order dictates that you must earn all that you receive, and since orphans cannot earn new parents, they must remain detached from any family life."

Think about that.  Adoption really is totally NOT merit-based.  No child could ever earn parents-- not their love, not their provision, not their care. such a reminder of why what we have in the Gospel (adoption by the King of Heaven!!) is so amazing, precious and undeserved!  (as is everything else, if you think about it... what if our religion, too, was based on earning?)

Those of you who've been Adopted, like me, just let this sink in:

"For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs--heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.  For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us."  (Rom. 8: 15-20)

Not only do we get to pray to God as His kids (no way are we holy enough to come into His presence otherwise!), we can look forward to receiving EVERYTHING THAT JESUS, His Perfect First Son GETS!!!!!  Enough that Paul, who was beaten within an inch of death many times, who was permanently scarred & disfigured by his whippings as a preacher, who was shipwrecked and imprisoned, could say "it's not even worth mentioning compared to what's coming After."  Talk about undeserved.

"But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God." (Gal 4:4-7)

God sent His One Son, Beloved from before Time existed, to be born to a life of suffering, then to die a death of utter desertion... why?  So that we-- hateful orphan urchins-- could be adopted as equals with that perfect, beloved, always-obedient Son.  How many of us would willingly do that to gain siblings?  How many parents would willingly send their children to do that?

And one more that I especially love:
"As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust." (Psalm 103:13-14)

As is so often the case, it's children's literature (and/or the fantasy/sci-fi imagination-stoking genre) that leads me to worship.  Story has such power to teach!  What a beauty the "baptized imagination" is!!  (that's a CS Lewis reference to George MacDonald's writings, btw)

Parents,  kids, kids at heart, go download the book (if you have an iPhone but no kindle you can get it on your iPhone through the Kindle for iPhone app)!  Apart from a few very minor editorial glitches it's really good!  My only complaint is... it's a cliff-hanger ending!!  Sequel, you'd better be on your way!!

[if anyone is wondering why a Christian girl like me would spend time reading- no, reveling!- in fantasy or sci-fi literature, please check out these 4 posts on the topic:  In Defense of Magic, The Defense, Cont,  Addendum to the Defense, and What About that Scary Ghost?) Two other great short quotes from GK Chesterton and Dorothy Sayers might help too.]

Happy "Three Kings Day!"

Gifts of men from distant lands

Prophesy the story:

Gold- a King is born today,

Incense- our God is with us,

 Myrrh- His death will make a way,

And by His blood He'll win us. 

- "Joy Has Dawned" by Keith Getty & Stuart Townend, 2004

It's the last day of Christmas ...you know the old song, "The 12 Days of Christmas"?  It refers to the old practice of actually celebrating 12 days of "Christmastide;" starting December 25th (the end of the "Advent" season in the Church year), and stretching 12 full days until Epiphany, or "Three Kings Day."  Yes, yes, shhhh all you Theologically-Correct peeps, we KNOW that the Magi probably didn't come exactly 12 days after Jesus' birth to the stable in Bethlehem (it was probably more like 2 years later... in a house), and they weren't exactly"kings," and we don't know that there were three of them... but the name has a nice ring, ok?  Just play along.

Epiphany is defined as "from the Greek epiphaneia:  manifestation, striking appearance."  We use the word to mean a sudden revelation, a flash of inspiration or understanding.  In the sense of the holiday, the word is used literally: the sudden revealing of God as a man, not only the long-awaited Messiah of the Jews but also the Savior of the World... even of Gentiles, like... me.  Today was set aside by the church fathers to celebrate the day that Old Testament prophesies opening up the salvation offered in Israel would be extended to the world, exemplefied by foreign wise men bowing low and giving this child their treasures.  

Isaiah 49:6 records God the Father speaking about His coming servant:
“It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to bring back the preserved of Israel; I will make you as a light for the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.” Isaiah 60:3 adds: "And nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising"

All day Simeon's words spoken over the 8-day-old Jesus have rung in my ears:

“Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel.” Luke 2:24-32

Eowyn & I made ginger-molasses cookies, invited some friends over for the Veggie Tales "The Star of Christmas" and played with the Nativity Set one last time.  I tried to listen to hymns about the Wise Men, Simeon (hear my favorite song on that topic, "Your King Has Come," here.)
or the Incarnation.  I'm so thankful that God decided to open up salvation to us Gentiles!  Today has been a good day to "remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world.  But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ."

And that all started with the Incarnation, as lowly (shepherds) and high (Magi) alike were brought near to worship the King of kings.

Pearls of Pain

I've been working on a post on brokenness and creativity- on the part grief & loss plays on our ability to tell Stories... but... it will have to wait.  My sister called, and two hours later, I'm even more tired than I was before (though I have even more to think about- sisters are good for that). =D  A line from a poem I'd written in college kept coming back to me, about how Jesus gathered up every broken bit of bread after He'd fed the 5000.  Such a picture of our Lord's intentionality in breaking:  He never breaks needlessly or wastefully.  Anyway, I dug through my old journals & found this in #30.  It was written as I watched a close friend allow her suffering & pain to pull her inward instead of outward, forfeiting the blessings she could both have and be.  It's not the greatest poem I've ever written by any stretch, but here it is. The imagery of pain as a pearl isn't all that bad-- pearls are formed through irritation, through pain-- and they benefit no one if kept within.  Best of all, though, is the idea that in our pain, we meet Him.  As Ben Patterson put it, "He is the treasure to be found in all that hurts us."  (Waiting)  A treasure meant not only for us, but for us to share.

"A Precious Pearl"

We sat and watched the falling rain
You near to me,
Yet sealed so tight--
Curled up around your pearl of pain.

Do you know my tears can fall?
That I cry out
And wrestle doubt,
Watching you weep there, in your wall?

You know it's precious in His sight?
A death, a cross,
A fruitful loss--
That pain that curls you up so tight.

I think of bread, by Galilee...
He never wastes
A thing He breaks,
But gathers it to useful be.

I think of Acts, how He decreed
His glorious Name
And Bride's delight
As end of every holy deed.

As left Hand takes, His right one gives,
His promise stands:
The one with Christ,
Though he have naught, yet full he lives.

A pearl of pain, of loss, of shame
So costly, so
Isolating--
Yet priceless, meant His grace to frame.

written June 20, 2005

Little Bit of Mid-Winter Sun

She was intimidated by the waves, and just
wanted to curl up and "sleep" for quite a while.

Ryan's company had a retreat & then hosted a Dupal Commerce training near Ft. Lauderdale, Florida this past week (in Hallandale/Hollywood, FL).  He pitched the idea of us coming along a few months back, but I wasn't sure I'd be feeling up to traveling.  However, as the day drew nearer, I was more afraid I wasn't feeling up to being alone!  So we bought tickets and began to look forward to a few days in the warmth.

I am SO thankful we got to do this.  God gave me a wonderful break from pregnancy-sickness and I felt much better than I had in a while.  The warm sun & cool water felt great on my poor ol' legs, and Eowyn had a blast splashing in the pool and kicking over my sandcastles (with absolutely no remorse).  The hotel was quite nice, with a pool & hot tub that we got to enjoy the first night because the thermostat was turned way down (yay!).  Every morning Eowyn & I would head to the beach for a few hours-- she was mostly terrified of the waves, and the water was too cold for my liking, but it was very warm (70s-80) in the sun, and we would spread a towel or grab a lounge chair and read books or play in the sand.  She loved burying her feet and then fake crying "Mama, I lost my feet!  I can't find them!"  She also enjoyed sprinkling my legs with sand and wanting me to cry... One morning I had the idea to bring along a plastic cup and that was definitely her favorite-- she dug and poured and loved watching me build, the whole time asking "I knock it over now?"  Once the sun had risen a good bit and the shallow end of the hotel pool was in full sunlight, we would go to the pool & splash around.  She absolutely loved it!!

We took nice naps after lunch, and in the afternoon did a variety of things.  Once we walked with a friend to get some Ben & Jerry's, another time we were stuck inside from the rain & watched cartoons.  Once we went back to the pool.  Eowyn learned to "play" Angry Birds on our phones.  Everyone doted on her; some of Ryan's business partners even bought her an Angry Birds Hallandale Beach t-shirt!!  Totally the perfect souvenir...

Ryan's business partner Tim had arranged all sorts of fun food outings for us, and we enjoyed sushi on the Broadwalk (no, that's not a typo), catered food by the hotel pool, excellent seafood, huge juicy burgers (though we were terrorized by giant crows dropping sea grapes on us... seriously, they left purple stains on Ryan's pants!), and a memorable middle eastern restaurant -complete with belly dancer -where Eowyn learned to shout "Opa!" and throw napkins in the air.

I was shocked at how FEW families were down there-- we saw maybe 2 other young children on the beach when we went.  Everyone else was at least 65.  I can't wait to homeschool and just head down to the beach in December "because!" :)  The first afternoon we arrived, Ryan, Eowyn & I were splashing around in the pool, almost delirious because it was 80 degrees and it was due to snow back home, and we were in swimsuits, and I remember saying "coming here was the best idea we've ever had!"  So, thank you, Commerce Guys, for making it possible, and ultimately, thank You, Father, who delights to give your children undeserved, unexpected good gifts.

Just not sure about those waves...

Finally, a grin!  (I showed her how to "lose" her feet)

One of our lunch spots

Looking for the birds

They're cute now... wait until they're dropping stuff on your head

Playing in the hotel pool

Found it!

Chillin' like a villain

Another favorite pastime: splashing

Mr. Tim entertaining her with his iPad

Cup +Sand = FUN!

Told you everyone doted on her...

She was absolutely taken with this little "P'incess" book, given her by the hotel staff