October 15th: To Remember

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.

This year should feel different for me because 2013 has been a big year for us.  What I'm about to tell you doesn't change how blessed I feel to have Ryan, though:  we still hurt.

Favorite and I both believed we would feel differently about loss after we held Ryan in our arms, but I think the truth is that loss is more poignant now.  We are aware of what we missed--what we are still missing.

My life is no longer saddled in grief.  I don't agonize over what could have been.  But I am aware of what was and what is, and that awareness is often a daily realization.  I think that's why days like this are so important.  We need to remember.  Remembrance is the very thing that changes the core of who we become in response to pain.

In recent years, I've become aware of how common miscarriage is.  The statistics say twenty-five percent.  My experience says either the statistics are wrong, or I am surrounded by all twenty-five percent.  Each of these situations has been different.  Some have handled the loss very privately, some openly, some with tears, others with shrugged shoulders.  What I've realized, however, is these were all tangible losses--even when that isn't obvious to the observer.

So I remember.  I remember the blessing and the joy and the excitement.  And I remember in order to respond with compassion, forgiveness and grace.

On Friendship

I miss her.  That's enough of a reminder that even the best of decisions come with negative consequences.

There were a lot of reasons we shouldn't have been compatible.  We're both loud and opinionated.  I was a bit of a recluse and she had no idea how to sit at home.  She was a runner (or at least a former runner).  I believed running would be best left to chase scenes in movies (and seriously reconsidered then).

But for a lot of reasons, she encouraged me to push beyond previously held boundaries.  She was just as excited to find out I was pregnant as my family was.  She called me after every.single.doctor's.appointment.  (Seriously.  How do you even keep on track of those things?)  And I'm pretty sure she wanted to snuggle Ryan as much as I did.

She had her faults.  (I probably have a few extras.)  Some people believed those faults were glaring enough to discount her, but for me?  She was the friend I needed when I needed one.  For some reason, I get the idea I fulfilled that role for her, too.  And that type of friendship is hard to overlook.  It demands a loyalty I can't and won't attempt to explain.

I never presumed her decisions would be easy, and I told her as much.  Even now, I think and rethink the boundaries that were set and try to determine how things could've been different.

But I miss her all the same.

Quick Reflections: James Week One Day Two

A note from my Bible study (I'm revisiting James:  Mercy Triumphs.  It's a study I never finished, but I sense the timeliness of it in my life now.  I'm making an honest effort to get into the Word daily.):

"The power of the resurrection trumps the power of the past if we're willing to let it...When, like a laser, the call of Christ sears a hole through your self-protectiveness, you go wherever He leads whether or not you feel like you fit" (Moore 21).

I wonder if I've spent too long asking God to put someone in a leadership position who is willing to push boundaries and challenge mediocrity when He's continually asking me to do that very thing.  I'm not a fan of leadership, because, like John Proctor in The Crucible, "God knows how black my sins are."  Those positions should be relegated to those who don't taint Christianity any more than it already has been throughout history.

But my heart...My heart keeps asking for something more than showing up, reciting and declaring.  How much am I really living my supposed ideals?  Moore, anticipating James' thoughts after Peter's imprisonment, states, "We may lose our heads, but we cannot lose our souls.  The stakes are up.  The fire is lit.  It's time to live like those who cannot die.  Welcome to the lives of those called Christians" (22--emphasis, Moore).  Those thoughts?  They make me wonder where my life is reflecting these ideals.

When Enough is Enough

It's been a weird year.  So many good things have happened.  So many weird things have happened.  And many of them continue to culminate in the same thought for me:  oversharing.

This blog has been a public place--one I've been proud to update regularly in the hope I was encouraging others.  But the fact of the matter is I've become uncomfortable with the questions that surround social media.  How much should I share?  What should I share?  How safe are my pictures/thoughts?

Recent events (and a two week old conversation with BigBro) have lead me to one obvious conclusion:  I am no longer comfortable with the public nature of this blog. 

In a week, I intend to make this space private.  I am not against sharing with readers (mostly those I know, but also those for whom I've developed a great affinity--Pissed and Mindee in particular.  But there are more of you to consider).  Those who are interested will be required to email me so I can add their email addresses to a "safe" list.

This isn't a decision I've taken lightly or one I've made overnight.  Writing is a cathartic process for me, and I've been glad to encourage readers along the way.  It occurs to me, however, I've been willing to limit the people with whom I interact personally.  Why would I not embrace privacy with my own words?

Thank you for reading for the last few years.  It's been a ride.  I've been so thankful for the comments, encouragement and prayers along the way.  I covet them now.  But I also appreciate your understanding for this decision.

Sometimes, it's just time to say enough.

On Prayer: Asking the Questions

I've attended various versions of buy-from-home parties where I have increased my clothing accessories, slapped my monogram on various items and outfitted my kitchen for the culinary apocalypse.  Without fail, these sales ladies have employed one tactic to generate interest in their professional pursuits:  The Question Game.

I love the question game because I am essentially a four-year-old masquerading as a thirty-something woman.  I win every.single.time, and have a variety of spoils to show for my efforts. 

Really, though, it's not a skill I developed for those parties.  I just have a lot of questions. So when a pastor at my church starting asking congregants for questions about prayer, I thought, "The man has no idea what sort of Pandora's box he has opened." 

For me, prayer is a compulsory enigma.  I need it, but I understand very little about it.  For instance, does prayer change my heart?  Or does it change God's?  If the latter is true, under what conditions will God change His mind or is this a matter of waiting for the right time?  David interceded for his son, but that child was still lost due to sin.  But Abraham prayed on Lot's behalf and was granted his request (after what appears to be several rounds of negotiating) with no mention of sin or lack thereof in Lot's life. 

When, if ever, should I accept a "no" from God in prayer?  Do I continue to intercede for that want/need or do I call it a day and let it go?  We only see one instance of Jesus praying for his cup to pass while still relinquishing himself to God's will.  I wonder, though, if this wasn't the prayer of His life. 

But more than anything, I wonder why we seem to ignore the prayers of lament.

Throughout the Bible, I see examples of people simply crying out to God.  They aren't declaring how great He is.  They aren't asking for miracles or daily bread or even His kingdom.  They just want to know why.  Why do things happen when You are capable of stopping them.  Why is there so much grievous injury when you could heal it?  Why are there unfulfilled needs and empty pews and lifeless people?  Why, Lord?

Why do we as a church feel the need to answer these prayers?  To give a reason for God's permissiveness or His (seeming) lack of movement in some of these situations?  Why don't we allow him to be questioned in a way that really allows Him to be God?

To relegate these sorts of prayers to the closets of the individuals who pray them seems calloused and a far-reaching lack of knowledge about the types of prayer that exist in our own scripture.

Last year, I read Nichole Nordeman's book, Love Story.  In early July, before I even knew miracles could happen to me, I found myself stuck on the chapter about Job.  I was mesmerized that congregations could gather to collectively ask "Why, God?" without inserting the often expected "but." 

This form of crying out wasn't revolutionary to me.  I had done it in my living room.  On my bedroom floor.  In my bathtub.  In waiting rooms.  Exam rooms.  Classrooms.  On church pews and park benches.  Lament is what I did.  For a while, I'd venture to say it's who I was.

Maybe these types of prayers are meant to break our hearts open before the only One who really can deal with the unanswered questions.  I don't really know.  The only thing I really understood was the process of crying out.

What do these prayers demand of us?  What do they require of God?  What do they do for our hearts?  Or our relationship?  And my biggest question:  why don't we do more of it?  If these are the things modeled in scripture, the real-life scenarios we're facing, why don't we participate?

I wish I knew. 

Emerson, Care and General Action

Favorite keeps asking me when I plan to post again (or if I ever plan to post Ryan's 5 month update).  Truthfully, I never intended to stop posting; it was just the natural consequence of several recent occurrences. 

But like Emma Stone will tell you, literature has a way of working itself into the crevices of daily life.  (Or she said something like that in Easy A--taking exception to Huckleberry Finn.  And honestly?  Who could blame her.  It's the one piece of literature I've purposely avoided in my classroom.)  So thirty-five Transcendental speeches later, I'm here to tell you that Ralph Waldo Emerson was on to something when he said, "What I must do is all that concerns me, not what people think."

Approximately thirty of my thirty-five juniors disagreed.  Most believed it necessary to acknowledge the thoughts and feelings of others.  And while I don't necessarily disagree with my students' assessments, I can say I'm not sure Emerson was advocating disregard for every person's feelings at all times.  Instead, his subsequent thoughts indicate his belief in making decisions for one's self instead of allowing the majority to rule:  "This rule, equally arduous in actual and intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude."

Maintaining a sense of perfect sweetness is a great deal harder when people continually try their cases in the court of public opinion--usually because public opinion requires a villain to vindicate the person claiming innocence.  To put it lightly, there's never a clear winner and there's almost always collateral damage.

I'm speaking from experience.  In the last few years, my reputation and the reputations of members of my family have been called into question because of one situation or another.  It didn't seem to matter if we had commented publicly on those situations.  (Mostly, we hadn't.)  Nor did past precedent play a part.  That statement is neither here nor there and you are welcome to completely disregard its validity.

Frankly, I just don't give a damn.  And that's the chair I've been sitting in for the last month or so.

Emerson's right.  All I must do is what concerns me, so here is a list of things that just don't concern me:

1.  Personal opinions about my general character:  Your thoughts are none of my business.  And you know what?  You are welcome to believe about me what you wish to believe.  Ardent belief can't turn a potato into a BMW.  Since I know that, believe away.

2.  General comments about Christian action on Facebook (or otherwise):  The most Godly people I know are doing their best to follow a Jesus they love.  It doesn't mean I always agree with their actions, but I certainly appreciate their sincere approach to the gospel of Christ.

3.  Gossip or slander about people I know or people I've never met:  Of course I have opinions.  But the past five years have been a wake-up call on the issue of personal comments about others.  Say what you need to say.  But don't expect a response.

I am not interested in defending myself.  In the past, I've always had a comment.  Always.  Largely, I think that's what is responsible for my silence about anything except for my son on the blogosphere.  Now, though?  I just don't care.  Think what you wish to think.  Disregard every part of what you've seen.  Believe absolutely everything you've heard.  Make up stuff if you want.

I.Just.Don't.Care.

And you know what I've learned?

I'm lighter.  Less uptight.  A freer version of myself.

Maybe this is the last in a long line of lessons about confidence.

And maybe it's just the beginning.

More than likely, though, this space will change.  I feel less willing to share my personal thoughts these days.  I'm more protective of my internal workings.  I've felt embarrassed that I ever shared some of the things I did in such a public forum and even more red-faced to learn the number of people who read those thoughts.

But writing, especially public writing, is a process.  And I'm in the middle of the process--how it evolves, what it becomes and how that impacts my life.

So, where do I go from here?

I can tell you comfortably:  I have no idea.

Ryan--Four Months

Ryan,

You are four months old!  A few days ago, I had the privilege to hold newborn babies and I couldn't believe that four short months would make such a big difference.  I've discovered that a Mommy's heart is always broken in half--one half mourns what is gone and the other half celebrates what is and what's to come.  So while I miss the teeny baby you were, Daddy and I are really enjoying seeing your little personality.

You weigh 16.19 lbs (66.22%) and are 24.5 inches tall (21.28%--still short!).  Your head circumference is 42.5 cm (76.44%) continuing the family tradition of big heads!  (Your cousin, Matti, was always in the 99%!)

You consistently take 6 ounces at every feeding (about five times a day), and you are wearing 3-6 month (and some 6 month) clothes.

You are constantly drooling, and you will chew on anything anyone gives you.  (Gwandma thought it was pretty funny you went for her coffee with such passion.  More proof you belong to us.) You also like sitting in your Bumbo.  I think you like the independence, but you sure do let me know when you're finished.

Every morning, you eat your bottle and then I lay you down on the chair and we sing.  You really love music.  In fact, you get really quiet and listen when I sing to you and we've learned that you generally won't take a bottle during worship at church because you can't pay as much attention to Mal and 'Mane (our worship ministers).  Your current favorites are "One Thing Remains," "Our God is Able," and "The God of Angel Armies."

While I'm singing, you usually play with your feet.  You love them.  You pull them up to play pretty well any time we lay you down, and you get super fascinated if we put shoes on you.  I found a pair of house-shoe type booties when I was cleaning out your closet and you wouldn't look away from your feet most of the day.

You are pretty good natured--mornings are your best time.  It's usually fairly easy to calm you down; however, when you do decide to melt down?  EPIC.  You can scream at the top of your lungs for an indefinite amount of time.  Typically, that happens at night when you've refused to nap.

Frankly, you're not much of a napper.  I can generally get you to take a morning nap in your swing and sometimes you take an afternoon nap--a couple of times you've napped for two hours in your swing--but you mostly catnap here and there.  If you are in your swing, you have to have your fuzzy blanket and you always pull it over your face to snooze.  I can always tell when you're tired because you rub your eyes, and you've even been known to fall asleep sitting up.

You sleep in your crib now.  In general, we put you down around 8:30 and you sleep until 7:00 or 7:30 the next morning.  Sometimes Daddy and I listen to you on the monitor and you talk yourself back to sleep.

We've found that if you're really fussy, we can take you outside and you will calm down almost immediately.  You are especially fond of porch swings, but any sort of outside adventure will work for you.

You really love the water right now.  You would prefer the pool water to be the same temperature as your bath water.  You do love baths, too.  Daddy says we'll have to move you to the big tub soon because you splash all the water out on the counter top.

You have rolled from your front to your back once, but you really despise being laid down.  We tried to work on rolling, and it always ended with horrible facial expressions and tears.  Frankly, you would rather sit up or practice standing.  You're awfully close to sitting up all by yourself, and I've started believing you'll probably walk before you try to roll over consistently.

I love your facial expressions, and the sound of your giggling is the best thing I've ever heard in my life.  You are pretty greedy with the giggles.  People have to work for them, and even then you're fairly selective.  Sometimes you will laugh when we laugh, but you spend more time observing everything going on around you.

You're a pretty chatty little guy.  You make all sorts of noises and you "talk" to the people you're observing--especially in busy places (like the mall).

We cloth diaper almost exclusively (except when we travel), and you do well with those.  Diaper changes are hard because you are forever pulling your feet up so you can play.

Yesterday you ate with a spoon for the first time.  You had rice cereal on your face.  In your hair.  On your hands.  In your eyelashes.  Up your nose.  It was pretty well ev.ery.wh.ere.  You got a bath promptly after.

While I'm sad to see your baby days passing so quickly, I'm so enjoying giggles and talking that it's hard to be too sad.  Pretty soon we'll be writing about walking and solid food!

You've changed my life, baby boy.  I'm pretty sure my heart will never be the same.

I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always.

Mommy