Elias Carter

You arrived without pomp and circumstance a full two days after your due date.  Your delivery was so significantly different from your brothers that I almost doubt I'm the one who gave birth to both of you--and had I not been present, I wouldn't be sure.

When you failed to arrive on your due date, my doctor scheduled an induction to begin Saturday evening.  They went through the usual steps and finally started Pitocin after noon on Sunday.  Frankly, I didn't expect much to happen, but I was clearly mistaken because you made your grand entrance at 6:08 pm.  Less than five hours of labor and I was holding you; that's a surreal experience for someone who spent three days in labor previously.

When my nurse was asking about previous labor, Daddy and I mentioned that I never would dilate, but when I finally did, I went from a 4 to a 10 in about an hour.  So when Dr. Schneider came in to discuss labor with us and the nurse, she confirmed that when I got to a 4, my nurse really needed to be on her toes.  She walked out of the room and that sweet girl looked at me and said, "So, as soon as you feel pressure, I need to know.  OK?"

Not long after that, I felt pressure.  I told Daddy and he said I should wait for a couple more contractions just to make sure I was feeling what I thought I was feeling.  After two more contractions, I was pretty sure.  We called the nurse who immediately confirmed I was at a 9.  She called Dr. Schneider who said, "I'm on my way."

She walked into my room 30 seconds later and automatically began "suiting up."  My nurse looked at her a bit panicked and said, "She hasn't dilated fully.  The baby nurse is next door.  They're doing practice pushes."  Dr. Schneider responded, "Call her.  We aren't practicing; we're actually having a baby."

Five minutes and one push later, they laid you on my chest.  The baby nurse hadn't made it in time.

You are beautiful, little Eli.  You are everything we've anticipated, and the sweetest blessing since we met your brother just over a year ago.  Your name means "Yahweh is my God," and there's no better acknowledgement of how you came to be in our lives.  Some people anticipate one blessing.  Few people can embrace the overwhelming surprise of two, but that's exactly where Daddy and I are:  two blessings, two boys.

I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always,
Mommy

On Fear

I can't remember a time I didn't love to read.  Even when my parents strongly encouraged us (with lack of choice) to participate in children's quizzing at church, I found stories and characters in scripture with whom I fell in love.




But they weren't the Israelites.




There wasn't a time when I read anything about the Israelites that I had any faith in their ability to be anything but whiny pains in the butt.  Deliver them from Egypt?  They think they'll starve.  Give them food and water?  They'll refuse to follow directions and hoard so it rots.  Follow them as a cloud and a pillar of fire?  They'll build a calf so they can have a tangible representation of something to worship.




It might be fair to say I'm a bit of a smug reader.  I could flip forward a few pages and know exactly how God intended to provide so I spent a lot of time smacking my forehead and thinking that these Israelite people really weren't the brightest crayons in the box.  The God of the Universe who delivered you from Pharaoh was clearly going to feed you in the desert, morons.  Get.It.Together.


If only I'd known that somewhere in my 30s I'd realize fear can be an awfully powerful motivator.  Because then?  I'd recognize myself in the hearts of these people who had witnessed miracle after miracle only to whine that the next set of needs could not possibly be met.


Fear is paralyzing.  I know because I've spent much of the last year in that state.


Oh, let's be honest.  Fear is the thing I fight on a regular basis.  But it's certainly been much more debilitating this last year.  After moving from a church with pastor/financial issues, Favorite and I found ourselves in a church with severe pastor/financial issues.  While we weren't the only ones blindsided by the lies, we did ask a lot of questions.  It's hard to discount the fact that two churches faced similar leadership issues (which one church sanctioned and one church did not) and the only common denominator was us.  An entire congregation faced severe loss--in friendship, trust, unity and money.


I lost the first close friend I've had since my best friend moved to Ohio.


Let me be honest:  I've been terrified.  Sure, I've seen God move us in miraculous ways, but in the latter part of 2013 (and the first part of 2014), all I could see was that He led us out of Egypt to starve in the desert. 


It wasn't long until things at work unraveled due to an unsettled contract and negotiations that would prove to create what is best termed as a hostile work environment for the better part of 6 months.  We were far from destitute, but in each situation, terror was slowly claiming pieces of my mind.  And the unclaimed pieces?  Were dry from the desert sun.


Then, in the desert, I discovered we were expecting.


If Ryan was the blessing of my life, Eli is proof of God's overwhelming extravagance.  But his presence did little to alleviate my fear.  Suddenly, I was hoarding manna and quickly discovering God's command to take only what I needed resulted in rot and panic.


In the past 7 months, I've been terrified that Eli's birth will meet with far less excitement than Ryan's.  It's hard to lose a cheerleader, and I know Courtney would have asked about every doctor's appointment and movement.  She wouldn't have raised her eyebrows that my sons are going to be so close in age (or told me terrifying stories about how awful the first year is going to be) and she would've thought it was great we were having another boy.  I'm not romanticizing her reactions either; I experienced them first hand with Ryan.


I'm scared to become a mom of two.  Sure, women have done it before me, but I've only been in this mommy business for a year.  I don't have it figure out so throwing another baby in the mix when Ryan is still very much a baby is, well, I have a hard time catching my breath.


Blessed?  Sure.  Beyond belief.  But like a thundercloud at a pool party, fear often overshadows the blessing I know I should be feeling right now.


I keep putting my ear a little closer to the page when I read about the Israelites.  I need to hear their individual voices and see God's tender hand consistently moving across those pages to touch the concerns of each person--not because I'm not blessed, but because I don't want fear to become the mitigating factor in my reaction to every situation.


Like Paul, I think most situations are about having scales fall from our eyes so we can see just a little more clearly--all the while anticipating the day when we don't see through a glass darkly.

The One Where I Ramble About Being Passionate and Settling my Work Contract

A hundred meaningless thoughts and less than a hundred seconds to get them into some sort of meaningful format so I can sort through them accordingly.


Ready.
Set.
Go.


My union settled our contract recently.  This has been a huge source of relief in the last eight-months-from-hell.  I know people in general have a lot of opinions about unions and contract negotiations.  You're welcome to your opinion.  Frankly, I struggled a bit with my opinion on this particular contract.


Actually, that's in large part what made this contract a fresh slice of hell in the workplace:  there were a lot of opinions, there wasn't a lot of communication and several "personal" issues (among board members and faculty members alike) became the roadblocks to a settlement.  Before we finally reached the point of exhaustion, the IEA sent representatives in to ask if we were willing to strike over the issues at hand.


Strike.  The word still makes me a little sick to my stomach.  Was that something I wanted?  Absolutely not.  I don't think any party benefits from a strike, but when there is no recourse because each side has drawn a proverbial line in the sand...then what?  That's the question I kept asking myself.


The community at large believed all members of the union were stalled over a raise and insurance benefits.  (In fact, one school board member's wife took to a public forum to make her opinions regarding our "posh" contract known.)  And that's fine.  You are welcome to believe what you wish to believe about teachers and negotiations in general.  In my own mind, though, I was struggling with what feels like the constant deprofessionalization of education. 


Frankly, public education is suffering under the weight of constant reform--reform that rarely has enough years in practice to see any real change or progress.  So when it comes to drawing and keeping quality educators?  I get a little passionate.


It's not about summers off.  It's not about working 7.5 hours a day and throwing in the towel.  It's not about babysitting or entertaining.  For me, this isn't a career or a place to bide my time at all.  It's a calling.


This week alone I've been reminded how important it is to hire people who are passionate about what they do because teenagers?  Are often unlovable.  In fact, about 40% of them spend 100% of their time acting like complete douche-canoes while maintaining a desperate need for someone to care for each of them consistently.


And consistency is hard--especially when these teenagers often lash out with personal insults.  This job clearly isn't for people who are holding on for summers off.  The other nine months make that abundantly clear.


So was I willing to strike for the sake of drawing and maintaining coworkers who are going to stand in the trenches with me and holler about what needs more attention, what shouldn't be ignored and push for the things that have taken a backseat to standardized tests?  You bet your ass I am.  Too many of my students come from homes best described as VOID.  Not fighting for those students feels like a betrayal.  Fighting for more money on my paycheck (while nice) when they potentially suffer at the hands of what is left for public education feels like a betrayal.


And I wish I felt as confident about my decision (which ended up not mattering since we settled) as I sound here.


Why don't I?  Because THE FEAR.  Oh gracious heavens, the fear.


But that's another post for another day.

The End of Winter

I will never understand why we start the new year in the middle of winter.  Nothing is new in January; it's all dead, dying, cold and generally dull.  We should honestly save resolutions for Easter because I'd be willing to bet more people would stick to an exercise routine in 70 degree weather than a gym regimen in the middle of the coldest month in the Midwest (except for this winter when all winter months have sucked).






It caught me off guard to see Sweet Williams blooming yesterday.  I should've expected their arrival given the nice weather we've been experiencing for the last few days, but I've gotten so used to the endless winter, I'd forgotten they would grace us with their presence at all. 






I needed to see Sweet Williams.  I think I needed to be reminded that all winters--figurative and literal--come to an end. 






I'm still working on how that ending looks.  I understand very little about forgiveness, grace or even gratitude, and I didn't know that until we were hit with an endless snowstorm.  So that's where this season begins--a few steps, patches of purple-y carpet and the hope of glory.

On Facebook...Again.

I've laughed at all the stupid memes on Pinterest that point out how Facebook makes us hate people we know while (insert name of other social media here) makes us love people we don't know. I've laughed because there's a ring of truth about that meme. And several years ago, that was one of the reasons I chose to take a step back from Facebook.

My reappearance was innocent enough. I realized a few family members didn't use Instagram so I linked Favorite's Facebook profile in order to force post pictures from Instagram. After a week or two, I realized I was missing the comments on those pictures, so I would occasionally log in to read those. While I was there, it happen that my mom or one of my SILs was on chat so we'd talk for a few minutes.

 Eventually I was reading through the newsfeed regularly, participating in a constant chat stream with several of the teachers from my school and occasionally commenting on a few of the things that caught my interest. I would gripe to Favorite about the articles I found frustrating and found myself discontent with people who posted information I found to be narrow...or worse yet, I began to feel some posts that were likely innocent markers of that person's emotional state were personal attacks toward me and mentally began to hold them accountable for their, admittedly innocent, action.

 Here's where it gets even stranger: outside of Facebook, I don't care. Your beliefs about my personality, your personal preference on breastfeeding or recent weight loss are really none of my business. (I'd prefer to know your individual stance on vaccinations so I can decide whether or not to keep my kid away from yours, but again, that's your choice.) I am totally open to conversations about Common Core, World Vision, Christianity or personal problems, but I don't feel Facebook promotes real conversation. Sure, social media is supposed to help us all become more social. But I don't know that we should give that type of fragmented exchange the same weight we give to a fluid conversation. It's a whole lot easier to part and parcel someone else from behind a computer screen than it is to do it face-to-face.

 There are a lot of things I enjoy about social media. I love seeing pictures from old classmates. I like being on the periphery of most conversations--basically to feel like I am a part. Plus, it's nice to know when important things go down in the lives of old friends (or family members)--like in the case of my high school best friend's dad who went through a lung transplant recently. Without access to Facebook, I missed most of that stuff. And I felt a little cut off from people I actually saw on a regular basis. (Mostly because the conversation had started and ended on Facebook...usually the night before.)

 But if I weigh that against the ill feelings and the lack of real exchange with another human being? Facebook doesn't even come close. I'm trying to decide if I'll keep force posting from Instagram. For now, I think I've decided I will. There aren't many comments on Facebook anyway, and Favorite, who doesn't have Instagram, can still see, too. If I'm tempted, knowing what I know about how I'm impacted by Facebook, then I'm just not thinking clearly.

 After all, who needs a reason to dislike people they know in real life?

The Truth in Love

“If our only response is to speak the truth in love to the exclusion of the hundreds and hundreds of verses that call us toward mercy, peace, kindness, hospitality, and patience while leaving judgment to God, the only One able to judge fairly and correctly (James 4:11-12), consequently also the only One who transforms and sanctifies, then I insist that you exercise that practice with every single sinner in your life.  Every single one.  Every single sin.  Otherwise that obedience has no integrity.  Every. Single. Sin.  I want it called out in truth and love, I want it blogged about, I want it argued into legislation, I want it discussed in public forums outside of genuine relationships, I want articles, I want excommunications.  I would respect a believer who calls out every sinner and sin around him in equal measure over one who selectively applies Scripture to certain categories. (I would not like that believer, but I would at least respect his consistency.)”  --Jen Hatmaker

I’ve been in the middle of this weird personal crisis where I keep trying to determine what it means to be in community with other people, how to best use my gifts and even this strange assessment of what my gifts actually are.  In a lot of ways, I’ve been limited in how I can write about it—partially because there seems to be weight in a word written and partially because I just don’t know what to say.  Even identifying a starting point is difficult.  Well, if you’re the kind of person who needs clear starts and stops.

A lot of people do—need clear starts and stops, that is.  And those starts and stops must be accompanied by clear reasons and must be logical to the person listening.  Rarely does the logic allow hurt on both sides and even less often does it account for the consequences of choice.

That’s where I’d like to start at least.  I’d like to call it speaking the truth in love and just lay all my raw thoughts out there from the last year.  That’s one reason the quote from Hatmaker caught my attention.  Her basic admonition is that we tend toward the truth we feel is necessary to share and assume love is present because this person or that person is/was tragically unaware of his/her transgression.  But it also caught my attention because I don’t know how best to love people.  And as someone who often says the wrong thing without even intending to (or realizing it), I can tell you loving people in Christ and for Christ feels like the equivalent of holding a live grenade.  I’m not sure when or how it will go bad, but I am sure we’re all heading downhill.

Usually, that means I’m hesitant to commit to people.  I stand to the side and watch and carefully catalog what I notice.  I see that you are afraid people won’t like you or that what you’re doing will be unsuccessful so you attempt to guide situations or people’s thoughts in the direction you’d most like them to go.  I’ve noticed that you’ve been hurt badly enough to cushion your interactions with everyone.  Most of the time, I catch your insecurity and your attempt to cover it with positive statements that often come across (personal opinion here) as hollow. 

Watching has afforded me a wide assortment of knowledge about other people.  Very often, people will be clear about exactly who they are if we are patient enough to pay attention.  So while some of it is based on personal opinion, much of it is performed loudly enough that I get it without ever allowing my thoughts to enter the picture.  That said, my problem isn’t really seeing people (for the most part).

I just don’t know what to do with that information.  I don’t know how best to love you in your circumstance.  Favorite says I come off as judge-y.  I don’t know how that statement could be anything but true.  If I can see you, but I don’t know what to do with you, I find ways to stay away from you.  It’s that simple and that complicated all at once. 

Here’s my struggle with how this applies to community, though:  I deeply understand the theology of grace.  I know myself and my tendencies and I am flabbergasted that Jesus would also see those things and want me anyway.  My unsurety sits firmly in the fact that I have no idea how to react toward other people with that kind of grace even when I approach the situation with that intention.  I either come off as the judge-y “speak the truth in love” Christian or I come off as the person who is completely dismissive of behavior that isn’t always best ignored.

So when it comes to best using my gifts within my current community?  Yeah.  No idea.  And, unfortunately, just putting gifts into practice isn’t always the issue.  (There’s a lot more to be said on that topic, but one thing at a time for now.)

I’ve never seen the play Wicked, but at the beginning of the song “For Good,” Elphaba sings, “I’m limited…just look at me, I’m limited…”  I think of those lyrics pretty often anymore.  We are so limited in our abilities and our responses—to ourselves and to others.  Nothing is more clear to me than the need for a Jesus who can break through all that nonsense.  So I keep asking—crisis, questions and all—what now?

To Stabilize in Rejoicing

"Stability of the world depends on the rejoicing in Your [God's] works." --John Calvin

Voskamp asks, "Doesn't my world also stabilize when I rejoice in Your words?" (One Thousand Gifts Devotional 31).

I'm trying to process those thoughts because I don't want to be flippant about this relationship that often confounds me.  I think maybe the difficulty is in the word "stabilize."  The first entry on Google says, "Make or become unlikely to give way or overturn."  That makes so much sense to me, because my initial feeling about stabilization indicates an "evenness" I never have in difficulty.  I'm far too emotional--too up and down to be "even" during chaos.  And I've envied people with that kind of demeanor.

But the fact that rejoicing in God may be the very thing that keeps me from "giving way"?  Yeah.  I get that.  In the middle of the darkest days, when I first started praying for God to save us from drowning, I couldn't' see any movement on His part.  I prayed in panic daily--sometimes hourly--because I honestly felt like breathing was an impossible task.  Looking back, I know that "no response" isn't true.  (Though, I only saw Him through this "looking back.")  We never overturned.  We breathed in water, but did not drown.  We walked through the fire, not without scorch marks, but without being burned up.

That description doesn't sound much like rejoicing--simply praying for survival.  But isn't acknowledgement of God in itself rejoicing?  Isn't it honest and open recognition of who He is?  A recognition of the creation in the chaos, to quote L'Engle.

That's how I didn't overturn.  I cried.  A lot.  And I was honest with the One Who Hears.  

So I guess my world does stabilize in rejoicing.  I'd never thought about it like that.