Award Night

Last Friday, I told my son he could invite his friends over today.

I delayed making arrangements this morning.  I kept hoping he'd throw up or something so I could avoid dealing with extra children and take a nap this afternoon.


Mother of the year, indeed.

A poem for when your losses press hard

A gracious Sabbath stood here while they stood
Who gave our rest a haven.
Now fallen, they are given
To labor and distress.
These times we know much evil, little good
To steady us in faith
And comfort when our losses press
Hard on us, and we choose,
In panic or despair or both,
To keep what we will lose.

For we are fallen like the trees, our peace
Broken, and so we must
Love where we cannot trust,
Trust where we cannot know,
And must await the wayward-coming grace
That joins living and dead,
Taking us where we would not go–
Into the boundless dark.
When what was made has been unmade
The Maker comes to His work.

by Wendell Berry, emphasis mine.

Baby Season

And thus it begins.  Everyone is giving birth, or announcing a pregnancy, or about to give birth, or about to announce a pregnancy.

At least, that's how it feels.

To a woman who is desires to feel her womb filled with life, Facebook is an unmarked mine field.  If she spends enough time there, she's bound to stumble on something that triggers a flow of emotions, regardless of how hard she tries to keep it together. The longer she stays, the more she feels the weight of her own cross pressing into her shoulders, and the grief welling up inside until she feels she is alone in her sadness.

Lord, have mercy.  For in my ignorance, I heedlessly posted pictures and updates of my own pregnancy and newborn child, unaware of the effect they may have had on my own dear brothers and sisters in Christ. 

Lord, have mercy.  For now I understand.  Now I feel that weight and that grief, and now I struggle to do the very thing our Lord commands of us: rejoice with those who rejoice.

Lord, have mercy. For centered in myself, I want only the things of man, not God.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.  Lord, have mercy.

For Ewe

I made a new friend. In fact, I made several new friends. We met at a lovely retreat, hosted by two dear women who write here.  What a blessed reminder of the life that is ours through Christ both here on earth, as we join together as His body to encourage and build one another up; and there in eternity, where the crosses we bear will be exchanged for robes of righteousness.

Broken again

I'd like to think that I'm mature enough in my faith to join with Mary in saying, "Be it done unto me."  That is, that I would accept the gifts God gives as they come, and not desire any other gift or blessings in life than the ones I have been given.  After all, I have been blessed richly with many gifts, including a child-a son!  A healthy, well-behaved, intelligent, polite son.  He brings joy to me and my husband; he is the delight of his grandparents.  He charms the elderly and young alike.   I'd like to think I am content with this, my family, and spend my days rejoicing in the blessings of the Lord.  Most days, I am content.

Still, so many other days, the longing for another child overwhelms me in a flash, and my joy is turned to mourning.  The grief is so deep my stomach caves in on itself, and I am consumed.  I yearn to bear life again, to feel the quickening and eventual weight of a child in my womb, and to memorize the features of a newborn child sleeping in my arms.

Perhaps I ought not be taken by surprise at how quickly a pregnancy announcement or newborn's photo can bring on this sudden change; and yet, I am.  Just when I think I have learned to be content, I find myself desiring more, weeping over my brokeness, and wondering why.

Thrifty? Or just hopeful?

Part of this year's move is downsizing.  I've acquired a piano (it was Great-Grandmother's, how could I say no?), and I intend to make space for it in the moving van by ditching it's cubic-foot equivalent in boxes of other stuff.  So it's out with the extra tongs and rarely-used spatulas, vanilla scented candles and flower vases, lidless Tupperware and tired-out clothes.  I'm even sorting through boxes the boxes we we left in the basement labeled, but unpacked.

There's one corner of the basement, though, that pains me each time I walk past.  It's the corner where we've piled up the bins of clothes our son has outgrown, the supports for the cradle we no longer use, the baby toys he doesn't like anymore, the box of maternity clothes I haven't worn in years.

In saving them, I had no question I would need some of them again- at least the maternity clothes.  But possibly those baby clothes as well.  We could have another boy!   So we kept them.  A year passed without a pregnancy, and therefore no baby to wear the clothes.  I moved them that summer, thinking they'd save us money if we had another boy on vicarage.  But the year passed without a pregnancy, and therefore no baby to wear the clothes.  I moved them again.  Another year has passed without a pregnancy, and therefore no baby to wear the clothes.  Now they sit in the corner of the basement, reminding me all the while that there still is no other baby to wear the clothes, despite all of our prayers.

I can't help but wonder if there ever will be another baby to wear those clothes.  I can't help but wonder if I'm missing the small wonders happening around me with the son I do have by holding on to those clothes and moving them one more time.  I can't help but wonder if I ought to let someone else get some use out of them, and trust that God will provide should he see fit to give us another child.  Perhaps letting go of those clothes would help ease some of the pain.

Leave the tricks to the magicians

Folks, if a woman shares with you that she's been praying for another child, the correct response is, "I'll pray for you, too."  Please no more advice about strategically placed pillows, or tracking and charting of temperatures and discharge (gross!), or trips to the doctors to discuss special pills, or relaxing about it because she's still young.  Say, "I'll pray for you, too."

Chances are, she's already feeling enough guilt over the matter already, whether because she's gained some weight, or she had to have a c-section, or she used the pill for too long, or because she thinks she's being punished by God.  Whatever her reason is, don't add to her guilt by making her think she doing something else wrong.  She's burdened by the Law, she's feeling the weight of sin.  She's living daily with a body she feels is defective and is afraid she's the cause.  Share with her the Gospel she needs to hear.  Remind her of God's steadfast love, and his enduring mercy.  Then do as you said you'd do, and pray.

He will see to it

Every woman has her own fears about childbirth, and I suspect that for most women, they increase with every additional pregnancy.  After I gave birth, all I could think about was what would happen the next time- VBAC, with its risk of failure, ruptured uterus, and slight chance of death; or repeat c-section with its risks of placental previa, ectopic pregnancies, cystectromy., and slight risk of death.  I agonized over this hypothetical next time for several months. 

Once my shock wore off, I stopped googling, and I realized just how foolish I'd been.  After all, when we stopped using birth control, it was because we trusted that our merciful God would take care of our family.  How foolish then, to assume that he would stop caring for us just because my sin-worn body failed at a critical moment, and a doctor had to step in and save the life of me and my child.  How senseless, indeed, to presume that we would now be left to care for things on our own.  How selfish to imagine that my own existence would be vital to my family's perseverance.

It is much simpler to continue trusting his mercy, and believe that if he grants us more children, and we fervently pray that he will, he will see us through its accompanying trials, however grave or trivial.  For if the Lord has seen me safely thus far, far be it from me to think that even in death he would not care for his sheep.

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;

you hold my lot.

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel;

in the night also my heart instructs me.

I have set the Lord always before me;

because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;

my flesh also dwells secure.

For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,

or let your holy one see corruption.
     Psalm 16:5-11

The Beginnings of Birth Pains

Know now that this is a quasi birth story.  "Quasi" in that I'm only recounting a portion of it, and none of it describes the actual delivery.  But it is a birth story nevertheless, and at no point do I ponder the miraculous nature of my son's arrival, but rather, the despair I felt leading up to it, and immediately following.  Read if you wish.



I remember very little of my experience in the hospital after the birth of my son.  I'm sure it has something to do with the anaphylaxis I experienced shortly after the emergency c-section.  That is, I think it was shortly after the c-section, but the timeline of events in my head often doesn't line up with what I know to be true. What I do recall most vividly are all the confusing and terrifying moments- throwing up all over myself and the bed, then submitting to the mercy of the kind nurses to clean me up; feeling my neck stiffen, my tongue swell, and hearing my speech begin to slur; falling asleep watching my husband give my son a bottle because I was physically unable to stay awake to nurse him; waking up and hearing my doctor say I probably wouldn't be able to give birth naturally.

Perhaps the most distinct memory is driving the four-mile stretch of road between our house and hospital while in labor.  Feeling my body catch fire as each contraction ripped across my abdomen, then sinking in cold when it finally passed. Noticing that we caught all the red lights on the way, and cursing the Streets and Roads Committee who placed four-way stops at every intersection in town.  Wanting desperately to arrive some place where someone could do something to stop all the pain I was feeling.  There was no glory in this ride, no happy thoughts about the child that would be, no bearing my pains with patient endurance.  There was just the abiding pain, the fear of death, and realization of my own weakness.

I get to relive this drive every Sunday on the way to church, and the way home.  All the while, I can't help but think this is what brings forth new life- this disarming pain, and this crippling fear. Should God see fit to grant us more children, this is what it will take.  I doubt I will ever be prepared to face that drive again, save for the mercy of God.

Kyrie, eleison.

Death, I now decry you!

"For I know that my Redeemer lives,

and at the last he will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin has been thus destroyed,

yet in my flesh I shall see God,

whom I shall see for myself,

and my eyes shall behold, and not another.

My heart faints within me!"

Job 19:25-27

The Illusion of Control

The woman who finds her body torn by yet another child, the woman who longs to feel her womb fill with life, and her breasts grow heavy with milk, and the woman who grieves for the life she carried, but lost too early; these women know that infertility treatments and contraception only give us the illusion of control, but it is the Lord who giveth and the Lord who taketh away. And with them I say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord."