waitingrace

I carried you
41 weeks and 5 days in nearly perfect
peaceful wonder
my body, stretched to cradle and protect, nourished and sustained you
in awe we waited
with my undeserved power
to call you into being and your
tranquil form easing into shape.
at last you came, both of us striving, pushing, and dancing together in our first great work of mother-daughter struggle to result in joy
(oh, may every labor between us produce such delight)

now we learn each other face to face as you
steal my toothbrush rearrange my closet cling to my neck while
I cook and sing and tickle and surprise
you surprise me, too.

my body still stretches to surround you comfort you keep you close
even as you step away
come crawling back
dive into my arms
and I carry you, remembering
your wide-eyed entrance, with bluish-purple skin, silently
staring
knowing
loving
breathing
beginning together, the reverent prayers
whispering through our exhausted bodies as
mama and baby
arrived





Maren in her first diaper, soon after birth





Maren and Mama, one year later

Seven years ago today, my father died.  That Saturday, he was making breakfast for my siblings in our kitchen when he fell over dead of a heart attack.  He had just celebrated his 52nd birthday. 

I never know what to do on this anniversary.  My family's attitude about most troubling or difficult circumstances is: buck up and move on.  Even in the few days following his death, I felt like no one wanted to really deal with it, to truly mourn or allow a depth of pain to set in.  The unspoken mantra was: "it was his time, but we're still here so just keep going."  We don't have any traditions in my family for happy memories, so we never started a tradition for this sad one.  

But now that I 'own' a part of the blogosphere, I can at least pay some tribute to my dad.  

I wasn't very close to him.  He wasn't very good at bonding with any of us kids but he was a loyal dad.  He came to most of our stuff, which isn't easy with 5 kids going in different directions.  I don't think he understood me but he was proud of me.  Because I'm the smartest kid, and he was smart.  I knew he boasted about my academic achievements to other people, even if he never mentioned it to me.  He had high expectations for me, and he was willing to take the time to help me succeed.  He thought it was ridiculous when other people didn't notice or reward me for my talents. 

When he died, the absolute first thought that ran through my head was that he never got the chance to be a Grandpa, and my dad would have been a great Grandpa.  Later, I was sad that he never had the opportunity to get to know my husband.  We had only been married 2 years when my dad died and had spent only a handful of holidays together.  My family was still working to accept Michael, much less love him for the amazing man he is. 

And ultimately, the hardest part about my father's death is believing that he died disappointed in me.  I will never forget the look on his face and the anger in his voice when I told him that I loved Jesus, I loved Michael, and I was getting married.  He was undoubtedly shocked and sincerely disappointed.  He thought I was giving up all the things he appreciated about me - my intelligence, my independence, my career.  I understand where he was coming from.  I had hoped to have had the time to show him my perspective.  

That chance was lost, but other doors have opened since my father's death.  My family has been able to see my husband love me, support me, and engage with them in ways they didn't expect.  Our marriage is stronger and healthier than my parents' was, which I hope is inspiring.  Two of my siblings have since decided that they want to know Jesus and have begun their own faith journeys.  I hope that our stories are still far from over, and that as my family continues to grow and change and learn and love, we remember my dad with fondness and learn from his mistakes.  Our time is still here.  I don't want to waste it.      

In grade school, I did everything I could to prove that I was just as strong and smart as the boys in my class.  I didn't have to work too hard at trumping most males in the intelligence department (he he he) but I did break a sweat more than once in gym class.  Remember all those physical fitness tests?  I would push myself to do as many pull-ups as every boy; I would hang with my chin over that stupid bar for as long as it took to beat just one of them.  I would force myself to run, sit-up, and climb ropes faster than as many boys as possible.  I would even play basketball at recess just so I could push over those pompous lugs.   

The irony is that I'm not a competitive or an athletic person.  I didn't care about bringing home the physical fitness award.  But I cared - ALOT - about being viewed as an equally capable human being.  Because somewhere along the line, even as young as 4th grade, I realized that boys treated girls differently.  And that "differently" didn't make me feel as smart or as strong or as important as those boys.

In one way or another, I carried on this underground fight well into college.  I never held back my opinion; I demanded that my voice be heard.  I took charge of nearly every situation I could and never let a male stand in my way for anything.  I think I probably intimidated most people, male and female.

I have, however, softened over the years since I've been married - and been with Jesus.  I realized that even though I got "my way" most of the time or that I stood up to some invisible test of strength, I wasn't actually accomplishing anything of benefit.  I have learned that being forceful is not the same as being persuasive; that gentleness is stronger than toughness; that wisdom only speaks when something of value is to be shared.  No one wants to be around a domineering, uncompromising, long-winded man -- why would I ever believe I could attain equality by acting as such?  

With that said, I do believe that our society is incredibly off-base when it comes to teaching about gender.  I will post more about this later but, as I look back on my childhood, I can clearly connect how my father and mother interacted to my opinion about men and women.  I can remember how boys I knew talked about girls.  And I wonder, if even one of those circumstances had been different - more honorable, more filled with kindness - how I, too, would have changed.  

My husband and I started a church just over 3 years ago now, and I have recently realized that since then, I've been struggling to feel purposeful.  Three years is a long time to wander around without much intention.  Disappointing, if you ask me. 

To be clear - I'm not having an identity crisis where I'm questioning my worth as a person or my reason for existence.  My security in Jesus is totally solid.  My infinite value as a life-partner and helper to Michael is undoubted.  And I am happily focused on being a mother.  But as I read my journals and reflect on conversations with my coach, I have to acknowledge that my soul has felt restless these last three years, that there has been an absence of clarity regarding my overall life direction or immediate purpose in action.

To be fair, this has been true since I first started following Jesus.  I learned very quickly that it was useless to make plans because I'm not actually in control of making any of those plans come to fruition.  Besides, it is much easier to enjoy the ride of faith when you're not trying to unbuckle your seatbelt and jump out at improper moments (and then have to be forced back into the moving car).  The last ten years have been absolutely unbelievably exciting, amazing, challenging, life-changing, and AWESOME.  Ten good God years.  

But something significant shifted when we started this church.  For the first time in our marriage, my husband was in a position of public leadership, and I wasn't.  We started with another couple, so Michael and Chris were working out how to co-pastor, and I had to step out of the way so that their relationship could develop healthily and equally.  Not only did I (willingly) leave the place of leadership I had comfortably enjoyed in our prior church, but I also lost some of my partnership with Michael.  I knew how we worked as a team; but now he had to figure out how to be a team with someone else.  A team I couldn't join.  So instead, I've been doing 'other' things in our church.  I volunteer with a few ministries, I'm in charge of some stuff, but really...my heart doesn't get excited over those responsibilities the way I would expect it to if I believed they were part of my life's purpose. 

I'm not bitter or sad about the changes that happened in starting Hiawatha Church.  In fact, this has been a grace-filled three years in which my husband has grown and changed in beautiful ways.  I love our church family.  I'm just not sure what purpose I serve with them.  

So I've been talking to Jesus about this, and I'm feeling pretty hopeful.  For my determined purpose is that I may know him, that I may progressively become more deeply and intimately acquainted with him, perceiving and recognizing and understanding the wonders of his person more strongly and more clearly* - and that's more than enough purpose for a lifetime!  

*the Amplified Bible's translation of Paul's letter to the church at Philippi, chapter 3 verse 10

 

I have a huge post in mind re: politics but I thought I'd start simple and make some comments on government in general.  Short and sweet, right?

I spent over an hour last night trying to get the link from an earlier post to show up nicely here, but I'm obviously not tech-smart enough to do it.  So I'll just mention that in an earlier post, I explained what I see as the "problem with people."  And because of that problem, I inherently do not trust governments or expect them to do much good.  I believe that the primary purpose of government is to protect its citizens. 

The tension is, of course, that the meaning of "protect", and the methods used to enforce that protection can be quite subjective.  For example, is it the government's responsibility to 'protect' the institution of marriage?  One could argue that the traditional family unit is the bedrock of a stable community and to disrupt the accepted definition of marriage between a man and a woman is to threaten our very foundation.  But if we are so concerned with the sanctity of marriage, why do we allow divorce?  Why don't we require couples to undergo rigorous pre-marital counseling and connect them with mentors in their marriage in order to ensure that their relationship is a success?  Isn't the astounding number of failed marriages also a threat to our security as a society?  

How far should the government go to protect our wellness?  Why do we expect our government to protect our health insurance coverage but not our health?  In other words, why can the government require a company to insure me but can't require me to take care of my body by avoiding fried food and tobacco? 

At what point is an unborn baby considered a citizen whose life is worthy of protection?  If we really care about protecting children, why aren't we doing more to prevent unwanted pregnancies from happening rather than terminating the innocent life that's been created? 

Can the government protect our hearts?  I mean, I support freedom of expression but I personally believe we would feel a little better about ourselves if words like n*gger, f*got and the like were permanently banned from spoken language.

These questions are partly why I expect the government to fail.  Not only is it comprised of inherently selfish people who ultimately serve their own purposes (even if those purposes affect the greater community for good), but it also is completely useless in solving the primary problem of our humanity.  (I think that may be a circular argument)  I believe that unless a person's heart can be changed from a propensity towards evil to an effort for generous, sacrificial, selfless living, then the mess of our society can't really improve.  Not for all the legislation in the world.  And no federal law, no government program, can change hearts. 

So I don't put my trust in the government.  I respect it as a member of this society.  I voice my opinions as a responsible citizen.  But my hope doesn't rest in Washington, D.C.