weeklythoughtexchange

The cycle of life is a beautiful one, a swift one, a predictable one. We anticipate births, applaud milestones and ponder aging. But there’s an aspect of this cycle that we generally avoid discussing: the end. It’s inescapable and mysterious. We don’t know how or when it’s going to be our turn; we just know one day it will be- or the turn of someone we love.

I have had very few encounters with the final chapters of life. Death has only brushed my life a handful of times, taking pets mostly, but a couple of the people I’ve bid the final farewell were deeply loved. The sorrow lingers and sometimes I still get swept away in thought as I recall memories with them. My husband, however, has endured the pain of great loss far too many times in a brief span of time, the most recent being last week. This time I am seeing grief in a new way.

Just as the birth of a child breathes freshness into life, grief can do the same. We are more aware of the fragility in living and the necessity to seize every moment with the people we love. We go back for the “just one more hug and kiss” our children beg for every night; we are talking with family and friends instead of only shooting texts; and the minor irritants are just that, minor. In an instant priorities are reordered.

Yet the exhilaration of birth is matched in intensity only by the gut wrenching agony of grief. At birth you anticipate the memories to be made with this new individual; at death you are punched with the awareness that there will be no more memories made. At birth you savor each word used to announce the arrival; at death each word used to announce the passing cuts like a knife. When a baby is born, you are eager for the remarks from well-wishers; but consolation comments often only deepen the pain with their insensitivity.

And so we cling to Jesus as we figure out how to move forward without feeling like we are leaving our brother behind. We are savoring the newness of our new son, celebrating his miraculous life while grieving the precious life ended all too soon. And through it all we look to the Sovereign God, the Author of Life, the Beginning and the End.

In less than a month our family has been visited by both birth and death. With great rejoicing we welcomed our newest son and with immense grief we are bidding farewell to another beloved family member. To have such intense emotions nearly simultaneously feels like we are riding the waves and being pummeled by the surf at the same time. It’s hard to stay afloat.

But in all of this- the highs and the lows- we have been surrounded by our village: the people who have brought us meals, purchased groceries, cared for our children, cleaned our house, did our yard work, prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed some more. Our village consists of family, neighbors who have become friends, and friends who have become family.

The kindness bestowed on us through these faithful human beings has taught me three lessons:

• God is tangible through His people. When we pray for God’s blessing or His provision or His presence, we might be envisioning something supernatural. But I’ve discovered that He frequently answers those prayers through people; He touches my life through them.
• We can all do something. It’s plausible to think that someone else will meet the need, bridge the gap, or offer that word of comfort and so we remain on the sidelines. That might be true but it doesn’t hurt to do something anyway. It’s possible you will be the only one doing a kindness or you might be multiplying the kindness done. Either way, it never hurts to reach out in some small way.
• To have a village we need to be one. These days it’s getting all too easy to be isolated. But now more than ever before we need to stay connected. We need to make that effort to have a conversation, to pick up the phone and talk, to have an outdoor BBQ, or spend time in prayer for that list of requests in your Bible. Never underestimate your place in your village.

In a time of pandemics and divisive politics it might seem safer and more peaceful to pull away from everyone. I know because I did that a time or two myself since March. But this month has shown me that I need people; I have renewed inspiration to give back to my community and to be there when someone else needs to know they have a village too.

It is the eve of your sixth birthday. This birthday is especially poignant to me because your third little brother joined our family not 12 days ago. Your new brother resembles your newborn self in many ways, even wearing some of the same clothes you did. It almost feels like I am reliving those infant weeks with you – only this time I know a little more about mothering a baby. And that is something which defines our relationship.

I have been a mother to 6 newborns, but never to a 6-year old. When it comes to you, Son, I am a first-time mom in everything. You are the first one I gave birth to; the first one I potty-trained; the first one I taught to read; the first one to reveal my strengths and weaknesses as a mother. When I look into your face, I see such innocence and such resilience. I know that much of my mothering has been trial and error and it will probably continue to be that way since we continue to explore uncharted waters together. But I also know that God is shaping you into the young man He wants you to be.

Your fifth year was a transformative one; not only did you grow physically and cognitively, you also matured immensely in character. It seemed like suddenly you went from a reactive little boy to an independent thinker. You are in much more control of your emotions; you thoughtfully plan what you want to play each day; you show concern for others; you desire to challenge yourself in new ways and with new skills; you are pondering Jesus and His role in your life. You and I can have long conversations now, can share a good laugh together, and enjoy retelling our favorite memories. Some of my favorite times with you are when we are having our reading, writing and math lessons. I like seeing how you process new information and apply it in practical ways. And then seeing you hop on your first pedal bike and take off without training wheels! What an amazing victory for such a cautious boy. I was filled with pride for you.

Gregory-Hans, when I saw you for the first time six years ago I loved you simply because you were my baby. As the years have swiftly swept by and grown you in their passing, I recognize that I respect you for the individual you are and are becoming. Continue absorbing life with such fervor; hold on to your yearning for courage; seek peace and pursue it; depart from evil and do good; recognize that God placed you on the earth for such a time as this.

I hesitate to publish my birth story, not because it was traumatic but because it was wonderful. I don’t want anyone to think less of their own birth story after reading mine. I believe every birth story is a testimony to the miracle of life. We need to share our stories of giving and sustaining life, of intertwining heartbeats, of gazing into brand new eyes, of saying “hello, it’s so nice to finally meet you” for the very first time.

As soon as I had calculated Rowan’s estimated due date, I had a knowing that he would actually be born two weeks later. I wished it away because I really didn’t want to be pregnant 42 weeks. When I started having regular surges just before week 40, I was excited and skeptical at the same time. My skepticism proved accurate as the surges were the beginning of 3 weeks of prodromal labor. This was physically and emotionally draining but was also deeply spiritual as I practiced leaning into Jesus more and more every day.

I also picked up the HypnoBirthing book and read it cover to cover. As the days turned into weeks from when I had hoped I would deliver, I worked on breathing and letting go- not just in preparation for birth but also in surrender of events as I had planned them. Holding on tightly only served to make me more stressed and anxious; release brought freedom and renewed hope. I am thankful for the midwives’ presence and encouragement through those long weeks of waiting; they even took time to call me and text back and forth with me when I was the most emotionally worn down.

Finally, during the night of August 18th my surges found a consistent rhythm of 7-8 minutes apart. This was after two days of implementing a handful of natural methods to nudge my body towards labor: chiropractic adjustments, and an herbal tincture were a couple of the them. After a long walk in the early morning of August 19th (two weeks after my EDD), my surges switched to 2-3 minutes apart. I called my midwives as I settled my mind on active labor.

In the early stages of active labor I was able to literally sing praises to God. I was SO ready to deliver this baby. I prayed aloud, thanking God for me for each surge that brought babe and I closer to seeing each other. Between surges I conversed and laughed with those attending me. For some of the time I walked around our bedroom and bathroom; some of the time I spent in the shower, allowing the hot water to soothe my stretched abdomen; some some of the time I spent draped over the birthing ball, moving it forwards and backwards. Eventually my limbs begged for rest so I laid on my side on the bed.

I never planned to labor or deliver on the bed but it felt so good to be comfortable and relaxed. I actually transitioned on my side, breathing through those distinctly sharp transition surges and leaning into the sensations when I would rather have run away from them. I tried to focus inward: noting my temperature and blood pressure rising and falling, as well as Rowan’s movements and position, all indicators of when I would be releasing him from my body. When I felt him on the cusp of crowning, I rolled over on to my hands and knees.

Once there my water burst (spraying anyone within reach!) and the full force of his head was there. Oh! The pressure and searing pain! I wanted to say, “I can’t!” But I knew with Christ I could. I focused on his head rather than the pain- and then it was free! Then I focused on his shoulders and then we were both free! I wept and repeated over and over “oh! Thank you Jesus! Thank you!” And then I was holding our perfect fourth son! All this time Jared never left my side: massaging my back and thighs with black pepper essential oil, doing gentle caressing touch and whispering affirmations. I think it was our best birth as a couple (and we have six under our belts now!)- almost like a dance.

I think I will always remember the serenity of this day that came through the calm assurance from Christ, Jared’s strong attentiveness, the cooperation of the children and the camaraderie of our friends and midwives. I have no regrets or “if I could do it over again” thoughts. My home was a haven on our little boy’s birthday. I want to remember that goodness is all the sweeter for the waiting and the longing.

My due date has come and gone. We are at the point where all we can think about is trying not to think about Baby’s arrival. I’ve been experiencing prodromal labor which means our emotions have been adjusting from excitement to skepticism; we are trying to take it all in stride and with a sense of humor but there will be such relief when our baby is finally here. This time of waiting has taught me a few things in the 3 weeks that I’ve been within the delivery window.

1. Like birth, there is no formula for life. It’s nice to know exactly what’s going to happen next and when it’s going to occur. But birth, and life in general, doesn’t work that way. There’s a process, for sure, but only God knows the details, the purpose and the timing of that process. Peace comes in letting go of having to do it my way and accepting that I don’t have to know the why behind everything. I can simply accept that this is how things are for the present and it’s good (albeit not very comfortable).

2. Perspective matters. We live in a microwave age. Everything is instant- from food to information to shopping. It’s gotta happen right now and if it doesn’t, something is wrong. There is nothing like waiting on a baby to shake up that trend. Sure, there are ways to kickstart labor or speed things up but doing so takes away some of the beauty of not being in control. It feels like Baby will never come, but I know that’s not true; likewise, there are days when the temporal seems more real than the eternal. I must remember that even though my emotions are very real, they are not always reality.

3. Embrace life as it comes. Life is usually predictable. I usually accomplish my agenda for the day. Routine is usually established and kept. But sometimes there’s a bend in the road, the unexpected happens and life as we know it has suddenly been altered. At first I recoil from the change; I reach for remnants of the familiar in order to piece it back together. But this week my eyes were opened to see that this is the divine mystery of life; our revolution around the sun propels our growth. To resist leads only to despair. The caterpillar may not wish to enter the cocoon but to resist would mean a destiny without wings.

As I wait for what I know will come, I am reminding myself of these lessons and others that God has been showing me and am eager to learn more.

My children are fascinated with the concept of time. They want to know if the book we are reading is going to be a long book or if the movie we are watching is a long movie (longer is always better in both cases); they want me to set the timer for chores or for time on the swing; they are very aware of weekly routines: Sundays and Wednesdays are new CD night (for their bedtime music) and Fridays are Poppa and Mama’s date night. They know what housework I do on which days and always hope their day to help me falls on the day I do their favorite chore. Time brings them structure and security; it helps give them a sense of place and presence.

I think that holds true for man kind. We measure time, record time, plan out our time, predict time and attempt to influence time. We try to find ways to shorten it, lengthen it or maximize it. If it’s a turbulent time, we feel unsettled at best, terrified at worst. If it’s a peaceful, predictable time, we feel confident and happy. We define who we are according to the time in which we live. If we are troubled, it’s because we are a product of our times. If we are overcomers, it’s because we survived the times in which we lived. Time offers us a sense of place, purpose and identity; it is both a springboard into the future and a record of where we have been. “Whatever is has already been, and what will be has been before; and God will call the past to account.” Ecclesiastes 3:15

This morning I read chapter 3 of Ecclesiastes. It’s the “Time for Everything” chapter and one of my favorites. But today I focused on a few verses I had not pondered before:

“And I saw something else under the sun: in the place of judgment- wickedness was there, in the place of justice- wickedness was there. I thought in my heart, ‘God will bring to judgment both the righteous and the wicked, for there will be a time for every activity, a time for every deed.’”

I believe it is time for every individual to ponder how they stand before God. Our time here on earth is but sand in a glass timer; it has been turned, time is being kept and it cannot be halted. When all is said and done and we stand before the judgment throne of God, He will not ask us about our diligence in wearing masks and washing our hands; we won’t be called to give an account for how many monuments we tore down or saved, or even for how we voted in elections or how we convinced others to vote. The posture of our hearts toward Him is what will be judged. Have we accepted or rejected Him? Is He Lord of our lives or not? If we claim to be Christ-followers, is the gospel our banner, our purpose, our calling? If we do not claim the name of Jesus, why not?

For me, I see that “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” This is a time for me to go deeper with Jesus. I want to pore over His Word, to communicate with Him from dawn to dusk, and to not hesitate to respond to His promptings regardless of how difficult it might be. These uncertain times only appear that way when I view them with temporal vision. When I look at the times in light of eternity, I can walk into the future with confidence. Just as my children rely on me to be the time keeper, CD changer and routine maker for their little lives, I can also rely on this present history being in God’s hands. Jesus makes all the difference.

Imagery is a great way to describe the human experience: hurricanes in our hearts; life’s a roller coaster ride; riding the waves; days feel like a merry-go-round, up and down and going nowhere. There are many more, I’m sure, but even this handful of examples depict a pattern of movement, uncertainty and a degree of chaos; truly what we encounter in life, is it not?

As I strive to keep my balance in this topsy-turvy world of which I am a resident, it is the simple truths to which I grip. The Bible tells me to be a faithful steward of what is entrusted to me, to mind my own business, and to live in a way that encourages others to worship God. I want to be a catalyst for good change in my community; I want to move mountains for the causes closest to my heart; I want to publish a book that will be read for generations to come. I don’t know if any of those things will happen, but I do know that there are many things I can do today that I won’t ever regret doing.

I will not regret:

• Nurturing house plants in every room.
• Growing wildflowers with my children.
• Lighting a candle at dinner time.
• Developing music appreciation in my children.
• Reading books every day- alone or with my family.
• Sipping tea.
• Praying with my husband.
• Giving generously.
• Responding to anger with gentleness.
• Putting forth the extra effort to bake bread from scratch or making a hot, 3-course meal for my family.
• Maintaining a simple housekeeping routine that even my children can follow.
• Joining in playing pretend.
• Laughing
• Hugging
• Crying when the tears need to flow.
• Going outside and gazing heavenward.

This morning I read Ephesians 4:17-32. It was completely applicable for today’s culture: the ignorance, the anger, the hearts hardened towards God. But the culture doesn’t dictate how I must live. I am still called to hold to the simple truths of Christlikeness that are timeless in their relevancy.

*I write with the presupposition that by discussing one topic it does not render another less valid. My motive for writing is not to offend but rather to be a voice for those unable to speak.

Humans tend to seek the path of least resistance so we often tune out what we don’t want to hear or think about, and injustice continues. In the midst of the chaos and confusion swirling through our streets, our friendships, and our newsfeeds, I see the value in the spotlight being shone on crimes committed against humanity both historically and currently. We can ignore them no longer.

Let’s take a closer look at the scar of slavery on the heart of our nation. Clearly, it is not a distant memory. It is a scar that continues to ache; it is a scar that should prompt us to examine our current actions. What was it about that slavery that made it such a travesty? It wasn’t only the cruelty; it was the stripping of humanity by human beings from human beings. Slavery declared, “you do not exist unless I say you exist” and this mindset gave slave traders, buyers and owners the green light to commit whatever atrocity they desired to.

Slavery did not begin in pre- Civil War America. It is a curse that has haunted civilization from ancient history and has passed from one generation to the next. Tragically, young America did not escape this curse. In spite of being transported in grievous conditions, examined from head to toe, bought and sold, kept in chains and driven by whips and prods like beasts, animals were treated with more care and dignity than human slaves were. Researching the methods used to maintain control of slaves is enough to cause the staunchest heart to shudder.

With debate swirling around monuments of the Confederacy and their impact on our society today, it is time that we examine current methods of dehumanizing that are occurring and consider our role in bringing them to an end. While these crimes against humanity are international, we Americans can at least begin to put an end to them in our own neighborhoods, towns and country. Consider sex-trafficking, for example.

“This is not only a dominant issue, it’s an epidemic issue,” Cindy McCain, who chairs the McCain Institute’s Human Trafficking Advisory Council said. “It’s also something that is hiding in plain sight. It’s everywhere—it’s absolutely everywhere.” Globally, human trafficking is a multi-billion dollar industry and a form of modern day slavery. Human beings are bought and sold and forced to perform at the whims and fancies of other people. Women and children are drugged, tortured and kept in miserable conditions in order to strip them of their dignity.

“But the best way to end sex trafficking, activists say, is preventing it. Making sure our prosecutors, judges, schools, doctors, first responders, are trained on what to look for and what to do when they see human trafficking, is the most important piece of combatting it, said McCain—but that can be harder than it sounds.” In order to bring down this criminal Goliath, we all need to get involved.

We cannot move forward in our investigation of human cruelty and tragedy without pausing to consider the slaughter of unborn children. Abolitionists sought to educate the populace about the humanity of slaves, something we consider with wonder today. Wasn’t it obvious that the men, women and children in chains were men, women and children in chains? As Shylock in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice questioned, “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?” Life in a person seems obvious, until it is inconvenient for another. Just as acknowledging the rights of the slave on the buyer’s block would cut into the profits of the seller, so would legitimizing the life of the unborn child affect the abortion industry. With approximately 125,000 abortions occurring per day in the United States, with the price of an abortion being as high as $1,000, there is little wonder why the abortion industry is a multimillion dollar one, and this doesn’t even include the profit from the sales of fetal tissue.

Arguments in favor of abortion declare the new life as nothing more than “a blob of tissue,” in spite of the fact that the tiny heart is beating a mere four weeks after conception. Other arguments concede that the fetus is a human life but that the mother’s life is of more value, and then they proceed to pull apart the tiny body, label and count arms and legs, and identify tiny organs. It is argued that the abortion industry is all in the best interest of women, that women have the right to determine what happens to their bodies while baby body parts are sold to the highest bidder and clients are left with the physical and emotional scars of their choice.

If separate DNA, a beating heart, a developed nervous system, and tiny fingernails and fingerprints aren’t proof of life, what about a tiny body desperately trying to squirm away from the suction tube and forceps that will pull it apart? If we can harden our hearts to these actions, and live contentedly with these actions being committed in our communities, then tell me how we are different from those who denied the humanity of the slave woman having her child wrenched from her breast two centuries ago?

As we decry the grim darkness of the past, let us determine to speak where our forefathers were silent; to move when our past leaders stood still; to act when previous generations did nothing; and to live in such a way that our descendants will not look back upon us with shame.