I realized when I was pregnant for the first time that there are many things in life people will inevitably tell you a bzillion times which you can cognitively know to be true, but which you will not really "get" until much later.
Things like, "You think you are tired now..." or, "Just wait, you have now idea just how hard it is until the baby is born," and so on. True statements, but ones which only experience make comprehensible.
Fourteen plus years since that first go-round with growing a baby and I am just now "getting" one of the world's favorite adages for new parents: "They grow so fast; he's a baby now, but tomorrow he'll be asking for the car keys, and the next day he'll be gone."
Well, Boy 1 has another year before he can have the car keys at all, but the experiences of the past few weeks have been, for me, the experiences by which I have learned just exactly what "they grow so fast" really means.
Finishing 8th grade has been the first real experience of end times; of witnessing the end of a major part of my son's life. Of course, kindergarten marked the end of those earliest years, the end of 5th grade was the end of elementary school, but for me those endings were far less monumental. Boy 1 was still a child at the end of all the previous ends.
Not so now. The end times of middle school point to the end of his early years, the end of his education as a child.
My experience of the various markers of these endings (the last middle school concert, the last awards assembly, the final projects) have been a fine combination of sweet nostalgia. I do not long for the olden days or wish he would always stay as he is now.
Rather, I sweetly remember his little pixie face and the many Mother's Day gifts from his elementary school years while celebrating who he is now and eagerly looking forward to watching him grow through his next adventures.
How true it is that they grow so fast. I am glad to say that the truth of this statement has been a source of excitement and joy far more than the sense of impending doom so often misread into before we really have a chance to "get" it.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Communion of the Lord's Supper
Nearly every Sunday of the past 26 years I have enjoyed the feast of the Lord's Supper. Being a person who thrives on interaction, I am always looking for the communion of the Lord's Supper. That is to say, ways in which to commune with my Christian family through the Lord's Supper.
You can imagine how much I love it when we take communion around tables. Or when we serve one another and are able to look each other in the eye as we share the body and blood of Christ. I call it putting the commune fully into communion.
Yesterday I reveled in a whole new experience of the communion of the Lord's Supper while, for the first time, all three of of the men in my life served the Lord's Supper together.
As I lifted my head after the prayer, I watched as Boy 2 walked past on his way to the front row, plate of unleavened bread in hand. Close behind was Mark coaching him through his first serving of communion. Glancing to the right I noticed Boy 1, with already three years of experience serving, passing the bread at the other end of my set of rows. And so it went with the cup and the offering.
I experienced the communion of the Lord's Supper in a new and deeper way yesterday, and I treasured it all up in my heart.
You can imagine how much I love it when we take communion around tables. Or when we serve one another and are able to look each other in the eye as we share the body and blood of Christ. I call it putting the commune fully into communion.
Yesterday I reveled in a whole new experience of the communion of the Lord's Supper while, for the first time, all three of of the men in my life served the Lord's Supper together.
As I lifted my head after the prayer, I watched as Boy 2 walked past on his way to the front row, plate of unleavened bread in hand. Close behind was Mark coaching him through his first serving of communion. Glancing to the right I noticed Boy 1, with already three years of experience serving, passing the bread at the other end of my set of rows. And so it went with the cup and the offering.
I experienced the communion of the Lord's Supper in a new and deeper way yesterday, and I treasured it all up in my heart.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Promises, Schmomises
When I began this blog on November 26, 2009, I promised it would be a "light-hearted" look at turning 40. I guaranteed it would not be full of complaints of creaking joints, menopausal menaces, or otherwise irritating medical TMI.
A glance through my archives remind of the first man-shirt I bought for Boy 1, the blizzard we barely survived earlier this year, and the realization that Wee 1 is almost as stubborn as I am. I have laughed a lot and cried a little through the writing of this blog. I have shared the stupid moments and looked at the deep richness of my life, but I have kept my promise.
Today I am breaking my promise.
In March I spent a week in bed with some kind of flu. A few weeks later I spent several hours in the ER with the most excruciating stomach pain ever. Since then I have experienced a level of fatigue rivaling that of any new mom, and various joints and whatnot seem to have begun some kind of mutiny, plaguing me with pain and more fatigue.
As a result, blogging has slowed to a bare minimum. But then, so has everything else.
What I have begun to discover through all of this is just exactly what constitutes the "bare minimum." Last year God taught me to truly focus only on the things that are really important. These months of illness and weariness have led to discover what things are truly non-negotiable.
Here is my list:
Short, simple, non-negotiable. And when illness, weariness, or other ebbs and flows of life demand a choice, that which does not fit the categories of this list must go.
It almost seems silly that I did not know this before, but I confess I am quite susceptible, to the whims of pride and ambition.
Now, before you go expressing condolences for the myriad things I may have to give up if this physiological mutiny continues, let me stress that a clear knowledge of the non-negotiables is more precious than any achievement I can think of. It is, perhaps, one of the greatest blessings God could have offered to me and my family.
Now that I have fully disclosed medical TMI and thrown my promise to the wind, I plan to get back to the light-hearted look at life I set out to blog about. But be warned, if I have to choose between blogging and having the energy for the nightly family walks Boy 2 recently initiated, blogging will lose every time.
A glance through my archives remind of the first man-shirt I bought for Boy 1, the blizzard we barely survived earlier this year, and the realization that Wee 1 is almost as stubborn as I am. I have laughed a lot and cried a little through the writing of this blog. I have shared the stupid moments and looked at the deep richness of my life, but I have kept my promise.
Today I am breaking my promise.
In March I spent a week in bed with some kind of flu. A few weeks later I spent several hours in the ER with the most excruciating stomach pain ever. Since then I have experienced a level of fatigue rivaling that of any new mom, and various joints and whatnot seem to have begun some kind of mutiny, plaguing me with pain and more fatigue.
As a result, blogging has slowed to a bare minimum. But then, so has everything else.
What I have begun to discover through all of this is just exactly what constitutes the "bare minimum." Last year God taught me to truly focus only on the things that are really important. These months of illness and weariness have led to discover what things are truly non-negotiable.
Here is my list:
- Daily walking in the flow of God's grace.
- Loving and being loved by my husband and sons.
- Touching the lives of others in meaningful ways.
Short, simple, non-negotiable. And when illness, weariness, or other ebbs and flows of life demand a choice, that which does not fit the categories of this list must go.
It almost seems silly that I did not know this before, but I confess I am quite susceptible, to the whims of pride and ambition.
Now, before you go expressing condolences for the myriad things I may have to give up if this physiological mutiny continues, let me stress that a clear knowledge of the non-negotiables is more precious than any achievement I can think of. It is, perhaps, one of the greatest blessings God could have offered to me and my family.
Now that I have fully disclosed medical TMI and thrown my promise to the wind, I plan to get back to the light-hearted look at life I set out to blog about. But be warned, if I have to choose between blogging and having the energy for the nightly family walks Boy 2 recently initiated, blogging will lose every time.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Hacked, Pfished, and Whatnot
I just finished reviewing every privacy setting in my Facebook account. I also deleted a number of applications, changed my password, and reported some spam invites being sent from my account.
It's a strange feeling to have your personal cyber-space invaded; to know that someone managed to get into your account without permission. The damage was fairly innocuous. Some friends got invited to try a miracle weight-loss strategy while others had the option to engage in 5 minutes of life-changing activity. Fortunately my friends know I am too level-headed to fall for too-good-to-be-true offers.
In addition, I recently received three Explanations of Benefits from my insurance company for claims filed on behalf of myself and my two sons for well care visits we did not have with a doctor we did not see. Somehow our HIPAA protected health information was obtained and used to file fraudulent insurance claims.
What I am learning is that such events have become so common that everyone knows what to do when it happens. "Change your password," they are saying. "Call this number to report insurance fraud," I am told.
It's a strange feeling to have your personal cyber-space invaded; to know that someone managed to get into your account without permission. The damage was fairly innocuous. Some friends got invited to try a miracle weight-loss strategy while others had the option to engage in 5 minutes of life-changing activity. Fortunately my friends know I am too level-headed to fall for too-good-to-be-true offers.
In addition, I recently received three Explanations of Benefits from my insurance company for claims filed on behalf of myself and my two sons for well care visits we did not have with a doctor we did not see. Somehow our HIPAA protected health information was obtained and used to file fraudulent insurance claims.
What I am learning is that such events have become so common that everyone knows what to do when it happens. "Change your password," they are saying. "Call this number to report insurance fraud," I am told.
It saddens me that the present reality assumes everyone will be hacked, pfished, and whatnot. Perhaps it sounds naive, but I yearn for a place where being preyed upon is not normal. I long to live without the need to for constant vigilance.
I am going [to my Father's house] to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me....
--Jesus, John 14:2b-3
In that place there will be no need for passwords, privacy, or vigilance. Come, Lord Jesus. Come.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Ruth
I wrote the following on March 3, 2010:
I never posted this blog. I am not sure why. Ruth died peacefully with her faithful husband at her side early last Friday morning, so it seems fitting now to post this as a small thank you note to my friend.
I am one of many whom Ruth loved and inspired; some knew her for decades while I knew her only a few years. Part of Ruth's gift was that she had enough room in the space of her love that there was always a place for anyone who would join. Since writing the blog above in March I have realized that this, too, was part of Ruth's gift to me.
I spent a couple of hours at the hospital tonight with a good friend and her family. Ruth, who taught me everything I know about football, has been chronically and severely ill for as long as I have known her. She is in her 60s and spends most days in extreme pain. Now unable to walk and barely able to stand, Ruth is one of the toughest chicks I know.
I enjoy visiting with Ruth. Her strength and will are inspiring. Her faith unflagging. Her humor hilarious. But I think the best part of visiting with Ruth is knowing that she loves me.
The greatest gift a person can give another is the gift of presence. That is the gift Ruth gives me. She is always thrilled to see me, ever asking about my boys, and never afraid to be herself with me. Her trust in me calls me to be a better person.
I never posted this blog. I am not sure why. Ruth died peacefully with her faithful husband at her side early last Friday morning, so it seems fitting now to post this as a small thank you note to my friend.
I am one of many whom Ruth loved and inspired; some knew her for decades while I knew her only a few years. Part of Ruth's gift was that she had enough room in the space of her love that there was always a place for anyone who would join. Since writing the blog above in March I have realized that this, too, was part of Ruth's gift to me.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Sacred Space of Dying
Over the past week I have had the honor of sitting by the bedside of a dear friend while she and her family awaited the arrival of her death.
It's an odd thing to say, I know.
In our cluttered lives we do not leave much room for death. Death happens and we deal with it when it does, but we rarely wait for it. Indeed, we often try to deny its approach or take fantastic measures to ward it off.
Yet at times it is clear that death is inevitable.
There is a lovely grace in acknowledging that, gathering around you those whom you love the most to cherish one last time, and then simply waiting together.
Such waiting takes place in very sacred space. Few deeper intimacies exist than the one among those who wait on eternal things. Few greater privileges exist than to enter the sacred space of dying as a trusted and beloved friend.
It's an odd thing to say, I know.
In our cluttered lives we do not leave much room for death. Death happens and we deal with it when it does, but we rarely wait for it. Indeed, we often try to deny its approach or take fantastic measures to ward it off.
Yet at times it is clear that death is inevitable.
There is a lovely grace in acknowledging that, gathering around you those whom you love the most to cherish one last time, and then simply waiting together.
Such waiting takes place in very sacred space. Few deeper intimacies exist than the one among those who wait on eternal things. Few greater privileges exist than to enter the sacred space of dying as a trusted and beloved friend.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Real Advice from Real Moms
I spent my morning with a group of young moms at a playground. I remember when I was the young mom with kids to take to the playground during school hours. I'm not old, but I am older, and I don't mind it a bit.
I love these young moms. They are fun and interesting and have beautiful kids who range in age from 3 weeks to 4 years old (with a couple of school-age kids as well). I love these moms because they are real. Everyone was in shorts or capris, no one wasted time on makeup for a trip to the park, and every one of them has retained the edge of intelligence that marks them as adults.
These moms, who hold little ones and walk around with some kind of goop on their shoulders pretty much all the time, were more than happy to let me hold the 3 week old. And not a single one of them tried to hide from our newest mom the fact that the first 2-3 months is the hardest ever.
"Enjoy every precious moment," we tell brand new moms. Good advice, but we forget to tell them there are very few, if any, precious moments in those first weeks and months.
"Sleep when the baby sleeps," we advise, yet we don't mention that the baby will only sleep about an hour at a time because a 2-hour feeding schedule means the baby eats for 30 minutes and burps for another 30 minutes of that 2 hour cycle and that sometimes the baby gets hungry even sooner and the cry for that sounds just like every other cry and no you are not a bad mom if in desperation you try feeding early only to discover the baby was hungry and you held out because the "book" said to wait!
"This time will pass by too fast," we warn, not realizing those are the sweetest words on earth to an exhausted, uncertain, and guilt-ridden new mother whose friends all forgot to tell her there may be more screaming than smiling at first and it's not the mom's fault.
And that's why I love the young moms I hung out with this morning. Their words of wisdom and comfort to their new compatriot were very real:
I love these young moms. They are fun and interesting and have beautiful kids who range in age from 3 weeks to 4 years old (with a couple of school-age kids as well). I love these moms because they are real. Everyone was in shorts or capris, no one wasted time on makeup for a trip to the park, and every one of them has retained the edge of intelligence that marks them as adults.
These moms, who hold little ones and walk around with some kind of goop on their shoulders pretty much all the time, were more than happy to let me hold the 3 week old. And not a single one of them tried to hide from our newest mom the fact that the first 2-3 months is the hardest ever.
"Enjoy every precious moment," we tell brand new moms. Good advice, but we forget to tell them there are very few, if any, precious moments in those first weeks and months.
"Sleep when the baby sleeps," we advise, yet we don't mention that the baby will only sleep about an hour at a time because a 2-hour feeding schedule means the baby eats for 30 minutes and burps for another 30 minutes of that 2 hour cycle and that sometimes the baby gets hungry even sooner and the cry for that sounds just like every other cry and no you are not a bad mom if in desperation you try feeding early only to discover the baby was hungry and you held out because the "book" said to wait!
"This time will pass by too fast," we warn, not realizing those are the sweetest words on earth to an exhausted, uncertain, and guilt-ridden new mother whose friends all forgot to tell her there may be more screaming than smiling at first and it's not the mom's fault.
And that's why I love the young moms I hung out with this morning. Their words of wisdom and comfort to their new compatriot were very real:
These weeks will pass quickly, hallelujah! It's impossibly hard right now, but it won't always be. And once this part is over, you can repress the memories and it will all be a blur. And THAT is when you will be able to start 'enjoying every precious moment!'
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