Anticipation

Our due date draws near! Anticipation mounts!

I know it could be any day now, but I have just been so busy doing other things that I have been putting off some of the prep for baby. (S/he's not coming today after all!)

We have been meaning to paint and clean carpets and gather furniture for the nursery, but life has sort of gotten in the way. I mean, I know I'm about ready to pop, but we have been with family for various happy occasions, been involved with church events, been keeping up with friends . . . good things! We plan to be ready for baby, but there's surely plenty of time.

I can't see my toes anymore, but I can clean and arrange and all that right before baby arrives, right?

I know we will need diapers and wipes, onesies and blankets, a car seat and a diaper bag, but if I get too involved with all that now, I might miss time with people and chances to live life the way I want to.

After all, the baby isn't here yet! I can worry about choosing an attending physician and a hospital for the birth eventually. Why should I let a baby who isn't even here yet dictate my life choices any sooner than necessary? That will come, I know, but let's not rush into things.

We've got time!

Right?


"For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, 'There is peace and security,' then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape. But you are not in darkness, brothers, for that day to surprise you like a thief. For you are all children of light, children of the day. We are not of the night or of the darkness. So then let us not sleep, as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober."
1 Thessalonians 5:2-6 ESV

Note: The state of our preparations for baby's arrival as reported above is fictional. How foolish we would be to leave something so important until the last minute!

36 Weeks

I decided it is time for a lighter post, and, in anticipation of hitting the eight month mark later this week, thought to go through a bunch of old wives' tales regarding the baby's gender. Time will tell which are correct!

1. Sweet vs salty cravings? Sweet = girl
2. Morning sickness? No = boy
3. Glow or no? No = girl
4. Daddy's weight? Gaining = girl
5. Moody vs mellow? Mellow = boy
6.  Baby's heart rate? Above 140 = girl
7. Legs swelling? Yes = boy
8. Eat ends of bread? Yes = boy
9. Chinese calendar = girl
10. Mom's complexion? Acne = girl
11. Dreams? Both (more boy dreams earlier in the pregnancy, more girl dreams recently)
12. Clumsy vs graceful? Clumsy = boy
13. Toddlers' interest? Yes = girl
14. Preferred side to rest on? Left = boy
15. Showing hands? I showed the tops = boy
16. Crave protein? No = girl
17. Temperature of feet? Warm = girl
18. Hair on legs? Not growing quickly = girl
19. Nose appear to be growing or widening? Yes = boy
20. Headaches? No = girl
21. Picking baby names? Picking a girl's name came easier = girl
22. Carrying height? High = girl
23. Carrying in front or on sides? In front = boy
24. Shape of mom's face? Rounder = girl
25. Key test? I pick up keys by the large end = boy
26. Mayan calendar = boy

So, there you go! Out of 26 tests, 14 claim we're having a girl, 11 say it's a boy, and one is inconclusive.

Oh! And I haven't struggled with heartburn, so our baby is bald (but I could have told you that anyway . . . ).

Practically science.

WARNING: Rant Ahead

I don't know what it is about the figure of a woman great with child that makes near strangers lose all sense of propriety and decorum. It is as if the token phrases, "congratulations," "when are you due?" and "do you know if you are having a boy or a girl?" are suddenly, inexplicably insufficient.

For example, the approximately nine-year-old boy who asked me if I was going to have the baby right here, right now. Forgive me, but I am not prepared to discuss childbirth - mine or any other - with a sarcastic, pre-pubescent boy.

Or the older woman who loudly exclaimed from across a populated room about my swollen ankles, declaring that there is no way I am going to make it to my due date. (Just in case the pregnant lady isn't already self-conscious about her body's unfamiliar shape, her clumsy movements, or the extra twenty pounds she's lugging around, let's make sure she knows how awful her feet look, too. I mean, really.) What should I say when someone I do not even know tells me I will be lucky to make it to within two weeks of my due date? "Um, thank you"?

Now, if you are already an acquaintance, someone who has at least chatted with me about other aspects of life at times prior to becoming aware of my pregnancy, I am fine with a few questions or tidbits of helpful advice. I love to share the latest bits of progress on the nursery, or how active Baby has been lately; and if you really care, I will tell you about my latest ache or pain.

But, if you are a middle-aged man with a beer belly and you just happen to know my first name, do not imagine that it is clever - or even appropriate - to compare my growing circumference to yours. They are not the same.

--End of rant--

A Letter

This is an open letter to a group of my Christian brothers and sisters whom I have never met, in a place I have never been. You see, you are receiving a blessing this week that has required a sacrifice from me and my family: my sister, B, and her husband, L, as your new pastor and pastor's wife.

Please understand from the beginning that I have every reason to think well of you. L & B had only good things to say about you all after their visit to candidate with you. I have only seen warmth, kindness, and welcome from your interactions with them on Facebook and on your website. But I have learned the hard way that people we love and think we know and who, we believe, love us in return can hurt us the most profoundly. No one is beyond the benefit of an encouraging word of exhortation. And so, I desire to spur you on to love and godliness in your interactions with my sister and brother-in-law because, while God can require hard - even painful - things of us at times, failing to walk in His ways always results in pain, even for innocent parties.

For this reason, I write to you.

Please remember that my big sister is not just a pastor's wife. She is, but she is so much more than that. She is a wife, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a friend. She is a professional, a college graduate, and an aunt to my unborn child. She is the one who plunked out duets with me on the piano, who played dolls and dress-up with me, who introduced me to my favorite brand of makeup, who inspires me to read worthwhile books. She is well-read and has extensive knowledge about a variety of topics. She has spoken to a roomful of hundreds of collegues and has traveled to divers places. She has many strengths, but she has her fears and foibles as well. She isn't perfect, and moving into a parsonage will not make her so. Please, be kind in your words to and about her. Do not be shocked when she disappoints you or lets you down in an expectation. Get to know her as a real human, not just as your pastor's wife, or you will indeed miss out.

Please remember that L is not just your pastor. He is, but he is also so much more. L has hobbies and favorite books and places. He has quirks and preferences. He is not just learning to lead a church but also a wife. He will shepherd you in the ways of the Lord, but he himself is not infallible. There will be cultural differences as well (have you ever heard of Pizza Ranch or the Minnesota goodbye?). You will call him Pastor L, but do not let that title lull you into thinking that he is a pastor first (I say this because I am guilty of the same with my pastor). No, he is L. Please do not miss the richness of what that means by allowing the stereotypes and expectations of a title to suffice for actually getting to know him as a man.

Thank you for calling B & L. Thank you for extending this opportunity to a young couple fresh from seminary. I look forward to the opportunity to visit with you in person, to meet you and to begin to love the people and place that my sister and brother-in-law have chosen to love. I had never heard about you before a few months ago, and now it is my desire to make you friends as well as spiritual family. Please, in lieu of and agreement with their biological families who are separated by so many miles, wrap your arms - physically, spiritually, in prayer and in encouragement - around these our loved ones. As you do, may their absence from us be a gift to you. May you abound more and more in the riches of God's kindness, and may He strengthen you in the knowledge of our Savior Jesus Christ.

Peace be to you.

The Struggle

Our little family is in the third trimester now.

Third trimester.

That sounds so much scarier than the first or second trimester did. Now, labor is impending. A birth is coming and coming soon. We are closer now to being honest-to-goodness parents than we are to our past of being just a couple.

All this has been brought forcefully to my full attention as I wait to hear from one of my dear friends who is laboring to bring their daughter into this outside world. I have been praying for the three of them in the silence between text updates, trying not to worry over long silences, practicing trusting that all is well when I so desperately desire that nothing go wrong for our dear friends.

All of which makes me think of the last time I worked in our church nursery.

It was a fairly full Sunday, but we volunteers were handling it well. I was cuddling and rocking a little boy who was sleepy/weepy, which lent me the chance to observe some of the others. There was the brother-sister duo who were playing with the plastic food, the little guy who wanted to read books, and one particular little girl who was on a mission of her own making.

She was attempting to climb up onto the Little Tykes slide, which, ordinarily would not have been much of a challenge for her. She had, for whatever reason, decided that today she wanted to take a a toy up there with her.

This was a good-sized toy, not too heavy, but cumbersome enough that she had to push and prod and shuffle it around while trying to get a leg up on the playset, cacthing it as it threatened to tumble from a precarious perch, adjusting it, and trying again.

My rocker was close to the playset, and I found myself ready to lean over and reach out a hand. One little push and it would be easily centered on the platform above the slide and all that would remain would be for her to follow it herself. Mission accomplished, right?

But before I could lean over and act on the impulse to rescue her, the thought flashed across my mind, "The struggle is important."

I sat back, wondering where the thought had come from, and just that quickly, she had pushed the toy to a secure position and crawled up after it.

The struggle is important.

Sometimes, it is simply important in the sense of accomplishment that follows knowing we persevered when it was hard and got it done anyway.

It is certainly important to the development of infants and toddlers as they learn to hold up their heads, roll over, crawl, run.

Children struggle to read or write or do simple sums but later go on to college and grad school where they have a whole new set of struggles to vanquish.

And parents get to go through their own struggles of pregnancy, birth, and child-rearing - and then they look back and wonder where the time went.

All these struggles are a prelude to learning more, doing more, being more. There is no growth where there is no struggle.

The struggle is important.

Of course, we have families - families of blood and families of Spirit - who gather around us, support us in our struggles, help us with the resources to make it through, and sometimes even remove the struggle from our lives. They are an important part of life, placed there by God's own loving hand of provision.

But we must not be too quick to pray for the removal of our struggles. We must not be so short-sighted as to assume that the faster an issue is resolved, the better it is for us or for our struggling friend.

Growth happens in the action of struggling. Yes, we can grow bitter, but if we truly believe that the struggle is important, we are more likely to lean into the pain, eager for the outcome that rewards at the end.

Sometimes, that outcome is one successful step.
Sometimes, we are rewarded by discovering a world of possibilities between the pages of a book.
And sometimes, after the struggle, we get to meet our very own flesh and blood.

Settling for My Dream

Four years ago, I was a junior in college, signing up to take the GRE, starting to think about grad schools for my master's, enjoying life. Looked forward four years from then, I saw myself finishing my master's this spring, looking for jobs, ready to go out and pay off student debt, find a place of my own - maybe Boston or San Diego, travel (eventually) to Italy and Greece.

I didn't always want to be a career woman.

Once upon a time, my sole goal in life (other than being a missionary to China like Gladys Aylward or a horse rancher) was to be a wife and mother. The problem with my dream was that high school ended, and no requisite husband showed up.
I took a year off of school to become a licensed piano teacher.
Still no applicant for husband.
Then I took two years of college while dating a young man.
That didn't work, so I got a job for a year.
Still no man.
So I went off to school again. "Plan A didn't pan out," I thought, so I moved on to Plan B.

Then, life blew up (quite literally) three and a half years ago, catapulting me back to Plan A.

Now, here I am, preparing for my hugely anticipated promotion to the position of mother.

From the outside, it might look as if I've settled.

Instead of looking for promising career opportunities, I am looking for new recipes for supper.
Instead of driving to classes or a job every day, I walk a few blocks to a part-time job that doesn't pay much above minimum wage and busily page through books of prenatal and postnatal information in my down time.
Instead of writing research papers and reading peer-reviewed journal articles, I am writing grocery lists and researching the best way to contain dirty diapers until they can be washed.

Yeah, that might look like settling.

But to me, it's living my dream!

Stop and Feel the Roses

Do you ever think about what a boring place this world would be without texture?

I have pondered it lately due, in no small part, to a proclivity to nausea throughout the last several months (if you'received wondering why, read about the reason here). This seems especially relevant in the area of food.

Think of your favorite food for a moment. You can probably smell it, taste it, see it laid out in front of you, and feel it in your mouth. That "feel" may be the last thing I think of when it comes to food, but for some foods I avoid, I find that that is the primary reason for my dislike. It may looks nice, smell nice, and taste nice, but if that texture is too slimy, or grainy, or lumpy, it can completely overwhelm a dish's other positive attributes.

And textures in food are just a beginning!

I have a sweater I love, except that it itches when I wear it. My favorite around-the-house clothes look awful, but they feel so nice. When I bought sheets for our bed recently, I spent more time with my hand in among the cloth than I did picking a color.

Or the beauty of the outdoors? Imagine the green and brown of a tree - but without the fifty shades of each that textures give. It would look like a child's drawing: good enough for the refrigerator door, but a sorry excuse for a sweeping panoramic or idyllic pastoral.

And that is just a tree! There is the wonderful spiny texture of grass, the velvety curves of flowers, the soft bounce of clouds, the sweeping curve of sky, and the breath-taking undulations of a world covered in snow.

All that, and I haven't even touched on colors!

What a world of beauty and wonder we inhabit (yes, even those of us in a Midwestern winter)! There is a God I know, and I get my delight of texture from Him. How do I know? Because He did not have to make a world of textures. But He did. He made them, which tells me that He likes them, too.

So, take a moment, please, to stop and feel the roses.