The last day

Today is the last day of 2018, and thus it goes.

In 2018, Shannon got a new job.

David graduated from medical school, matched to a residency program, and moved to Atlanta.  Ashton changed jobs with the move.

Laura earned a master's degree in special ed, bought a house, got a new job and had a baby.  Matthew, as well as being in on the house purchase and parenthood, started his first real, complete (non-residency) job.

Jonathan's apartment building burned down, fortunately while he was not in it (although that also lowered the recovery rate on what he was able to salvage).  He moved a couple of times in the aftermath, and also changed jobs.

Schubert died, and we got a new puppy.

Weird story:  This morning, December 31, 2018, I was driving through pouring rain to a lab for a blood test.  At the four-way-stop at Staley and Windsor, I saw a person, short and squat, dashing from corner to corner under the deluge of water.  This person was wearing dark jeans and a dark hoodie, which were drenched.  On his back, he carried a pink-flowered, little-girl backpack.  For awhile I tried to determine if he were a masculine looking woman, but then he turned his head and I saw a mustache and short beard, dark and pointed, and I figured he must be a man.  He lifted his legs high in front of him when he ran across the street, almost like some jolly sort of dance, kicking forward into the air so as to both move quickly and stay above the splashing puddles.  I believe he was wearing work boots on his feet.  He waved at the cars who waited so he could cross, and he really hoofed it quickly, which warmed my heart towards him.

I waited for him, too, but he didn't look my way, so finally I went, and he choreographed his route such that he departed from his corner just as I turned left across his road, so by the time he reached my lane, he was crossing immediately behind me.  Perfect timing.  I wondered where he was headed.  I wondered if I had ought to have offered him a lift.

Life is so bizarre.

Here we are in this wacky, wet, wild world, welcoming a tiny new baby who has it all ahead of him.

Christmas blessings

This year, Christmas was special and unusual.

Of course, it was neither special nor unusual that I had a birthday three days before Christmas.  That's a thing we are quite accustomed to.

However, on my birthday, my daughter began to go into labor.  It started slow and took awhile to ramp up.

The next day, her baby was born, a tiny blond bundle of Christmas sweetness.

The day after that was Christmas Eve, and then Christmas Day.

There were only four of us this year, and Duffy.  But it was beautiful, with blue skies, golden prairies and 50 degrees.

Christmas breakfast

Jon and Duffy with sunshine on their heads.

Shannon soaking in window light.

A little Christmas joy.

And far away, a baby boy begins to grow in a big, new world...

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas.

A trick to finding joy is this: 

Be thankful for what you have, rather than grieving what you don't have.

In the past, they used to call this counting your blessings.

Count your blessings,

name them one by one --

and it may surprise you

what the Lord has done!

Surrendering to pain

With my baby on the verge of having a baby, I find myself reliving labor, night after night.

I already mentioned how the key is to relax.  You relax by surrendering to the pain, and the good work it is doing to open your body so birth can come to pass.  You do no good if you fight the pain.  You must surrender to the pain.

It occurs to me that this is a powerful metaphor for sanctification.

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds," writes the Apostle James.  "Because the testing of your faith produces perseverance and maturity." (James 1)

Consider it a gift when you have a labor contraction, because labor contractions produce a baby.

"We rejoice in our sufferings," writes the Apostle Paul, "because suffering produces perseverance, which produces character, which produces hope in the love of God, who will never disappoint." (Romans 5)

In this world you will have trouble, said Jesus, But take heart!  Don't worry about it.  It will all be okay, because I have overcome the world.  (John 16)

Pregnancy, labor and and delivery are a metaphor for the painful, profitable work of sanctification in this life, preparing us for the promised reward of eternal life in glory.

Jesus taught his disciples that grief will turn to joy.  A woman giving birth to a child has anguish because her time has come; but when her baby is born, she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.  So with you: now is your time of grief, but I will see you again, and you will rejoice, and no-one will take away your joy.  (John 16)

We need to trust God through the pain, the searing moments, and the excruciating seasons.

God is good.  He is full of love, and full of power.  He says, My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.  (Isaiah 46)

The world is broken by sin.  We live here, in this broken place, so sometimes it hurts more than we think we can bear.  The compounding effects of our sins and other people's sins weigh us down and wear us out.  Ironically, we can only prevail if we surrender to the pain, believing God's promise that He works all things for good for His children. (Romans 8)

Come to me, He says, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  (Matthew 11)

Fighting the pain leads only to separation from God, bitterness and despair.  Instead, we must surrender to the Lord's work through painful circumstances, believing in faith, with hope, that something beautiful will be born of it in the end.  We must endure with patient faith in His love.  Meditating on His great love will hold us together.  God demonstrated His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5).  Perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4), and getting past fear is the best way to mitigate pain.

After the Big Mistake in Eden, God told Eve, I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children. (Genesis 3)

Sin brought pain and death, but the grace of God is this: even as death entered His perfect creation, He instituted new birth, painful though it had to be, as means for the continuation of life.

I've often pondered on 1 Timothy 2:15 -- But women will be saved through childbearing, if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety.  What in the world does that mean?

Of course, we are all saved as a result of the birth of Jesus through Mary.  God used a mortal woman to give birth to the Savior of the world.  As Jesus undid the curse of Adam, so in a closely connected way, Mary undid the curse of Eve by bringing baby Jesus into the world.  "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord," she said.  "Let it be to me according to your word." (Luke 1)

And thus, a woman gave birth to the man who would save us all.  As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 11, In the Lord, woman is not independent of man, nor man of woman; for as woman was made from man, so man is now born of woman.  And all things are from God.

All things are from God.  Life is from God.  Birth is from God.  Grace is from God.  Hope is from God.

It could have been all over, instantly, that day in the garden.  Sin, which leads to death, could have resulted in annihilation, the end of everything.  But the grace of God began immediately to cover sin and bring life out of death.  Although Adam and Eve would die, humanity would not.  Life would continue through their children and their children's children, and in the end, many would be saved, an unfolding, multiplying miracle of grace.

God brings miracles out of bad things, out of pain.  We can surrender to pain with faith and certain hope that joy will prevail in the end, because God is in control.

Waiting for baby

Funny how it seems like it never rains, but only pours.  There are babies due all over the place, special tiny bundles, and my friends and relatives are joining me in welcoming new Christmas miracles all over the country.  What a wonderful reminder of Jesus, and a beautiful distraction from materialism.

As I wait and wonder when our little grand will make his appearance, I think back to my own labors and deliveries.

The key, I found, was relaxation.

"Loose jaw, loose perineum," they told us, and it seemed to be true.  If you could focus on keeping your jaw relaxed, the rest of you would follow suit.

"Loose jaw, loose perineum," Shawn and I would say to each other and laugh.

I never read the Dune books, but Shawn told me that in them, the characters talked about dealing with pain by letting it pass through them.  This also turned out to be a helpful concept during labor.  The pain can't hurt me if I don't let it, if I approach it with a confident passivity and refuse to catch and hold it.

It was also helpful to think of the pain as a healthy exercise in opening the body, to (figuratively, of course) grab the pain like a jar, and lean into it, turning into it, like twisting off a lid, as the body opens in this special and unusual way that actually lets a soul pass through.

Loose jaw, loose perineum.

Let the pain pass through.

Lean in and open.

Focus the energy flow down and out, down and out, out through your toes, out through your fingertips, and out with the baby.  Lean in.  Let it pass through.  Relax and open.

Breathe.

The breathing is key.  You have to keep breathing.  If you start holding your breath, you will tense up, intensifying the sensations, and it will be a strenuous endeavor to bring things under control again.  You don't have to do anything fancy with your breathing, just breathe deep and slow.  In through your nose--smell the flowers--for a count of ten.  Out through your mouth--blow out the candle--for a count of ten, leaning in, pushing down, working with the contractions, always with them, never against them.  If you transpose your nose and mouth breathing, don't worry.  Just keep breathing deep and slow.

If your husband is there, and if he is watching a monitor, it is helpful if he can alert you when the monitor shows a contraction beginning.  As the line on the graph edges into a rise, take an extra big, deep cleansing breath and start the deep chest breathing.  Keep going until the contraction subsides.  Down and out, out through the fingertips, out through the toes, lean in and open.  Picture your body opening more with each contraction; this is the work that labor does, and it is most productive when you consciously focus on working with each wave.  Each wave is an opportunity to move closer to seeing your baby.

Walk as much as possible, until you can't anymore (or they won't let you).

Breathe deep and slow.

Keep your jaw loose.

Focus your energy down and out.

Let the pain pass through you.

Lean in and think about your body opening.

Think about the little baby in there, on the cusp of discovering a whole new world that he's never even imagined.  Think how confused and curious he must be, and perhaps a bit frightened.  Tell him, "Don't worry little one, we're going to be okay.  We're going to be okay, you and me."  Think about opening your body for him, so he can come out.  Think about how much you love him, and how wonderful it will be to hold him and marvel at his tiny fingernails and his velvet-soft ears.

Big, deep, slow breaths.

Loose jaw.

Lean in and open.

And when it comes time to push, whether or not you are having an episiotomy, ask for a shot: novocaine, xylocaine, lidocaine, whatever they will give you.  Get this shot, to ease the very end.  You will be glad.

When they've given you the shot and told you to push, push for all you're worth and get it over with.  You might call out a prayer for God to help you, and that's okay.

The prize is coming.

This December

It is a dim, snowy December morning.

I sit at my gray desk in the corner of my room, my study that we cobbled together from a spare bedroom, and I look out the two corner windows, through my white lace balloon curtains.  These curtains are probably silly and out of style, but I like them, so I don't care.  They are particularly pretty with snowflakes floating behind them.  Frilly white curtains, in front of thin, horizontal white mini-blinds, in front of windows with white muntins dividing the glass into eight rectangles per pane.  All this, in front of air full of white snowflakes busily traveling many pathways on their downward route, like so much city traffic.  Layers and layers of white.

This is quite a contrast to my memories of last December, when the sky shone brilliant blue, and we were still raking great piles of golden leaves, and the grass was green.  Last December at this time, we had just finished with an episode of effort towards healing, an effort that incurred more bills than benefit, but isn't that often the way?   I remember how bruised and numb I was, raking, astonished at the beauty of the blue and the gold surrounding me in my personal darkness.

This year I feel much less alone.  Last year, loneliness loomed in bright silence.  This year, I amble about, blanketed in quiet.  Except when I go out to shop for Christmas.  Then the music is obnoxiously loud.  The mall makes me feel more sad than ever: so much junk, so much desperation to sell it, so few customers.  If I could write the motto for Christmas, I would make it:  More love, less stuff.

More love, less stuff.  Doesn't that sound wonderful?  Time, laughter, meaningful conversation, shared stories and memories, long letters, delicious cups of coffee and tea, beautiful music, prayers of gratitude.

This year, we are waiting for a baby to be born while we think of the Baby who came to save the world, so many years ago.  We wait for a human baby, not divine, just a little fellow dropping into existence whether he cared to or not, because two people wanted to have a family, and God saw fit to grant their desire.  We wait to look into his little eyes and touch his tiny fingers and toes, to wrap him in blankets and shelter him against the cold terrors of the world.  We pray for what he will become; we pray for abundant grace on all of his life.  May God envelop him and prepare him and use him for much good.  May his life bring healing, peace and love to many people, a reflection of that other Baby, whose birthday he might even share.

Lo how a rose e'er blooming

from tender stem hath sprung!

Of Jesse's lineage coming,

as men of old have sung.

It came a flow'ret bright,

amid the cold of winter,

when half spent was the night...

This flower whose fragrance tender

with sweetness fills the air,

dispels with glorious splendor

the darkness everywhere!

True man, yet very God,

from sin and death He saves us,

and lightens every load.

~traditional