Wednesday's Child is Full of Grace

I guess my body started laboring on Tuesday 3/18 but the early labor was so much like my prodromal labor had been for the past 5 weeks that I was unable to distinguish it for a loooong time. We went out to the midwife’s for my 39 week visit. Jim drove because it’s a 45 minute trip and I was unable to handle driving for that long. As it turned out I was immediately and intensely uncomfortable in the car. Everything looked/sounded good so we headed home. While at the midwife’s the uncomfortable crampy feeling had gone away only to return as soon as I got back into the car. We ran some errands on the way home but I was so uncomfortable and tired that I was getting crankier and crankier. By the time we got home I only had about an hour to rest before leaving to pick up the coop order. I was still uncomfortable but no longer felt crampy. I dozed and then left for our coop. By the time I got home Daniel woke up and I was back on mommy-duty. I had a sore throat and was still really tired and cranky so we did the least we could do until it was time for dinner. And then I fed D cereal and myself frozen soup, leaving J to fend for himself. While I was eating I realized that my uncomfortable feeling was beginning to settle into a pattern of contractions. This had in fact happened almost every night for a week so there was little spectacular in this observation. I amused myself by practicing thinking through them, saying, “surrender and open” whenever I would notice one coming. J put D to bed and we caught up on an episode of Lost. For kicks, I timed contractions during the episode. They were still irregular landing anywhere from 6-10 minutes apart and only about 30 seconds to 1 minute long at most. I figured I’d wake up still pregnant same as the last 5 days! Only I was never able to get real sleep. The contractions kept me at a doze and made me wake up every hour to pee.

By 1:30, I was beginning to think that maybe it would be easier to get up to pee if I was sleeping on the couch (our bed is pretty high off the ground for 9 months pregnant!). I got up and took my pillows with me, leaving J the bed. I tried several different positions, dozing on the couch only to wake up again at 2:30 to pee. Only this time there was a little streak of red when I wiped. The midwife had specified that she wanted me to call, even in the middle of the night, for ANY red or pink mucous. I’m glad she specified this because I was looking for bloody show not a little itty bitty streak! I was obedient and called but told her I was going to try and go back to sleep. I tried but falied. I got up around 3:00 and took a hot shower. I was having to focus on the contractions when they came, moving into them, squatting, swaying,etc. But they were still short and still coming irregularly, from 3-8 minutes apart. I was sure that I was in early labor now, but still thought I was very far from giving birth. After about an hour of laboring on my own, I realized I was thinking about getting in the pool every time I had a contraction. So I reluctantly woke J up and asked him to inflate and fill the pool. I was still fine between contractions, chipper and in complete denial that the train had left the station (as J put it!). So I puttered and moved through the contractions when they came. When the pool was full, around 5:00, we called the midwife back. I was still worried I would stall out if there was too much fuss about me (which is why I wasn’t sure about getting into the pool or waking J or calling the midwife). But I figured, she could evaluate the situation on her own and decide to come or not. She asked J how I was doing and when he told her I was moaning a lot she said, “Not what a midwife wants to hear!” and booked it on over!

J and I labored with me in the pool for a while. I was able to stay really focused on the contractions, keeping my voice low and thinking about opening up. I was saying a lot of “ohhhhhh” which in my head was “open”. The contractions were still short and not too intense. Around 6, D showed signs of waking up so we called my mom to come over. The midwife arrived a little after that in a rush (poor lady!).

I was pretty serious about labor at this point and the rustle and lights around me were really annoying. But I was able to keep my focus. I really needed a birth partner at this point to hang onto during contractions and help me stay low. I kept thinking, “I’m gonna get SO BIG” which amused me but also helped me stay in the contraction. J or the midwife would hold my hands when one would come so I could squeeze and moan. The birth energy was really picking up at this point. I could tell a contraction was coming because my legs would start shaking and then I’d feel the contraction. Like it would start at my knees and travel up and through me. J kept reminding me to let it “roll over me” which I would change in my head to “roll through me.” I was also puking every few contractions, which I did with D as well. But this time it didn’t feel wrong it just felt like more of the same birth energy ripping (or rippling depending on the moment) through my body.

Mom arrived just as D woke up. She played with him, fed him and brought him in to see me in the pool as he was able to deal with it. He did super well, not getting freaked out (except for a little when I went into transition and when Grace was crowning). He kept telling Mom that I was making cow noises! I was.

At one point the contractions started coming harder and closer and I began to think I was headed for transition. But I also really needed to pee and thought maybe if I could just pee things wouldn’t feel so intense. So J and the midwife helped me onto the toilet. I sat, peed and jumped straight up again as peeing pushed me over the edge into transition. Three hard contractions came one on top of the other. I was mostly able to vocalize through them and hang on to J (or maybe it was the midwife… I really couldn’t tell ya!). All I could think of was getting back into the pool as fast as I could. One more contraction in the bathroom and I went straight back into the pool. Things at this point were pretty intense and the timeline gets a little hazy. I was having a hard time dealing with some of these contractions. I could feel Grace moving down pretty quickly and I could feel myself opening up. I would describe her descent as a fist pushing down inside of me and the cervix opening up as being torn apart, but strangely less painful than all of that but no other language describes the power of those sensations. The midwife asked if she could check me and found me just about ready to push. She also saw a small little lip and aksed that I wait to push. Since I didn’t feel the urge at all yet (and had a two hour transitioin with D) I didn’t really believe that we were so close to the end. A couple of contractions later and my waters broke. It was such a forceful feeling that my first thought was the baby had punched me from the inside. But immediately I felt a desperate need to push. In fact, I felt my body pushing in spite of me. The midwife had seen meconium in the water and wanted me to deliver on the bed. She and J helped me out of the pool and onto the bed as wuickly as possible. I know I walked and they ushered but it really feels like they carried me we moved so quickly.

I landed on the bed in a kneeling position and J sprawled across from the other side to give me some moral support. Grace was crowning at this point and the midwife asked J if he wanted to help catch. He got up and walked around but I was suddenly seized by an unbearable need to bear down hard and realized I had nothing to grab onto to help me do that. So I somehow managed to tell J I needed him back with me. He again landed in a really awkward position but I was able to hang my arms around his neck and bear down. And I bellowed and pushed and bellowed and pushed! And we hit the ring of fire with some serious force! Wow! And it got worse! Then the midwife told me to take it easy. So I breathed, moaned and shouted but didn’t push, though my body wouldn’t stop, I just didn’t help it along at all. Another big, long amazingly painful powerful push and the most glorious feeling of pop and slither! I was done! She was out. The midwife passed Grace to me through my legs and I knelt and held her while the cord pulsed its last. “Is she still a girl?” I asked “What color is her hair?” J asked. And then she started to cry and look around a little and cry some more.

D and Mom came into the room at this point to seek out the source of the new noise! D was pretty excited and climbed onto the bed to peek at the little baby. Grace (still nameless) nursed within the first half hour, maybe at about 15 minutes while Jim called family to greet them with the news of the new baby. They all wanted details we couldn’t give them yet like, weight, height and name! We were still a little stunned at the speed of the whole thing! It was 7:55 am when Grace Elinor arrived, weighting 8lb 14 oz and measuring 20 1/2 inches long. It was around 9:30 when we were able to tell them all those details.

I am on cloud 9 with this birth. It was powerful and fast but I was able to stay present the entire time. I was able to surrender to the force of my body without panicking and without feeling a loss of control. This was exactly the birth I had hoped for and imagined.

Stuff....

I've been thinking a lot this past year (even longer, really) about stuff and money and God's gifts to us. I have a really hard time trying to figure out how to live a giving life in an American culture of excess and consumption. I hate consumption. I hate the accumulation of stuff and money. I find it really disturbing when believers hoard stuff (including money). I believe that Christ calls us to freedom from all things money-related when he tells us "Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for your selves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Luke 12:33-34 NIV) It is so easy to read those verses and say "Yeah, but... what about dinner? Or what about clothing? Or what about, x, y, z..." I can only say that the verses preceding tell us we are more valuable than the lilies of the field and the birds of the air who our Father takes care of absolutely. But I cannot tell you what the details look like. I cannot define excess for myself, so I cannot begin to define excess for anyone else. And as much as I hate the aforementioned things, I myself am guilty of consumption and hoarding. And I am fearful of taking that ultimate plunge and letting it all go!

I have long been trying to figure out how to live, conscious that everything I have (and I mean EVERYTHING) is God's gift to me, be it the dime I found on the floor or my sewing machines or my house or the food on my table. And if nothing belongs to me, then it should all be used to the glory of God. It's the how of that I've been stumbling over. We live in a culture of such excesses that it takes a constant awareness and effort to fight it off. And it's exhausting. And I constantly fail at it.

We had this great sermon on the parable of the talents (Mathew 25:14-28) a while back where our pastor challenged us to use the gifts from God (money or otherwise) boldly, taking them and making them work and growing them. His analogy was that an investor who takes risks is rewarded with a much larger profit margin (anyone who plays the stock market nows that a 10% return is a good year, right, but in this parable, the two guys get a 100% return, doubling each of their investments!) . I have been playing it safe with God's gifts, burying them and hoarding them.

I don't know really where this takes me, but I thought I'd offer up the challenge to the popular perspective on property and possesion. It's certainly been challenging to me to think through and question how I use (or don't use) my stuff. And to think through how I can take risks and gain the freedom from money that Christ talks about. If I come up with any answers, I'll be sure to let you know ;)

Food, seasons, speed....

(OK, I know it's been 3 months since I wrote ANYTHING but I've been nesting like a mad woman and excusably turned my energies to actually getting my house in order for our little Thumper, coming near the full moon of March. If anyone still cares to read this stuff, please forgive my absence!).

I've been thinking a lot about food recently. I love food. I enjoy cooking. But I hate the grocery store. I mean really hate the grocery store. To the point where I pretty much don't shop until there's nothing left but beans and potatoes and onions. I'm not exactly sure when this happened. I used to kind of like the process of meal planning and budgeting and going to the store every week. But recently, it has become an unpleasant chore. I hate loading up the car and packing my son up and heading out. I hate the experience of being in the store and feeling like I’m getting screwed from every angle. It’s such a pain to have to read every label and hope that I’m not missing something.

In the past few years we’ve become more and more green (and PC!) about our food choices. Starting with the switch to all organic produce and grains. Then we split a CSA (which is a great way to reconnect with where your food comes from). Then we bought a chest freezer and split 1/2 a grass-fed, free-range organic cow from a local farmer. Which meant I was never going to the store for meat (and could actually afford to buy ethically & sustainably raised meat).

Really I think it's the combination of all these things. We market in the park 7 blocks from our house all spring, summer and fall. We get our milk, eggs, bread, etc from the local grocer 5 blocks from the house where my son plays with the employee’s baby daughter. We know our farmers who provided all of the produce for the whole growing season, both through the CSA and at the market. I get bulk grains and legumes from our bulk foods coop once a month. I don't really have to go to the mega-grocery store anymore, definitely not in summer. It's nice.

I’ve been surprised to find how much this has made me aware of the pace of the seasons. In the Summer, everything is fast and quick and there is such abundance and so much work to do. I’m hoping to learn how to can and preserve soon so I can really begin to take advantage of this (and go to the grocery even less often)! But by the end of summer I don’t want to even look at another tomato! Come Autumn things begin to slow a bit and I start to crave those heavier foods like Squash or Leek & Potato soups. And by the time the first hard frost hits, I’m ready to nap and survive only on roots and grains, apples and sausages. But by the time Spring makes her first peeps in the buds on the trees and the bulbs shooting up, I am craving those greens! All I want is greens. Which is good cause around here that’s all I get for at least 3 weeks of the growing season!

I marvel at the sense of peace and the spiritual journey of learning (trying) to pace myself with the seasons. There is such rhythm there, like any week or month. It’s like Winter is the Earth’s Sabbath. Take a rest, God says, recuperate because Spring is coming and regeneration takes energy. Summer is close behind and abundance is taxing. But Autumn will follow and everything will indeed get done. Then the rest and sleep of Winter will come once again.

Play and motherly obligations

For some reason how much a mother/parent plays with their child(ren) has come up a lot in recent conversations. I've done a lot thinking about this because, well, I'm not inclined to play constantly with my son. In fact, I think that it is detrimental to the development of a child to become dependant on a parent to entertain them. The work of children is play. The work of an adult is many, many things and play is a part of that but it is not the primary focus. So, I do not feel guilty that I actively encourage my son to play on his own 90% of the time.

Does this mean that when my child needs my attention I ignore him? Not in the least. There is a world of difference between ignoring the needs of my child and activiely encouraging him to discover and create his own worlds of play. Worlds that I cannot and should not enter into. After all, why is it that I get bored within a few minutes of scripted, pretend play but children can go for long stretches of time without breaking character? Because I am not wired for that kind of play but my son is.

Of course, this all plays into how we parent overall. I practice what I have heard called benign neglect. That means that I allow my son a lot of free reign in which to explore and learn without interference from me. So, it seems to be a natural extension of that to encourage him to play for long stretches on his own. I think, too, it depends on how one defines play. We spend a lot of our day talking and he tags along with my chores most of the time. We go for walks and talk about what we are seeing and we read and cook, etc. But we also spend a long part of every day with me reading on the couch while he plays. Or if we go to the playground, I sit on the bench and only intervene when he is in danger or is threatening harm to another child! In other words, not very often.

I'm sure there are differing perspectives with regards to how much a parent should play with their children (as with every aspect of parenting!). I guess I would offer up the perspective that the guilt that is poured on by some media and experts is perhaps a little out of whack. Perhaps constantly being entertained is not a healthy state of being for adults. We should consider when those patterns are established. Yes, please interact with your child on their level. Yes, family time is great. But please don't feel guilty if it's just not your thing to play ponies or trains for hours on end.

friendship

I've been thinking a lot on how to follow up my last burst of enthusiasm. I haven't gotten anywhere. Right after I posted that, I found out I was pregnant and have been pretty much just trying to maintain normalcy, forget revolutions!

I am still overwhelmed with the idea of Christ as a radical lover and am fascinated with how that will take meaning in my life. But I still have no clear conclusions or distinct ideas on how to move forward. So, I've been praying. And having some really lovely conversations with friends both new and old.

So moving on.....

Monday evenings I often sing Sacred Harp with a local singing group. The words of these hymns are old and sometimes fierce, somtimes haunting. The sound is raw and primal and one of the most beautiful sounds to be found on this earth. It is one of the things that restores me. This week, I had my schedule completely confused and to make matters worse, I had mis-informed a new friend as to where we would be meeting. So 7:00 rolled around and it was only the two of us. Actually, I think it was divine intervention (because my tired preggo brain isn't enough reason LOL!). We ended up going down the street to a local coffeehouse and enjoyed some serious conversation. I don't mean serious as in somber and solemn. I mean serious as in those truly rare and precious moments in life where you can be free from masks and games and honestly connect soul to soul with another person. I was so much more restored by this than I ever could have been singing my heart (or voice) out! It has been a long while since I have had a chance to sit and talk to another woman, a believer & follower of Christ who has some similar passions! I mean, hey, her pits are hairy too! Of course it was good conversation! So today I am thankful for the chance to have met and connected with a new friend.

Christian Community: Let's get Messy!

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what it means to be a Christian. For many years now I have been embarrassed to be associated with Christians. I hide that fact of my life for as long as I can when I meet new people. This has been a huge struggle for me causing me to question my faith: am I really an unbeliever, what is so embarrassing, etc. It hasn’t helped any that I’ve felt seriously dry in my faith. I have had no desire to search for Christ or change who I am. In the past few months, I’ve really begun to think about this and have begun to understand a little more about what embarrasses me. I am hurt by and deeply troubled with the state of Christianity in America (I am sure the church is screwy worldwide, but I can only speak for my little corner of it here in the good ole US of A). With September 11th, Christianity became completely enmeshed with politics. Republican and Christian became confused and many of us became even further alienated from our beliefs. I am embarrassed to be associated with people who are hateful, angry, hurtful. Who are so focused on revenge that they cannot see love; who are so confused about right and wrong that they believe consuming more crap and spending more money is an appropriate response to acts of war. Ask someone what the first thing that comes to mind is when you say “Christian”. You will get answers (I would provide answers) like: angry, hateful, judgmental, shallow, etc. And I cannot say that is untrue.

All of this has led me to a real crisis of faith. Which was strange to me because I’ve never struggled with unbelief. I’ve never questioned who Christ was or that He came to save us from our sins. I’ve always believed fervently, passionately that Christ’s love for us would ultimately save us and that we would be restored and made whole in the eternal life. I’ve just lost sight of what that means here on earth. Which is a sad shame.

On a separate track (I thought), I’ve been thinking a lot about what it meant to care for the earth and to be good stewards of the blessings of this earth. And this has led me deep into crunchiness (I use only baking soda, vinegar and peroxide to clean house and my body; I try to line dry our clothes; we recycle; we ride our bikes when we can, we cloth diaper, yada, yada, yada). And all of this is nice and good and I do believe it is part of responsible stewardship. But I was missing the mark. These acts had become a sort of salvation by works for me. I was proud of these things; I allowed myself to be self-righteous (and consequently ungracious). All the while I am praying that God would start a revolution in my heart and that I could begin to feel passionately about my Lord again. Then God sent me to Cornerstone.

This year has blessed my heart and my spirit in ways I could not imagine. I attended a lecture called “Ordinary Radicals” by Shane Claiborne (look him and his community, The Simple Way up or check out his book, An Irresistible Revolution and check it out for yourself). This young man is on fire for our Lord Christ. And it is hard to resist it. Because, unlike with other magnetic leaders, it is easy to see the Gracious Spirit of Christ bursting out of every pore! He and his friends started in much the same place as myself, questioning the state of the church around them, disillusioned and broken hearted. And instead of whining (oh-so-guilty over here!), they began studying and learning about who Christ is (not who the church is) and decided to re-imagine the Church. Which ended up looking an awful lot like the early church.

So, my brothers and sisters out there in internet-land, I encourage you to embark on this journey with us. Forget your ideas of the church as you know it and open your bible to the book of Acts. Ask yourself what it would look like to take God at His word and obey? To forget hoarding your earthly treasures and start sharing them? Because you love your neighbor! Ask yourself how your gifts (all of your gifts: spiritual, mental, monetary, physical) can bless the church of God?

I’ve been asking myself some of these questions (and it is TOUGH!) and I have gotten SO EXCITED about some of the possibilities. Maybe instead of worrying about paying lot’s of money into the health insurance machine against the off-chance that you might get ill, we could start a health-care coop for our community. We could pay for the needs of our brothers and sisters and only ask for help when we needed it. What does it look like to sell my possessions and give that money to the poor? What about the things I might need to keep, how can I still share them? I’m thinking about my sewing machine and serger (integral parts of my art making and housekeeping, right?). Maybe I can share them by teaching others to sew and modify their own clothes. Maybe I can make baby slings and kids clothes for families in need.

How can we as Christ’s bride, His lovers, share that amazing gift? And let’s not allow ourselves the escape of thinking about "charity" or “ministry.” Ministry implies otherness. We condescend to minister to others in order to keep ourselves at a distance from their real messes. Let’s just care for each other. Love one another, our neighbors, as we love ourselves. Maybe that means that every time I buy something for myself, I need to spend an equal amount on a neighbor in need. I just spent $432 on a new bike. That’s a lot of money for a needy neighbor! Let’s get radical about this revolutionary love that Christ brought for us!

Good homemaking and the Feminist Me

A while back I stumbled across this blog post about the proverbial woman. She is a woman I have generally disliked, associating her with flower print dresses with white socks and general niceness. I am a cranky person; I do not mix well with nice. And I am a feminist (so take that flower-dress lady)! But this post was by somebody whose writing I respect, who appears to have a strong, clear head on her shoulders and sound theology. So, I started thinking and reflecting on myself and what does it mean to me to be a mother, wife and feminist (can those things coexist in a christian culture?).

For the past year or so I have been itching to move out of our little house. It’s tiny, we both need work spaces and we all like to have a little quiet space. We also have a lot of junk that is homeless. It’s crowded and cluttered (did I mention small?) and it just doesn’t feel homey. One day on a walk to the coffee house, I passed the perfect “grow into” home for us. 4 bedrooms, 2 1/2 floors, 2 car garage, basement, hard wood floors, a porch, urban living, great neighborhood, blah, blah, blah. $289,000.00. I started lusting. I started praying, “God if you wanted us to have that house, you could make it happen!” And one day as I was walking past the same house for the hundredth time (in two weeks!) I realized that I was so completely spoiled. We have a good home. By our standards, we live pretty luxuriously. The problem was not with our house but within me. I realized that I had no respect for my house. It was not home because I had not made it home.

I grew up in a family that divided all household chores. Everyone took a turn at everything; we lived communally. My husband did not. My expectations of married life (clearly stated BEFORE marriage) were that dh would learn to do chores and that we would divide them (except the cooking because, honestly, I like my food!). This is not my reality. My reality is that my husband has no interest in anything domestic. I really do think that he could live with stuff piled high in columns around him so long as he could reach the computer, toilet and food! And his movies, of course! But I do enjoy domestic life. Not just the nostalgic domesticity (canning, crafting, etc) but day-to-day maintenance of a home. I enjoy a tidy well-organized home (without clutter and without homeless STUFF). That said, there is no place for the enjoyment of homemaking within a feminist spectrum. So, I find myself beginning to feel ashamed of admitting that I enjoy keeping house; that it challenges me and that it blesses my family. And I believe those to be good things.

Where does this get me? I’m not sure. I’ve been feeling God working in my heart a lot as I consider the enormous blessings of our lives. And I am forced to admit that I have been neglectful of those blessing. No, I have been contemptuous of those blessings, allowing myself to slip into a model of “gimme, gimme. gimme.” So, I am trying to struggle through reconciling respect for and stewardship of the gifts in our life and the ideals I thought I carried. I think my ideals are in the process of being overthrown.