Hot, Hot, Hot!

It is hot. Quite uncomfortably hot, even by my Midwestern standards. My parents, who live down south in Oregon, actually bought an air conditioner - something they never saw fit to do during my childhood in Illinois, where the diamond days of summer stretched from May through September. But I am not bitter.

We bought a kiddie pool and let Elise cool off in it for a while. She seemed to think it was great fun, and she looked so cute in her tiny little bathing suit. She is going to start swimming lessons tomorrow. Of course at such a young age, the purpose of swimming lessons is just to become accustomed to the water and to have fun. Swimming lessons for Elise meant that I had to go shopping for a swimming suit for myself. This is traditionally a most unpleasant outing for me. This time, however, my dear friend Janene gave me the good advice to try shopping at a sporting goods store rather than a department store. This turned out to be a great idea. (I realize that I have just started the last three sentences with the word "this". This is not very versatile of me.) The sporting goods store had only a handful of suits, and they were all meant to be worn for the purpose of swimming, not for parading oneself in front of anyone interested in looking. I was in and out of the store in under 30 minutes with as satisfactory of a suit as I believe I will ever find (swimming suits will never be my favorite article of clothing). Thanks for the advice, Janene!

Elise has struggled a bit with the heat. I worry about her. We do our best to keep her cool. I have Pedialyte popsicles in the freezer for tomorrow. Today she didn't drink as much as I would have liked her to. She didn't eat much, either, but I think that is to be expected in such heat. (TMI WARNING.) Her wet diapers have decreased, and she actually did not manage to keep her lunch down this afternoon. Once that unfortunate event happened, I put her in a cool bath and let her play for a long time. After that she took a nap in just a diaper with a fan aimed right at her crib. When she woke up, we left the house for a couple of hours and spent our time mostly in the air conditioned car or in air conditioned stores. By the time we got home, the temperature was at least tolerable and Elise was playful and energetic again. I hope for her sake that the weather cools down soon.

Oh, the humanity!

I was just thinking - isn't it great that we're people? I'm so grateful that I'm a person. I mean, think about it. People, humans, are at the highest level of existence in this world. (There are those people who really like cabbage or hamsters who might disagree with me. I am writing from a Christian perspective. As a Christian, I believe that humans have been given the position of highest earthly beings.) There are a lot of creatures in this world. I can't even think of a number big enough to come close to being able to measure all of the living things. I could have been created as a tree or a goldfish or a mushroom or a bacterium or a sponge. Of course, then I wouldn't have been "I", but still, God could have created me as any of His living creatures. Or even, I suppose, as a non-living creature. God didn't only create those things that experience life and death. He could have made me a rock, or water, or an element. Really, of the gazillions (to revert to the language of childhood) of things that God created, the chances of any given thing being a person are pretty slim. How lucky are we to have been made humans?!? Pretty darn lucky.

Curtains

What I should have been doing:






What I did instead:




This is a curtain for the baby's room. It's not done, but at least it's pieced so I can see what it will look like. I'm pleased with it.

Independence Day

Yesterday I saw a TV commercial for a car sale. A "4th of July" car sale. The ad flashed images of shiny new cars, parked neatly in their rows, beckoning for some patriotic American to come and take them home. "America the Beautiful" was the song chosen by the car company to accompany the ad. "America the Beautiful". I don't get much opportunity to sing the historic songs of patriotism these days, but I'm pretty sure that "America the Beautiful" doesn't include anything about the beauty of "rows of shiny cars".

I am disappointed by the way that we Americans observe our national, patriotic holidays. Memorial Day, Independence Day, Veteran's Day. Now, I recognize that Independence Day differs from the other two. Independence Day should be a day of celebration. It is the day that we celebrate the birth of our nation. We SHOULD celebrate! But not with car sales. Not with 0% financing until 2008. How do those things commemorate the sacrifices made by our founding fathers?

I am preaching to myself here. I haven't quite figured out exactly the best way to celebrate. I have an inkling that an appropriate Independence Day celebration would include family and friends enjoying one another's company, enjoying the freedom that was so hard-earned by those who came before us. It would include a time to reflect on what we are celebrating. It would include an act of gratitude toward those who are still making sacrifices to maintain our freedom. The other patriotic holidays - Memorial Day and Veteran's Day, specifically - should be observed similarly, I think, only perhaps not so lightheartedly. These days are, after all, set aside as times to remember and appreciate our servicemen and women, especially those who have given their lives for our country. They are not necessarily meant to be happy occasions. (Contrary to popular belief, we do not need to be happy all the time.) If I may make so bold a comparison, Memorial Day is to Independence Day as Good Friday is to Easter. A horrible day, a day of ultimate sacrifice. Without it, we would have nothing to celebrate. And, just as Easter is not about pastel eggs and candy, so Independence Day should not be about fireworks and barbecues. These things are ways that we can enjoy the day, but if they obstruct the true meaning, then they are worthless.

So now I'm thinking about how to celebrate. Here are some ideas:

• Learn all of the verses to The Star-Spangled Banner and read a biography of Francis Scott Key.
• Volunteer at a VA hospital.
• Spend an afternoon visiting with residents at a nursing home (lots of WWII veterans now live in communities like this).
• Support our active duty military personnel. www.americasupportsyou.mil.
• Read the Declaration of Independence.
• Spend time as a voter registration volunteer.
• Make sure YOU are registered to vote!
• Visit a veterans' memorial.
• Watch a movie that portrays the sacrifices made for the sake of freedom, such as The Patriot, Glory, Saving Private Ryan, or We Were Soldiers.

Have a happy Independence Day.

Perilous Ventures

Elise is ten months old now and is "cruising" - pulling herself to stand while holding onto furniture and walking alongside said furniture. It's very cute, but it has also made us realize how dangerous growing up really is. It is 11:21 in the morning right now. So far today, Elise has: 1) fallen off her favorite climbing toy (i.e., Mommy's filing box) onto her head, 2) fallen backwards from a standing position onto the linoleum floor, and taking a heavy piece of petrified wood with her (we use it as a bookend), 3) gotten her finger stuck in the wheel of a pull toy, and 4) bonked herself in the face with Daddy's keys, which make a splendid rattle. All before her first nap. I can't wait to see what the afternoon holds.

Now some of you might be thinking, "What negligent parents!" You either recognize the aforementioned events as normal perils associated with graduating from babyhood to toddlerhood, or you think these minor injuries are the result of parental negligence. If the former, you are correct and discerning. If the latter, well, phooey on you.

Addendum: While I was typing this, Elise crawled under swing and tried to stand up, which resulted in not only hitting her head on the bottom of the swing, but also in the swing swinging and coming back to hit her in the head a second time. Maybe being indoors today is a bad idea.

Elise

"Only a dummy would give this up for something as common as money." - Grandpa Joe, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Think of it what you will

Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump. I said, "Don't do it!" He said, "Nobody loves me." I said, "God loves you. Do you believe in God?" He said, "Yes." I said, "Are you a Christian or a Jew?" He said, "A Christian." I said, "Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?" He said, "Protestant." I said, "Me, too! What franchise?" He said, "Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?" He said, "Northern Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region." I said, "Me, too!"
Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912." I said, "Die, heretic!" And I pushed him over.

- Emo Philips, I think.

Projects

We've been working on a lot of projects around my house. It feels so great to get them done. My husband has been working his tail off all weekend cleaning and organizing the basement. It looks fabulous. I have been working in the baby's room. I had all these grand plans of a beautiful, dreamy nursery before Elise was born. Then she was born, and what was still undone has remained undone. Until now. We finally got a dresser for her, and are finally hanging the various pictures and such on her walls. My sewing room has been rendered useful once again and I am busily working on sewing and craft projects, trying to be with it enough this year to actually finish some of the projects that I intend to use as gifts come Christmas. It has been a productive weekend. It's nice.

An Admirable Family

I mentioned before that we visited with my college roommate while on vacation last week. That fact really deserves greater acknowledgement. My friend lives on her own, but when we were there she stayed overnight at her parents' house, where we also stayed, because they have more room for overnight guests than she does. The family is admirable. I really enjoyed watching them and visiting with them.

I don't really know how to explain the appeal of their home. I would imagine that if you have ideas of a good home that are similiar to mine, you will get it, and if you don't, you'll probably think I am silly to blog about something so insignificant. They just have one of those homes that puts you instantly at ease. It wasn't just order and cleanliness, although those virtues were certainly present. It was a real sense of home and family, a genuine atmosphere of love, stability, and generosity. I'll try to give some examples of what I mean, although tangible things really cannot do justice.

Yanni, the mother, had flowers all over the house. She grew them all herself, and they were scattered about in vases, mugs, bowls and other dishes. They were beautiful. She made rhubarb-strawberry cobbler from rhubarb and strawberries that she grew. Her 3/4 acre yard is like a botanical garden right in the middle of dry, barren northern California. She said that when the family moved from Alaska twenty years ago, they had such fond memories of Alaska that she worked for years to cultivate some of the plants that they remember from there. The hallway wall is covered in family photos. The refrigerator has pictures of the multiple children that the family sponsors through a relief organization. The little neighbor boy comes over and picks his fill of strawberries. At 8:00 in the morning, while we were eating our breakfast of eggs (from the chickens in the backyard) and zucchini bread (from zucchini grown in Yanni's garden) and coffee, another neighbor from up the road called Yanni to ask if she would like to go for a walk a little later in the morning. The big yellow dog looks ferocious and is really just a gentle giant. He is so fond of his human companions that if they are in the back yard and forget to leave a door open for him to leave the house and join them, he will push the screen out of the kitchen window and jump out. They don't lock their doors. When we mentioned that we should go out and lock our car before going to bed, my friend laughed and said she leaves her keys in the car. When we first arrived, my friend's dad greeted us warmly, saying how good it was to see us again...although he had only met us once before. He barbecued up some hamburgers and hotdogs for us, then sat at the table and talked with us while we ate. He's one of those great conversationalists, the kind that you can talk to for twenty minutes and you suddenly realize that he knows a whole lot more about you than you know about him. He's a contractor of some sort, I think, and his wife is a nurse. They have five children. When they first moved into their house twenty years ago, it was 1100 sf. They have spent two decades renovating and adding onto it, making it more livable for the seven of them. Yanni mentioned that she would like to add on again, to make the actual living area bigger. With five kids, they naturally focused on adding bedrooms in their previous renovations. But now, with children-in-law and grandchildren just around the corner, she would like to have a larger general living area so they can all be in the same room for holidays and family gatherings. But, she said, how could she add on yet again when there are starving people in the world?

Their home is wonderful. There is nothing cheap about it. There is nothing extravagant about it. The family is warm and generous and they are just about the least pretentious people I've ever met. There is a feeling of sensible frugality and simple luxury in that house. I left with great admiration for the whole family.

The Neighborhood of Make Believe

I read Mere Christianity a week or so ago. Great book. It got me thinking (as any great book should do). C.S. Lewis uses a lot of highly imaginative examples and analogies, things involving the relativity of time, theories of evolution unlike any I have heard before, and so on. This is not surprising. Lewis had an incredible imagination; add to that his ability to communicate his imaginings, and you've got a remarkably gifted man. Anyway, I had a hard time with some of his suggestions. Not the literal meanings, but the imaginings. I'm so darned practical and realistic that I sometimes struggle with things that aren't obviously practical and realistic. And this, I have found, is a great handicap. It really inhibits my understanding of God. I could discuss this at length, but I won't put you through that. The real point, or at least the most clear resolution in my own mind, is that I don't want my children to have this handicap. Yes, of course I want my kids to have a good handle on reality, I don't want them to live in La-La Land. But I want them to know that the world is a really big place, and the universe is even bigger, and God is even bigger, and that we may not have the best vantage point from which to view our own lives or the lives of those around us, and we most certainly don't know all there is to know about God. I want them to have minds that are sharp and discerning, and hearts that are full of wonder and awe. I want them to have good imaginations. I will do everything I can to encourage and strengthen their imaginations. This is one of my primary goals as a parent.

Harry E. Fosdick said, "I would rather live in a world where my life is surrounded by mystery than live in a world so small that my mind could comprehend it." If I had to judge Harry's life by this one statement, I would say he was a very wise man.

Vacation

We've just returned from a road trip to San Bernardino, CA. My family organized a multi-phase surprise party in honor of my grandmother's 75th birthday. My husband, my daughter and I drove from Seattle, stopping in Portland to pick up my sister. My brother, his wife and their two children drove from Colorado Springs. My parents and two youngest siblings drove from the Portland area. It was a great surprise, all of us showing up on different days and at different times. Grandma was quite overcome, as evidenced by the fact that she stood at the kitchen sink crying for quite a while after the last group of grandchildren showed up.

Quite a few of us met at Disneyland while we were there - a great benefit of having relatives in southern California. I don't like amusement park rides, so I walked around with the baby and enjoyed the sights. We did take her on the It's A Small World ride, and she absolutely loved it. She did her excited bouncing dance thing - Janene, just like she did at the restaurant when you were holding her. Our six-almost-seven-year-old niece bought a "My First Ears" pink Mickey Mouse ears hat for our daughter. It's really cute.

We got to spend some time with a dear friend of ours, one of my college roommates, on the way there and on the way home. It was so good to see her, to catch up. Spending time with her is refreshing.

We returned one week and two hours after we left, and totalled about 2500 miles. It was exhausting and fun. Our daughter did amazingly well. She only fussed when we drove too long past her meal time and when Aunt Bethany was not in the back seat with her. I am so glad to be home and am looking forward to getting back into the swing of things. Still, I had a good time and am very glad that we went.

Frustration

I am fighting a losing battle against housework. It seems that I am ill-equipped to fight it. No matter how much I do, it is still there. It is ALWAYS there. There is always laundry, always something that needs to be dusted or washed or put away or swept or scrubbed or vacuumed. I know that it will always be there. Housework isn't a one-time deal. It's not like you finish it and it's done. You never finish. It's cyclical. It is always, always there. But this weekend, for whatever reason, I feel like it is not only a never-ending task, but also one that is impossible to keep up with. I feel like I am rapidly losing ground, and it is depressing. I don't know if it's because the sunny weather has nudged me away from home more often than usual, or because my daughter is becoming more and more active, or simply because my efforts have somehow become ineffective. I'm not entirely sure what to do about it.

Big Yellow Taxi

I feel like I should feel like a traitor, only I really don't.

I like that song Big Yellow Taxi. I've always liked it, from the time I first heard it (although I have to admit that the first time I can remember hearing it was when Amy Grant recorded her rendition about twelve or fifteen years ago. I didn't know who Joni Mitchell was then). Do conservatives like that song? That's why I feel like I should feel like a traitor, but I don't. See, there's this one line in the song that smells of activism, the environmental variety that most conservatives eye with suspicion. "Hey, farmer, farmer, put away that DDT now. Give me spots on my apples, but leave me the birds and the bees, please." See? DDT, hurts wildlife, would rather eat splotchy fruit, etc. Sounds pretty Woodstock, right? Yeah. And somehow I have the feeling that a conservative girl like me would be looked down upon by the greater conservative community for liking a song that touts the benefits of splotchy fruit. But I like the song, and I don't feel like a traitor.

Contentment

I haven't felt that I've had much to blog about lately. I usually write about things that have been on my mind, things I have been pondering. I guess my mind has been empty for a couple of weeks. :) Well, that's not really true. It has just taken me longer to think through things and get to the point where I can write about them with any semblance of clarity.

I have six friends who are pregnant. That is not counting the several other women who are casual acquaintances who are pregnant. My pastor's wife has counted twelve 2006 babies at our church (some are already here, most are on the way). I'll get to know all of those babies by working in the nursery, but at this point I would only count two of the mothers as friends. Six pregnant friends. My husband was worried that this would make me want another baby right away, but I am quite content. I'm just marveling at the fact that so many of my friends are expecting! A few years ago, Andy and I went to wedding after wedding after wedding. Now all of those people are having kids. It's weird, watching the stages of life. I suppose Little League practice will be next.

Chris recently said, "These are the good old days." I think he's right. What a wonderful time of life!

I've been thinking a lot lately about being content. About the differences between contentment and complacency. About choosing temporal things that provide short-term happiness versus choosing asceticism, about moderation. Paul's statement that he had learned how to be content in all circumstances (Philippians 4:12) is inspiring to me. It's something I strive for. What a picture of a peaceful, reliant life. His purpose, his sense of fulfillment, was not contingent upon any thing. I want to learn to be content in all circumstances. For the last nine months, I have been so happy that I've wondered if I've learned to be content. But I think that is highly unlikely. Of course I'm content now. I am living a dream come true. I've been wondering if I would be content in the face of hardship. I don't face hardship right now. A few inconveniences, yes, but nothing that could be counted as hardship. I don't really think that anyone can say they have learned to be content in all things unless they have been tested. I haven't been tested in quite a while. I so desire to be content in all things that a part of me wants to be tested. But then I think about what that could mean and I shudder. I'm not going to spend a lot of time thinking about it. I know that life will not always be easy, and so I will enjoy and be thankful for this time of peace and plenty for as long as it lasts, and pray and prepare myself as best I can for any future times of trial.

I've been thinking about the different ways that contentment could be tested and have decided that I think the true test of contentment is in hardship. Paul was in prison when he wrote his inspiring and challenging words. Recently our closest friends have had wonderful things happen to them. Chris and Janene moved into a beautiful house in a quaint town. It's fantastic. Lots of room; vintage wallpaper, light fixtures, architectural details; old-fashioned flowers blooming all around. It's a great house. And then we just found out that Bob and Grahame are expecting their second child. I would describe the baby as I described Chris and Janene's house, but that would be hard. Let's see...a beautiful, perfectly-formed, intricate grape seed with a heartbeat. My husband was concerned about my potential reactions to these events (which, sadly, doesn't say much about my reactions to things in the past). He was afraid that seeing Chris and Janene's new house would make me want to move, and that hearing about Bob and Grahame's new baby would make me want to have another baby. It didn't, on both counts. Of course I don't want to live in this house forever, and I certainly want more children eventually, but I'm fine where I am right now. I will admit that I had a brief moment of bemoaning the fact that my house doesn't have a lot of inherent character to it, but then I realized that this is not true. It's just that its character is not so much Anne of Green Gables and is much more Jan Brady. But I digress. This experience of being completely happy for - no, completely happy with - my friends, and not at all envious, is a good one. Great, in fact. It's very freeing. And whether this sentiment reflects a little bit more understanding of contentment than I had two years ago, or simply a time of smooth sailing in life, I'm enjoying it. There will be ups and downs in life, and this is an "up" time. I won't worry about tomorrow. It's going to come, good or bad, and I'll deal with it then. Today is good.

Things that make me happy.

My husband and I got each other the same anniversary card. That makes me happy.

Dirty Barns

"An empty stable stays clean, but no income comes from an empty stable." - Proverbs 14:4, NLT

The youth pastor at our church wrote a great end-of-the-year letter based on this verse. I cannot take credit for the insight; that would be religious plagiarism. Anyway, he wrote about how messy youth ministry can be - quite literally, as he spends time each week cleaning up after neighborhood teenagers who use the skateboarding ramps set up outside the youth barn. (Barn. I guess that makes the analogy even more realistic. Hehe.) He said that this is frustrating to him, and he would much prefer to not spend his time in this way, but then he recalled this verse and realized that in order to have a clean 'barn', he would have to get rid of his 'oxen' - the teenagers. No oxen = no harvest. He jokes that now he cleans up the 'manure' with a better attitude.

I read this letter just the other day, and then this morning ran across the verse in Proverbs. The book of Proverbs is so great - short little phrases that offer profound wisdom for everyday life. I think that this verse (like so many in Proverbs) can be applied to many situations in life. I applied it to my home. I find a lot of housework to be very satisfying, but that doesn't mean that I enjoy it all the time. I don't particularly like scraping dried mashed banana off the floor. There is at this very moment a crusted-over puddle of liquid laundry detergent on my laundry room floor, where the giant keg of Tide apparently dripped its contents for quite a while without being noticed. I know it's there. I know that if I don't clean it up, it will eventually discolor and maybe damage the linoleum. But I am putting it off because it just doesn't sound like a very pleasant chore. (It takes a lot of water to clean up a pile of soap.) What would it take to have a perfectly clean house? An empty house. An empty house is a clean house. One where no people come in and 'mess it up'. I think there is a name for a house like that. Museum.

I have come to enjoy hanging my husband's robe up every morning. It used to annoy me. I would find it in a crumpled heap on the floor, or thrown onto the bed, and I would sigh and shake my head. Now I like hanging it up. It reminds me every day that on that morning, my husband woke up. Blessing #1 - my husband is alive. He got out of bed. Blessing #2 - he is able-bodied. He spent time in his robe, meaning he spent time enjoying the comfort of our home. Blessing #3 - we have a home and the leisure to enjoy it. Then he discarded the robe and got dressed for work. Blessing #4 - he has a job and is able to provide for our family. Messy stable? Yep. But the harvest is so good.

I think this applies to life in general, too. What would it take to have a clean life? To not have to deal with anything messy? It would take an empty mind, and an empty heart. A person without principles, without integrity, can go through life unchallenged. All they have to do is whatever is easiest at that moment. They don't have to think for themselves, they don't have to ponder anything, they don't have to show compassion, and they don't have to practice kindness. It is easy to be shallow and selfish. But, oh, how empty. How fruitless. At the end of the day, I would rather be tired from physical and mental exertion, weary from concern for the oppressed, and overwhelmed by a concept that my mind has not yet been able to grasp; I would rather feel this way than to fall asleep unencumbered by thoughts of anything greater than myself. I'd rather have a messy barn than a clean one.

Fish

Context: Steere is talking about how, in intercessory prayer, we are oftentimes led to do something for the person for whom we are praying, in addition to praying for them. He adds that we are oftentimes led to make amends in our own lives before we can offer a prayer of petition.

"Prayer is incipient action...Here is the unformed side of life's relationships - the letters to be written, the friends to be visited, the journey to be undertaken, the suffering to be met by food, or nursing care, or fellowship. Here is the social wrong to be resisted, the piece of interpretive work to be undertaken, the command to 'rebuild my churches', the article to be written, the wrong to be forgiven, the grudge to be dropped, the relationship to be set right, the willingness to serve God in the interior court by clear, honest thinking, and the refusal to turn out shoddy work." - Douglas V. Steere

I admit that the above passage may appeal to me so much because of my love of listmaking.

Yesterday our pastor was talking about the glory of God. He said to remember that, no matter how great our present understanding of God's glory is, God is infinitely more glorious. He talked about the amazing detail of creation, how the expanse of the universe is so far beyond our understanding, how to adequately explain one strand of DNA would take 1000 volumes of encyclopedias, how miraculous and incomprehensible the formation of human life is. Then he talked about fish. He said that God only needed to make one kind of fish in order to have fish. Instead, He made fish of all different sizes, shapes, colors, habitats, some striped, some purple, some round, "some with spiky things sticking out". Why? Because, Gordy said, "God's into fish." I thought that was great! God's into fish. And astronomy. And gardening. And acorns. And frogs. (Yes, frogs!) And music. And rocks. And sand. And the color turquoise. And everything else that is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy. If whatever you're into fits this description (which is from the Bible), I think you can rest assured that God's into it, too. That's so cool...

Naysayers

The other night I went to a baby shower that was thrown for a woman who is expecting her first child in two weeks. As an icebreaker, the hostess asked for volunteers to tell stories of their own early days as mothers. Most were funny, a few were intended to be funny but were not – but almost all were negative. The stories were of frustrations, surprises, and fears. There were no stories that reflected the wonder you feel when you touch those perfect, tiny hands; the unsurpassable joy that fills your heart when your baby looks at you; the love that is stronger than you ever thought possible; the fact that now prayer comes as naturally as breath. This expectant mother was not given a single word of hope – except, I suppose, when one well-intentioned mother of two told her to remember that when she and her newborn have their very worst day, “it can only get better from there”…rather a passive form of encouragement, I think. The things that were said were true. Nobody could be accused of deceit. But the things that were said could only make this new mother apprehensive, could only make her worry more about the upcoming weeks. She was told by several people that she would be exhausted, that she had better get her sleep now because she’ll never get it again (a rather silly thing to tell a woman who is 38 weeks pregnant. Chances are that she is already not sleeping well.) Women joked and told tales about endless crying (of both the baby and the mother), medical emergencies, leaving their child at a restaurant, babies falling off counters and down stairs, etc., etc., etc. Everyone laughed or oohed or gasped as appropriate, including the expectant mother. But no one told a happy story.

I include myself in my criticism. I could have told a happy story and I did not. I did not tell any story. Someone – I – should have broken the chain of negativism that seems to wind its way tightly around expectant mothers. Why are we so quick to tell negative stories? So quick to assure new parents that they are about to go through terrible trials? It seems that women try to outdo one another with horror stories about labor. Do we think that we will be admired or respected for our suffering?

I know five women who are pregnant right now, four of them for the first time. I am concerned for them. My experience when I was pregnant last year was that most women were quick to tell me how difficult the first few months of mothering would be. I am prone to depressed moods, maybe even to depression, and each negative comment or story or piece of advice lessened my excited joy until I finally realized that I was actually dreading the birth of my child. That is not how you are supposed to feel! I was fortunate. This realization came to me before my daughter was born. Just recognizing that my dread was based on the unsolicited reports of others helped to put it into perspective for me. With a little bit of unqualified analysis of human nature, I concluded that probably the experiences of these women were not wholly negative, but that for some reason the bad things are the things they decided to share. At that point I was able to count on one hand the number of people who had given me positive encouragement, who had told me how lovely and irreplaceable those first few weeks with their own babies had been. They were not deceptively optimistic. They said that the adjustment to motherhood was not an easy one, but a worthwhile one despite the inevitable difficulties. The number of people who had given negative “encouragement”, on the other hand, was too high for me to keep track of. Strangers, even! Parents of patients at my job. A woman in line at Dairy Queen. A business acquaintance on a telephone call! So, with six or seven weeks of pregnancy to go, I deliberately decided to avoid the negative comments where I could, and to let the unavoidable ones affect me as little as possible. My husband, a friend, and my sister all helped in deflecting negativism. My excitement returned and I joyfully anticipated my child’s birth. And you know what? Those first few weeks with my baby…they were lovely and irreplaceable. They weren’t easy – but is any worthwhile endeavor easy?

Well, anyway, I am concerned for my friends. I am afraid that they may be experiencing the same sort of barrage that I experienced. I hope not. If they are, I hope they figured out earlier than I did that they don’t have to be affected by it. I regret not speaking up at the shower the other night, not telling a good story, not reassuring Kelly that she has a wonderful time ahead of her. If we must put a particular spin to our stories, why not make it a positive spin? I value honesty and don’t think we should lead others to believe that things will be easy when they won’t. Women need to know that labor will hurt, that they won’t always be able to figure out why their baby is crying, that they will be awakened at all hours of the night. But they also need to know that they have the strength to make it through delivery, that babies learn to trust their parents when they are held close through fits of unexplainable crying, and that some of the tenderest moments are experienced in the wee hours of the morning.

Maybe my experience was a blessing in disguise. Maybe parenting a newborn was even better than I expected it to be specifically because I had heard so many bad stories. Maybe women tell bad stories because they themselves found the early days of parenting to be much more difficult than they had expected, and they do not want other women to experience the same disappointment that they did. If this is the case, then I can only think that the negative stories are told with the best intentions, with kindness of heart, and with a desire to protect expectant mothers from idealistic visions that are sure to be shattered as soon as they bring their babies home. I just think that there must be a happy medium to be achieved. Let's not make parenting a newborn out to be all roses, but for heaven's sake, let's not make it out to be drudgery, either.

Art

Last week I saw a new painting in my pastor’s office. I really liked it and told him so. He said that he himself was a bit surprised by how much he liked it, because it is very different from the other works of art that he typically enjoys. In fact, he said he surprised the rest of the church staff by liking this particular work so much.

The painting was quite large, maybe 36”x42” or something like that. It was abstract, very vivid colors painted in a grid. And our pastor noted that he suspected that he liked the painting for that very reason – it was done in a grid. It was abstract, which is not usually his favorite art form. (The other works of art in his office include a Thomas Kinkade and an Ansel Adams.) But there was order to it. There were grid lines, color blocked off in squares, that gave the piece a sense of symmetry and order. He had just finished telling us that he was the kind of person who likes outlines (showing us his finished sermon for the following week, all neatly written out as a point-by-point speech), and then here was this large abstract painting hanging over his desk. This got me thinking…

I learned something about my own taste in art. I have not really been able to pinpoint before now just what kinds of art I like more than others. I like neatness, I like order, I like symmetry. I also like blends of color and texture (seems silly to even say that, because that is really a very general statement. Would anyone say that they DON’T like blends of color and texture?), and my tastes aren’t restricted to realistic art. I like poetry to have a predictable metre, but I don’t need poetry to always rhyme. I guess what I learned is that I can enjoy and appreciate art that is abstract or surreal; but I appreciate it most when it still observes some limitations. I loved the vivid colors and bold brush strokes on the painting in my pastor’s office; but I was able to appreciate them best as they were, confined to their grids, complementing one another without invading one another. There was order, there was clear design. That’s probably why I like Janene’s design works so much. They are bright, vivid, bold…and orderly. Much like creation. God created the world, a beautiful work of art, bright, vivid, bold…and orderly.

That’s probably why I like quilts so much, too, and like making them. There is much room for creativity, even within a given pattern. The quilter gets to choose the colors, the textures, the piecing stitches and the quilting stitches. Two people could make a quilt from the same pattern and they would look completely different. But the pattern is there. There is order. There are boundaries. And within those boundaries, a beautiful work of art is created.

From the mouths of babes.

I have a precious group of 4th/5th grade girls in a small group at my church. I love them all. They sometimes come up with some rather interesting theological ponderings, and have provided me with a lot of opportunities to practice keeping a straight face.

Last night we all brought snacks to share with one another. One girl, T, brought cupcakes that she had made herself. They tasted like cardboard with sweetened Elmer's glue on top, but I wasn't about to not eat a treat that she had taken the time and effort to make by herself. T was quite serious when she told me why she had decided to use red frosting on her cupcakes. She said, "I decided to make them red because, you know, Jesus died on the cross, blood, I thought it was kind of churchy."

There are a lot of symbols in the Christian religion, and quite a few of them are directly related to Jesus' death and resurrection. T established a new one. I ate a really bad cupcake that apparently symbolized Jesus' blood. At least I can say that T sees the whole world from a Christian perspective. If, as Chris once told me, my eyes can't keep a straight face, I hope that my girls haven't picked up on it.