The Birth Story

Can't you feel it ever closer?
We breathe it in and then we exhale.
We touch both sides and now eternal
standing closer to the veil.
-All Saints' Day, by Carrie Newcomer

I've been anxious to write the birth story. Actually, I've written and rewritten it over and over again in my head and on paper these last seven weeks. In truth, I feel like I have multiple birth stories and wasn't sure which one I wanted to tell.

My water broke while I was simmering a big pot of soup and baking pumpkin rolls one Saturday afternoon when Matthias was just shy of 37 weeks gestation. Right at thirteen hours later I was holding him in my arms. I only felt contractions about six of those hours. No epidural. The world watched its first triple crown winner since Secretariat race as I lay in bed that evening waiting for real labor to start. There was an influx of laboring women and my midwife joked she was having her own Breeder's Cup that night. She said I was her American Pharaoh.

Matthias was healthy and a couple weeks later I had made a near complete recovery.

Sounds lovely (and obnoxious), doesn't it?

Told another way, I went into pre-term labor one weekend after a long, hard pregnancy that had me pretty sick and mostly in bed for 18 out of 37 weeks. I chose to take Cytotec after having no progress and no real contractions for several hours after my water broke. I can't really find words to describe the pain. I would have had an epidural if there had been more time. I required stitches and Matthias suffered a broken collar bone. While I delivered him quickly, the final stage of labor (after the baby) sort of stalled. I then received a dose of Pitocin. I continued to bleed and no one was sure why or where specifically it was coming from. My midwife had to be careful in choosing medications to help stop the bleeding because I was also at risk for blood clotting due to other complications of the pregnancy. I passed out five times in the next twelve hours. I eventually received a blood transfusion. The IV line quickly failed and leaked blood into my ever swelling arm for a little more than an hour before anyone actually thought to check it as I complained of throbbing from what I understood should have been a relatively painless process. I had three back-to-back migraines. In some ways I feel cheated of my son's first week of life.

That's really more drama than I care for.

The birth story I really want to tell (while being honest about the good, the bad and the ugly) is one of God's grace.

I was not interested in having biological children. I was actively and diligently trying to prevent them.

I felt what I would learn eight days later was my very first pregnancy pain and symptom while I was singing Turn my heart, O Lord. These waters were slow to turn. Because when I did see those two little lines I immediately began praying for it not to be so.

Even when I realized the Lord was asking me to be pregnant. Even after I had prayed for years for Him to make clear to me what He wanted me to do -- and expressed my willingness to do anything. This was an assignment I didn't want to take.

Though my heart and my attitude were ungrateful and rotten, He was sweet to me throughout. It isn't hard for me to believe that every baby ever born is appointed by God, but I felt especially aware that Matthias was so.

I received a card from a local ministry with a very specific prayer and scripture they were praying for me that spoke directly to some of my fears and anxiety. Before they even knew I was pregnant.

Once, about midway through the pregnancy, I was feeling especially burdened. I began to worry I would always think of Matthias as a burden. And I began to feel sorry for him. I worried he would always feel like a burden to me, and I didn't want him to carry that load. I wanted him to be confident that he brought joy to my life. And I prayed that one day -- even if it would take years -- I could tell him with complete honesty how joy-filled his life was to me.

While I was praying, my husband was out having lunch with a friend. Randomly and off the topic of their conversation, this friend felt moved to tell my husband he knew that Matthias would bring us so much joy in the years to come. It seemed odd to Johnie, but he came home and told me about it. It didn't seem odd to me.

Due to lupus and antiphospholipid antibodies, Matthias and I were at risk for a whole laundry list of complications and significant health issues. Miraculously, we escaped them all (save for what was technically a pre-term delivery). That didn't stop me from worrying and praying about them. As I poured out my heart to a trusted spiritual director in the early weeks of my pregnancy, she beautifully prayed for grace to surround my womb. It became a prayer I continued to offer.

How poignant, then, that some of the first words out of my midwife's mouth when she saw me in labor were, "You're going to have a baby tomorrow. I love Sunday babies. Sunday's child is full of grace."

Beyond that, I had prayed and prayed for an early November birth. My due date was smack dab in the middle of the eight day span between the anniversaries of my grandparents' deaths. I didn't want to have a baby during that time and wasn't sure I could bear my child being born on the same date I lost my precious grandmother. The Lord answered those prayers beautifully.

Just for fun and to show just how well He knows me and loves me, the Lord more specifically timed Matthias' birth at precisely one minute prior to the end of Daylight Savings Time. My good friends know the day we get our hour back from the government is my all-time favorite day of the year. The first hour I spent with Matthias was that redeemed hour. Plus, we think it's pretty cool that his medical record says he was born at 1:59 a.m. but received his first shots, his first diaper and began nursing in the minutes leading up to that.

In the weeks following, as I prayed about a positive screen for a possible genetic defect, I would realize his birthday is also All Saints' Day.

I felt like God was telling me during those weeks of not knowing about my son's health that Matthias belonged to Him and I could trust Him. I know well that God doesn't protect us from all infirmities, but was relieved to learn the Lord spared him and the positive screen was the result of a (relatively minor) deficiency in my own body.

While I initially had some complications after his birth, a couple weeks later I recovered almost completely. Seemingly overnight. I and many others had prayed for my health throughout the pregnancy and the days following the delivery. It was like a miracle. I feel like the Lord healed me. My midwife admitted at my follow-up appointment that there was no medical explanation for me to be doing as well as I was so quickly.

I trusted that the Lord would answer my prayer for joy in time, but I was surprised with how quickly it came. Newborn babies are my absolute favorite people. But I was quite ill on Matthias' first day. I was passing out and struggling through a migraine. Our sweet friends were visiting throughout the day (I welcomed them), but each time Matthias would be wheeled into our room to meet people I would tense up at having to manage this squirmy little stranger.

Johnie was instantly enamored. I wasn't. When he asked me if I thought Matthias was cute I said, "I don't know." (That was also the moment -- I kid you not -- Matthias chose to give me the stink eye for the very first time. I still wasn't sure how I felt about his looks, but that at least made me chuckle.)

It was in the early minutes of November 2nd when I fell in love. A nurse brought him into the room so I could feed him. But he was sleeping so soundly and I didn't feel like wrestling to get him to nurse. So I just laid his little body against mine and felt the rise and fall of his breaths. I rubbed my hand up and down the little back I had felt inside me just days before. I looked up at the clock and realized Matthias had one more hour left of his very first day of life. And he and I spent it alone in the dark and quiet. I wept and thanked God for the miracle of his life. And the joy I have felt has only increased from there.

I have always defended motherhood as a high calling. But I didn't think it was for me (and still know it isn't for everyone). I didn't realize how much fulfillment one can find in changing diapers and cleaning spit up. The joy in fighting through bleary-eyed exhaustion to hold a sleeping baby and drink in that precious peaceful face for just a few more minutes. Sure, it has its hard moments. I have times of anxiety and frustration and sadness and every other emotion conceivable. But some cliches have merit. The rewards truly are immeasurable for me.

Boy, how those rivers turned. And they flow with joy and contentment I have never felt before.

Yet still, as warm and fuzzy as that sounds, my very first words to my newborn son will forever and forever be: Oh baby... You almost killed your mama. And if I had to sum the whole thing up in one sentence, that'd probably be it. I would only add but for the grace of God.

An attitude adjustment

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Matthew 11:28-30 

I've kind of made it a point to emphasize just how unplanned this pregnancy was. Just how not on board and unexcited I have felt about it. I realize I crossed a line somewhere from honesty to rottenness.

I wholeheartedly believe it is completely okay for women (and men) to react with shock, anger, frustration and a whole plethora of emotions on the opposite end of the spectrum from joy and elation upon learning of a pregnancy. One of the things that has helped me the most pre and during pregnancy are those friends who were open and honest about their less than happy pregnancy and parenthood feelings and experiences. In a world where we all try to paint on smiles and present perfect, polished selves, I think we need more people willing to be raw and authentic.

I realize I wasn't always being true to myself so much as I was wallowing in muddy self-pity. Constructing a pitiful sword to fall on. And God got the brunt of it. I'm ashamed of how I've acted toward Him these past couple of months. He can handle my anger and He can handle my frustration. I don't even think He's upset about my questions. But He sure doesn't deserve the ugly spirit I have had toward Him.

I'm finding it hard to put into words.

In the midst of my frustration and incomprehension I (somewhat unknowingly) withdrew a part of myself from God. As quickly (within 24 hours of learning of the pregnancy) as people began talking about the possibility of future pregnancies, Johnie and I had already beat them in discussing how we planned to prevent any other pregnancies. I was still mostly rational at that point. After learning about the antiphospholipid antibodies, logic went out the window. And so did some of my trust in God.

To His credit, He never stopped being so incredibly sweet to me. (Which I may forever be in awe of. Such gentle, loving responses to my brash pigheadedness.) But while I trusted Him a little bit, I didn't trust Him fully. And while I submitted to Him a little bit, I didn't submit my will fully. I went from "we can still trust God after this baby is born" to "how can we get my uterus taken out after this one."

Johnie made the clever joke that we're like Coach Calipari's players: One and done. (I really hope you laugh at that because it was a proud wife moment for me.) But I went further than that. I felt so done I wasn't open at all to any possibility of anything beyond this one. My heart was calloused and I basically told God, "I'll carry this one for you, but never again. Never. I don't care. P.S. I don't even know what you were thinking with this one in the first place. But, I'll do it. Just for you. I hope you're working on some kind of medal for me for it. Because, if you remember, I didn't actually want to do this. But I am. Since I love you. Seriously, though, I really don't think this was your smartest move."

I told myself He was trustworthy and out for my good and all-knowing. But my heart wasn't listening. Aches or pains that couldn't be soothed the way I normally find relief, plans that couldn't be made or followed through because of this pregnancy I would hold up to God. "Do You see now why I didn't want to do this? If this is supposed to be teaching me something, I'm not getting it. What could this possibly be accomplishing?!"

As I finally just poured out all my ugly feelings to a trusted Spiritual Director, she asked me simply, "Do you believe you've sinned?"

It took a couple minutes for me to fully process my immediate "probably" into a completely sure "definitely." Not to be overdramatic, but it was like the scales fell off my eyes. I had been a stinky brat to a sweet, loving God. I mean, like, majorly stinky.

But I confessed and we prayed and slowly my burden seemed lighter.

This pregnancy has felt like such a heavy burden. Shoulders drooped over, unable to take deep breaths, not knowing if I'd collapse with the next step heavy. Why couldn't I just mother children who are already here? I actually want to do that, and that's something I thought You wanted me to do. If You want to introduce a new life into this world, why -- of all places -- would You put it in my broken body which, You must know, is set on destroying healthy things? It felt like I was being set up for failure.

Again, words are still failing me.

I realized my perspective had been wrong and my heart had been wrong. I had listened to untruths. And I chose then to turn back to God. To accept His trustworthiness and His Sovereignty and, thank Him for it, His grace. Though it was spiritual chains being unbound, I felt physically freer. Like I could finally move and breath and unhunch my shoulders.

And the verse came to mind: "My burden is light."

How had I not recognized that such a heavy burden was not from God?

This is where I want to conclude with something profound or thought-provoking. Make some sort of renewed commitment or dream of a perfectly healthy pregnancy from here on out. I don't have any of that. I'm simply trying to take each day, each thing, as it comes. Sometimes I do that well, other times I do not. If you've read any of my previous posts you know this is a continual work for me.

P.S. You will probably be relieved to know that my plans to allow someone in a back alley of a foreign country to cut me open and rip out my uterus for a nominal fee have been canceled.

Note: I also feel like I need to add another post script for those who may be reading this and may be struggling through incredibly difficult trials. I, in no way, was trying to make some kind of doctrinal or theological statement, or say that just because something feels heavy or hard doesn't mean God isn't with you, or isn't present, or that you're doing something wrong. This is just my experience from one day of going through a surprise pregnancy I feel especially unequipped for. Please don't take it as anything more than that. From my experience, God gives special mercies through the especially dark times.

My disappointing reaction

For God gave us a spirit not of fear, but of power, love and self-discipline.
-2 Timothy 1:7

I don't feel ready for a perfectly healthy little angel baby. So I really don't feel up for anything less than perfectly healthy. And part of my initial reaction of hoping this just wasn't true was because of fear of all the things that could go wrong during pregnancy, childbirth and infancy.

I feel a little justified in some of my fears since my health issues make this a high risk pregnancy and my chances of miscarriage are higher than normal. But, truth be told, even if I didn't have lupus I'd still be terrified of a miscarriage or of birthing an unhealthy baby. I mean, Johnie and I don't have the most stellar genes to work with from the beginning. And I've never been good at eating healthy or acting healthy or living healthy in general, lupus or not.

I always feared being unable to produce a healthy baby. Now those fears were in overdrive. I thought I could calm them by doing some research online (I know, I obviously wasn't thinking clearly), but I just became more anxious. And discouraged. It was so early my baby's heart wasn't even beating yet! How could I know if it would start beating? What if it had some chromosomal defect? What if? What if? What if?

This baby's due date also made me nervous. November 22nd. My grandmother, who is the most influential person in my life, died on November 27th. My grandfather, her husband, died thirteen years later on November 19th. That was their time. It was my time to grieve them and remember them. How could I handle adding another sad memory to that week? Or how could I handle delivering a baby and trying to be happy about it on the anniversary of the hardest thing I've ever had to endure? "Lord, please don't let this baby be born on the 27th," was my prayer.

My mom thought maybe God was giving me a gift, giving me something back to signify and help rectify the losses in my life. She was also completely certain nothing could be wrong with this baby. Two days after we learned we were pregnant, I sat out on the steps in my sunroom talking with her. "You just need to be open to what God can do," she said.

I was open. I knew I could have a good pregnancy and a healthy baby, thanks to God. But I also knew that there were many other less appealing possibilities. Thoughts of friends' babies who were miscarried or terribly ill or unable to survive flooded my mind. If tragic things could happen to my closest friends, they could happen to me too. One of the many injustices of living in a fallen world still groaning toward redemption is that not even sweet little innocent babies are exempt from hardship.

But I reflected on things that evening looking out over the field behind our house. There are no guarantees for a hardship-free life. We get tough surprises all the time. Even if I had a perfectly healthy baby, my world could still get shaken up in other ways. Tragedy can strike and life can be changed forever at any point. I've had it happen before. And God is always there to get me through it. I went to bed thankful that whatever happened, He would be by my side.

I woke up the next morning and continued to reflect on the night before. I want to be a light for the Lord. I want to bring Him glory. I try to live my life so that when those hard moments come unexpectedly, I bring Him praise and honor. I felt like I had failed miserably. Instead of trusting Him to get me through any storms that may be ahead, I just was very afraid.

That wasn't the only thing I felt guilty about. I have prayed for several years to clearly, specifically, know the will of God in the details of my life. I was at war with myself with decisions to move from Kansas to Kentucky, with decisions to take jobs and quit jobs. Always wanting to do His will, always wanting to make the right decision in His eyes.

I can't tell you how many times I have prayed, "Lord, just tell me. Whatever it is you want me to do, I'll do it. Anything." And He asks me something as simple as "be pregnant." And, at least initially, I would have refused.

I had hoped I would have reacted differently. But I didn't. I was disappointed in myself. But I slowly began to change that morning. After eight years of begging and praying, "Lord, if I am pregnant, please, please, PLEASE let the baby be healthy" I changed it that morning to, "Lord, whatever is in store for me with this life inside of me, I trust You with it. And if this baby isn't healthy in some way, I still love You and I still worship You and I still want to do Your will with my life and with this new life." And I thanked Him for answering my prayer to clearly show me what He wanted me to do, even if it was an unexpected answer.

I still want a healthy baby. I still get afraid. I just try to give it to the Lord quickly and let it go myself. And I'm sure I will continue to make disappointing mistakes in the days, months and years to come. But I hope I am growing toward a life more in line with His will.

I don't know how things will go in the weeks and months ahead. And I still don't feel excited yet. But I do feel peaceful now. And I'm letting that be enough while I wait.

Having lupus, Part 10: My relationship with God

Oh love that will not let me go I rest my weary soul in thee.
I give thee back the life I owe that in thine ocean depths its flow 
May richer, fuller be.

Oh light that follows all my way I yield my flickering torch to thee.
My heart restores its borrowed ray that in the sunshine's blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

Oh joy that seeks me through the pain I cannot close my heart to thee.
I trace the rainbow through the rain and feel the promise is not in vain
That morn shall tearless be.
-Oh love that will not let me go, George Matheson, written June 6, 1882


I am no expert.  Far from it.  I may not even be right.  But as I began to put my thoughts and feelings into words, I realized that to provide an honest look into my journey with lupus I would have to talk about God.

I feel like my spiritual life has been so deeply impacted by my health.  While words seem inadequate to explain this, I will offer an attempt to share this profound part of my spiritual journey.

Before my diagnosis, I trusted God.  I even relied on Him daily for many things.  I prayed over my writing and I prayed over my cooking and if something turned out well I knew it was because it had been blessed by Him.

Sometimes I offered thanks for my health, but I never really asked God or credited Him for my strength to get out of bed in the morning.  Thousands of mornings I woke up and rolled out and lived my day thinking that my strength came from the rest I received or the food I ate.  If I even thought about it at all.

Lupus showed me very clearly I actually have no control over anything.  If I am to get out of bed, it is God who will provide that strength.  If I am to have energy, it will come from Him.  (And that isn't just me -- it's the same for all of us.  I just never realized how true that is until now.)

He will be responsible for my healing, too.  Not in a refuse-all-types-of-medical-intervention kind of way.  But the success I have found with my herbalist is only because God led me to him and He blesses that treatment.  And my future good days are gifts from Him.  However it is that I am finally cured of this, it will be all to His credit.

Which begs the question: Why doesn't He just heal me now?  Why didn't He just protect me from lupus to begin with?

My answer is I don't know.  (I also don't know why He chose to deliver me from poverty and from abuse and from a great number of other things.  And I don't know why He has protected me from accidents and cancer and pain of all kinds.)

But while I have lupus, He is working things out for good.  I hope that is as obvious to everyone around me as it has been to me.  That is not a blase, glossed-over answer.  I can say that God is good ALL the time with confidence.  Mine is not a weak or a blind faith.  It has been tested and tried.  I have wrestled with God.  I have tried other ways.  I do not always know and I do not always understand, but I can see clearly that His ways truly are higher.  And He is loving beyond words.  He is true perfection.  And if He cannot be trusted then trust cannot even exist.

I am still learning the depths of those heavy truths.  His patience is immeasurable.  (For you, too.)

I was not (and am not) happy to be sick.  Lupus would have been one of the very last diagnoses I would have picked for myself.  God has heard a lot about this from me.  But I have come to realize that we all have burdens and struggles in this life.  The label for one of mine is lupus.  That doesn't make life any harder or any easier for me than for anyone else with their own burdens and struggles.

Though I may feel like one at times, I am not a victim.  I am not undeserving of lupus.  By that I mean I am not some extra special person exempt from any of the hard times faced by all humans in this fallen world.  If anyone should have been exempt it was Jesus.  And He bore it all.  So I am just like all the other people.  Waiting for the Lord to fully redeem us.  (He is and He will.)

And I have felt the Lord walk closely -- hold tightly -- to me every single inch of this journey.  He has given me strength I could never have imagined.  And He has sent me so many sweet blessings along the way.  Poignant gifts to remind me of His steadfast love.

I am not thankful for lupus, but I am thankful that God used it as a tool to draw me closer to Him, closer to my husband, closer to many people in my life.  I am thankful to have been given this new perspective on living.  I imagine I would have continued to waste years of my life if I didn't come to realize how precious time is.

Like the rest of the world, I am a work in progress.  And I am so thankful to serve a Savior who loves me so dearly, who will not let me go.  Who is making me whole in every way and carrying me tenderly through until I am (and He is) finally complete.

Blessed be the Lord who would not give [me] up.
Blessed be the Lord for His unfailing love.
The snare is broken and [I] have escaped.
[My] help is the name of the Lord.
Blessed be the Lord!
-Had it not been the Lord, Leonard Smith, Jr.

---


This post is the final in a series on how lupus has affected me.



Click on the links below to read more:



Part 1: Introduction, The horrific mystery disease



Part 2: The bad times



Part 3: How lupus made me a better wife



Part 4: A practice of patience



Part 5: More on the pit



Part 6: Exhaustion



Part 7: Saying no



Part 8: Taming fear and anxiety

Part 9: The scapegoat


My diagnosis



My herbalist and the treatment option I am choosing right now



My recent lifestyle changes



To learn more about lupus, you may visit the Lupus Foundation of America.

Thankfulness Project: Wrap Up

Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted -- a paved road or a washing machine?  If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.
-Rabbi Harold Kushner


In the last ten days, as I've wondered what I would write about being thankful for if I could get any kind of internet connection or signal from my phone, or as I've taken care of my mom as she was sick, or as I've laid in bed sick myself, my mind has been flooded with possibilities. 

I am not trying to sugar coat things or put on a brave face.  I'm being honest.  There was only one day when being thankful didn't come natural or easy.  I don't remember which day that was.  But as I lay in bed exhausted I thought, "I don't even know what I would write about.  I don't even feel thankful."  I had to think for several minutes to come up with something.  That day feeling thankful was a chore.  And what I came up with was those things we are always thankful for. Platitudes.  Like God and His promises.  That was about all the thankfulness I could muster that day.

I said before that I wouldn't have taken this project on if I would have known everything that would happen this month.  Not because it was hard to feel thankful, but because it was hard to find the time and clear-headedness to write about it in the midst of it all.

But in these final ten days of November, I've felt especially thankful and at peace that my grandparents are back together again. 

You should know my grandparents raised me.  My grandmother cared for me straight from the hospital where I was born until I was 16 and she went into the hospital herself unable to care for me or others any longer.  She taught me and raised me up.  She gave me advice that I follow still today.  She believed in me and pushed me and guided me and corrected me and loved me like no one else.

Losing her is still the hardest thing I have ever been through.

And since the day she died there has been a void in my life.  She passed away 13 years ago, on November 27th.  I have been able to adjust to minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years without her.  But never Thanksgiving.  She left and it became a restless holiday for me.

I loved and cherished my grandfather.  I was sad to lose him.  I miss him.  I started missing him before he even actually breathed his last breath.  I started missing him the day he couldn't talk back to me when I called him on the phone.  And I thought that losing him would feel like losing my grandmother all over again.

But it didn't.  It felt like they were finally back together again.  It felt peaceful.  It felt like a wrong in the world had been righted.  And while I couldn't sit at the feet of these precious grandparents I loved, I knew they were together.  As they should be.  I knew that when I would see them again, it would be both of them together.  As it should be.  And more than anything, I was more thankful than I can express for them to finally be with one another again.  The world knocked off kilter by her death was balanced out again.

And for the first time since I've been without granny, Thanksgiving didn't feel horrible.  I imagined their Thanksgiving reunion in paradise and I was thankful to be able to enjoy the day and enjoy the time.  I was thankful to just relax and not feel like everything was all wrong and there was nothing I could do to fix it.

In these last days of November, I've felt thankful for my mom and for my husband.  For my brother.  For family and for friends.  For sweet, sweet memories.  For grace and mercy.  For the Lord's provision.  I've been thankful for rest and relaxation.  For comfortable beds and comfortable chairs and comfortable clothes.  For medicine.  For understanding, sympathetic co-workers.  For food and for medicine.  For Coca-Cola.  For turkey.  For words and books and writing.  For snow and for rain and for sunshine.  For transportation and phones and texts.  For access to technology and no access to technology.  For air to breathe.  For cabins and vacations and seclusion.  For hot tubs.  For prayer.  For a break from responsibility and people who understand that I had to let the ball drop and will come back sometime later to pick it up again.  I'm thankful they're holding it for me until I feel ready.

I feel exposed and vulnerable without my grandfather.  I feel lost without his advice and guidance.  I've never spent more time in my life with anyone than I spent with him.  I could write a whole post about everything that frustrated me about him, but I could write even more about how smart and resourceful he was.  How he worked for my 29 years fixing all the broken things in my life.  I'm thankful for him and all that he was in my life.  And I'm thankful to know that he is finally getting to rest now. 

I'm thankful for his influence, and my granny's.  I'm thankful they gave me the strength to live life without them.  And I'm thankful for all the blessings from them and from the Lord.  I am thankful.  More thankful than words or blogs or actions. 

My mom said we should thank the Lord 800 million times.  I told her I probably wouldn't be able to do that.  She said I should ask for help then because she wasn't sure even that would be enough.  So as I feel thankful -- as we feel thankful -- I hope you can join us too.  And thanks.

Worth the wait, Part 2

We need to be more intentional.  We need to be more involved in the lives of people.  We need to be more connected.  We need to be more accessible.
-Jessica Harris, Why I'm not a belt-notcher: The importance of intentional community ***





Here's the backstory: 

The idea for the original Worth the Wait post came from my husband.  We were leaving the grocery store where a man with a cart-load of groceries offered to hand an item up to the cashier who was completing our transaction.  We weren't in the middle of checking out.  Johnie had already swiped our card. 

The cashier cancelled the action, added the item, and the man moved his buggy to let me through.  I heaped apologies, but he said they weren't necessary.

I was struck by just how willing -- happy even -- he was to inconvenience himself for us.

"I just love that people are so nice about things like that here," I said.  This wasn't an uncommon occurence.  We have story after story of friendly retail experiences like this one.

"Maybe you should write a blog post about it," Johnie said.

The post began as a way to brag about how nice people are here in Kentucky.  But I'll be honest: Not every one here is that nice.  (Me included.)  And this state has so many problems I just couldn't bring myself to ask everyone else to be more like us. 

So as I continued to write, revise and edit, I began to ponder the true value of people.  How people should be our priority.  And the underlying reasons for our unwillingness to wait -- our drive to have everything we want and to have it now.  I thought about the cost of our demanding, rushed, self-focused, solitary lifestyles.

Obviously this extends well beyond customer service experiences to encompass a complete cultural framework.

I asked myself:

What if we defined progress not in terms of technological advances or scientific discoveries or societal benchmarks?  What if we measured it by relationships built, people encouraged and strengthened, communities brought together and supported?

What if we defined success not as titles or degrees or wealth accumulated but as lives touched, mouths fed, people hugged and loved?

In our world, best equals strongest, fastest, smartest, prettiest, sexiest, funniest, wealthiest.  The superficial list goes on.  Charity. Grace. Compassion. Humility. Deliberate, intentional thoughtfulness. Those are second rate qualities.  How great, we think, if the strongest or the fastest also has compassion or humility, but that doesn't make him the best.  Being strong and fast makes him best. 

Our individualism and this race to see who can reach the highest the fastest has sent us spiraling inward.  Isolated.  Alone.  Afraid to talk about our struggles lest someone use our weaknesses against us.

So we paint a pretty face.  Manipulate our life so that it looks appealing on cameras and computers for everyone to see.  But when the screen goes dark, we ache.  And we soothe those aches that could be healed by love and community with more gadgets, more superficial accolades, more distractions that keep us further and further away from people who could actually help us.

And as things get worse, as we battle depression and anxiety and feelings of self-loathing and self-worthlessness, our remedies become more destructive. 

It reminds me of an analogy by Dallas Willard of cattle raised where the land is mineral-poor.   The cows crave those essential minerals so badly they will eat anything to quench that longing.  Rusted metal, nails, whatever they can find.  And it kills them.  He was comparing this to people's inherent desire for holiness and for Jesus.  So fitting.  But I also think it extends to our innate longing for community.  Our desire to know and be known.  To be loved just for who we are, just exactly as we are.

In my reflection, I posed the question to myself as I was posing it to my readers: How many problems would be solved if every single one of us was valued and embraced and honored with time by the whole community?

My mind immediately whispered a response: Like abortion.

This was never meant as an attempt to couch a political statement.  The answer came as a shock, and I initially dismissed it.

My original intent with the creation of this blog in the first place was to (among other things) talk about hot-button issues like abortion.  The loudest voices I hear on this issue (and others) don't resonate for me.  I don't really feel comfortable in either of the two major camps and wanted to offer another option, another outlet, for those who may feel like I do.

But as the weeks wore on I kept chickening out. 

I decided a few weeks ago to try to be more vulnerable in this space.  So after my mind whispered abortion this time I eventually decided to go for it.  And spent the time since then working up the courage to click "Publish" on this post.

I feel passionately about babies and about women. It only stands to reason that I also feel passionately about abortion issues.  But that doesn't always translate into clear-cut, predictable thoughts or actions.

When I read this account of a friend walking into a clinic that offers elective abortion procedures, I was at first compelled to put on one of those orange volunteer vests myself and help escort women through the crowd that gathers outside each day.  But then I thought about what all happens inside.

I'm repulsed by the part of the pro-life movement that involves picketing, holding grotesque signs and saying things like baby-killer.  Nor can I bring myself to put any energy into advocating for laws, policies and regulations that make the abortion process increasingly more difficult for women already set on that type of end for their pregnancies. 

But I have to be honest with the pro-choicers too: While I am sickened by what goes on in the crowd outside, I don't think I could stomach what goes on inside either.

I think Dr. David Gushee says it best:

I could tell that they [pro-choice activists] were drawn into this issue because they had caught a vision of the suffering of women whose pregnancies create a crisis for them, and the even more intense crisis that this would be for them if they had no legal recourse to an abortion. Their fixed gaze on the needs and the suffering of women impressed me, and I respected it. Anyone who cares deeply about the suffering of other people is on the right track — because that is one of the ways we demonstrate our love for the sacred persons around us.

I do continue to think that our gaze on this issue must be at least bi-focal — on the suffering pregnant woman, and on the developing human life that she is carrying. I do sense that decades of defending the rights and needs of the pregnant woman have trained many in the pro-choice side to avert their eyes from the child. But I also recognize on the part of many pro-lifers the parallel averting of gaze away from the woman and her situation as she experiences it. Decades of advocacy in a polarized debate have caused both sides to miss the intertwined sacredness of woman and child. And it is certainly clear to me that the only way those whose gaze is fixed on the child will succeed in saving more of them is if they learn not only to look at the woman, but to love her. (Read full post here.)

Ultimately, abortion cannot be controlled in clinics or courtrooms.  It is a decision made in the hearts and minds of mothers.  And whether or not we agree with abortion under any circumstance or in every circumstance, can we not see the anguish of each and every mother opting to terminate a pregnancy?

Should we not, then, make it our common goal to address and alleviate that anguish?  Just as it is not true that women today abort their babies because it is legal for them to do so, it is also not true that abortions are difficult for women only because of the regulatory (and social) barriers in their way.  A friend of mine says, "we all are pro-life."  In the same vein, no mother wants to have an abortion.

This is where we must consider:

If every woman was part of a supportive community where she was valued and honored, would there be fewer abortions?  Would women find the confidence and resources there to leave unhealthy or abusive relationships and to continue a pregnancy?  Would women find the strength and resources there to carry an unexpected child  -- even when it involves great sacrifice (every pregnancy involves sacrifice for the mother)?  Would women find the safety, the love, the solace there to make the best decision for them in the face of violence, incest, rape or complex medical complications?

It is my belief that any woman contemplating how to proceed with a pregnancy needs -- like all of us everyday -- a heaping helping of grace and mercy.  And if she chooses abortion, our love for her shouldn't change.  As a woman, I can definitely understand why women who are scared or alone or shocked or abused or sick or poor or all-of-the-above might choose that option. 

Laws and protests don't help those women.  And they won't change feelings or circumstances. 

But relationships will.  A world where a woman feels secure and accepted and supported is a world she will be more willing to birth a new life into.  This is where I think some of our pregnancy crisis centers get it right.

But we must take this line of thinking even further: If every woman and every girl was part of a supportive community where she was valued and honored, would there be fewer crisis pregnancies?  Would women who feel loved and who are confident in their worth seek out artificial love in bedrooms and backseats?  Would boys who are brought to manhood with integrity, reassurance, support and love know the true value of each woman and treat her with the dignity and devotion she deserves?

I thought about doing some research on this.  Just as one example, I've read studies about the impact fathers have on their daughters -- their education, their relationships, their engagement in drugs or pre-marital sex.  But, honestly, the numbers don't matter. 

I do think that many crisis pregnancies might be prevented if women felt loved and cherished.  I think many times women (and men) turn to sex for the love and fulfillment they were denied by those who were originally responsible for giving it.  And I also think women would be more willing to naturally complete their crisis pregnancies if offered a strong support system. 

But even if I'm wrong it doesn't matter.  The simple truth is that women shouldn't be poured into or nurtured so that they will refrain from risky or pre-marital sex or so that they will deliver their babies.  Women, just like everyone, should be loved and honored because they're intrinsically worth it. 

And no matter the cost of doing so, that -- loving people -- should be the most important thing.


The best use of life is love.  The best expression of love is time.  The best time to love is now.
-Rick Warren

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***The linked blog post by Jessica Harris is written with a focus on christian community, but I think her advice would be beneficial to any type of community.

Five Minute Friday: Mercy

        O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: for his mercy endureth forever.
O give thanks unto the God of gods: for his mercy endureth forever.
        O give thanks unto the Lord of lords: for his mercy endureth forever.
To him who alone doeth great wonders: for his mercy endureth forever.
       To him that by wisdom made the heavens: for his mercy endureth forever.
To him that stretched out the earth above the waters: for his mercy endureth forever.
        Who remembered us in our low estate: for his mercy endureth forever.
And hath redeemed us from our enemies: for his mercy endureth forever.
        O give thanks unto the God of heaven: for his mercy endureth forever.
-Psalm 136: 1-6, 23-26


Mercy is the cross and the price that was paid.
Mercy is sunshine and warmth when the world is falling apart.
Mercy is being held through the storm.  And being held even when I fight against it.
Mercy is patience and patience and patience. Overwhelming, awe-inspiring patience.
Mercy is not getting what they deserve.  Or what I deserve.
Mercy is love despite everything. Acceptance even though.
Mercy is the money to pay the electric bill.
Mercy is a piece of chocolate.
Mercy is decadence and simplicity.
Mercy is a night out.  A day in.  A job and time off from it.
Mercy is people and solitude.
Mercy is peace when it is unexpected.  Peace that is indescribable.
Mercy is a book and a cup of tea. 
Mercy is snow and fluffy clouds and flowers blooming.  The mountains and the oceans.  A harvest and blessings when there is no harvest.
Mercy is deliverance.  Unbelievable and unmerited.  Beautiful, sweet safety from what should have been.
Mercy is better than expected.  Wonderful, knock-you-off-your-feet surprises, packaged perfectly.
Mercy is always and forever.
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Lisa Jo Baker invites bloggers to freewrite for five minutes each week on specific prompts. And then to share with the world what's on the page when the buzzer sounds. Learn more about this anxiety-inducing freewrite flashmob here.