Arrows

Heidi St. John's book Becoming Mom Strong discusses the biblical idea that children are "like arrows in the hands of a warrior" (Psalm 127:4). St. John describes her purpose as a parent this way: "Surely we were born for this - to launch our arrows into the world for the Kingdom of God!" In other words, our children do not stay with us forever; they depart at some point or other, and our job is to prepare them to depart well and at the right time, with true aim.

The other day, my toddler (R) woke up early (even for her), at about 5:30. My husband had just that same week started a new job with a new schedule, which allows him to be home in the mornings instead of gone before the rest of us wake up. Our theory on R's wake-up time was that partly she was just excited to see her daddy and was ready to start the day. Of course, along with the early rising came the early beginning of a long day full of "why" questions and stubborn two-year-old willfulness. My perspective was already keyed to be positive (thanks to the Ann Voskamp Joy Dare, which had a prompt for that day to look for gifts found in difficult people); otherwise, I would have absolutely lost it. Instead I only partially lost it.

In any case, I reflected on R's personality that day and how the challenges she presents now may be shaped with her future usefulness as an "arrow" in mind. She loves her daddy, which indicates to me that she has the capacity to develop close and healthy relationships as she matures. She is full of curiosity and the desire to learn, and I'm hoping this desire will stay with her so that she dives into whatever work God has for her with just as much enthusiasm when she's 30 as she does now. Her willfulness now may serve her well in the future by helping her stand firm in her convictions when she faces trials at work, in relationships, and from the general culture (which I suppose will be even more difficult to walk through as a Christian when she is an adult than it is now).

So let me pray that these (sometimes challenging) qualities will develop into beneficial traits as R grows, and that her dad and I will have the wisdom to help her hone her gifts and her personality now, in preparation for the aiming and launching season to come.

Walking with her until she's ready to launch.

The Former Student

Recognition swept across both of their faces as Callie stepped out of the elevator at the floor of her office and almost walked into the person standing there. Both simultaneously said, "Hey, how are you?" Then the older woman waiting to get on the elevator asked, "Did you teach this summer?"

"No, I didn't; it was a nice break," Callie answered with nods of emphasis.

"I know - I came to see you, but you weren't there - I figured you weren't teaching. Hey, what did you think of my 'Goodman Brown' paper?" Jane, confident, without fishing for a compliment, asked in her pleasantly loud voice.

"I thought it was good, really insightful, in-depth," Callie answered truthfully, though caught off-guard by the question, and having had a solid three months of break, having moved to a new city, and having planned for a new semester all since reading that final research paper.

"Oh, thank you! I just knew it was good. Thank you, Ms. Trindle!" Jane poured out the words with genuine delight, though her countenance displayed a sense of self-assurance and a knowledge that she was fine with our without this bit of affirmation. "Your class was my favorite class of all time, so far in my school," she added.

"Well, good; I'm glad you enjoyed it," Callie said, still taken a little aback.

"You're an awesome teacher," Jane continued, but with an air of ending the brief encounter so both ladies could move on with their schedules.

Callie, laughing, not sure how to respond, but wanting to do so graciously, said, "Thanks - you were an awesome student!" She really meant it, too, although that language, borrowed from Jane's remark, would not have been her own choice, she being such a deliberate and subdued teacher. Relating to students on a personal level had always both excited and puzzled her: how casual could she be? Could she let her guard down, or didn't she have to maintain that invisible boundary, for authority's sake? She was so young, after all, for a college teacher (in her mind, anyway): twenty-six, and just recently married, with no kids to add any of that almost intangible "mom-gravity" to her person, that gravitas that some teachers seemed to have, maybe since they were used to taking no nonsense from their own little 'students' at home. Callie did not reflect on all of these thoughts often, but her general picture of herself was definitely tinged with the drab colors of small, pervasive doubts and cautions.

The carpet and walls looked sharper as she walked back to her office after this conversation with her former student. Half-closed blinds and some buildings outside obstructed the view through the window at the end of the hallway, so that as she walked towards it, Callie could only see a small patch of what happened to be a bright blue sky.

Hold Her Hand

The Texas mountain laurels are blooming right now. Full-grown, they are gorgeous trees covered with purple blossoms that make all the air smell like grape sweet tarts. Wouldn't you want to be so beautiful if you were a tree?

photo courtesy of Matt Kolodzie

A few weeks ago, I held my daughter's hand as she took tenuous steps along the rock border of our small raised garden bed. Seeing her watch her feet and carefully step so slowly reminded me of something that happened to me about seven years ago, when I was in grad school and feeling extremely unsure of myself as a person. During the Christmas break I visited my mom and dad and went to their church for the Christmas Eve service. There in the peaceful sanctuary, when it was time for Communion, we had a silent, individual prayer time. My prayer went something like:

God, I know I need to be more like the woman who twirls around in big, flowing skirts at the top of bright green hills with blue skies all around her, her face shining as she looks up and laughs at the clouds. She's so exuberant and full of life. I need to be like that, and I'm not. I don't trust You enough. I'm so anxious all the time. 

Suddenly, in the midst of my insecure ramblings, a vivid picture came into my mind. It was a picture of a small girl wearing dark-colored clothes that fit her well but were not flowing skirts. The girl was walking along a pathway that wasn't lit very well, and the whole background was fairly dark, too. The girl was holding a hand, though. She was taking steps slowly while holding a hand whose owner was not visible. God reassured me with this vivid picture by telling me that, though I was going slowly and might not have an outgoing, exuberant personality, I was trusting Him and walking faithfully as the woman He made me to be. That careful woman was just as beautiful as the spinning woman on the hill.

When my daughter walked along the garden border taking slow, careful steps, she was trusting me to catch her and to guide her in this new adventure she'd just discovered. She was being completely herself and completely lovely in doing so. If she'd been running along recklessly, I'd have been a bit frustrated, and she probably would have hurt herself.

Some people are quick to settle in, establish "roots," find their niches, make friends, and adjust to new roles. Some are slower. The Texas mountain laurel is notorious for being a slow-growing tree that may not bloom for several years after being planted. We have one in our yard that we planted almost right away when we first moved to our new house in our new city. It's been a year now, and there has barely been any new visible growth at all, and certainly no blooming. My husband told me just the other day, when I was feeling a bit down regarding my ability to feel settled in my life as a new mom in a new place, that I was like the mountain laurel, slow to become established, but with potential for beautiful blossoms after a time.

Looking closely at our little slow-growing tree, I can see some brighter green new leaves at the ends of some of the darker green branches that have been there for a while. When I look closely at my life, I can see improvements and growth - perhaps small, but there nonetheless. Praise God, who always holds my hand, for causing all kinds of growth, whether fast or slow, big or small, joyous in purple blooms or deliberate in tender stems and leaves!

our small mountain laurel

What I Learned from Fostering a Dog

Last weekend we decided to foster a dog from a nearby shelter. My husband has wanted a dog since before we got married, but I already had a cat when we got married, and we've lived in apartments until this year, so we never had the opportunity to try a dog until now. We decided to foster rather than adopt right away because we had no idea how our cat would react and wanted to give her a chance to try the arrangement before totally committing. As it turns out, she was not happy with a dog barking and running around the house. She wasn't the only one who wasn't quite ready for a new family member, though!

Keeping a dog for two nights showed us a few practical things, most importantly that we either need to get an older, relaxed dog, or wait for a while until trying a young, active dog again. However, what surprised me about this weekend adventure was that the experience reminded me of truths unrelated to the dog itself.

First, the experience reminded me that my husband is on my team. He was as giddy as a little kid on our way to the shelter to pick up the dog. He was talkative and hopeful. I could sense how much having a doggy companion means to him. A dog draws out his affections (like a cat draws out mine). But as soon as it became clear that this dog was not going to work in our family, my husband changed gears and did not even show too much disappointment (although I know he felt it). He reassured me that our marriage was more important to him than a dog, and that he would happily keep waiting until it's a better time to get a dog. This reminder of my husband's graciousness was encouraging to me. I need not feel guilty that I'm dragging him down by my past decision to get a cat (or, indeed, by my high emotional needs and lack of extra energy right now to take care of a dog). He is for me.

Second, I am for my husband. Yes, it's true! The fact that I was willing to at least try the dog reminded me that I am stronger and more capable of stepping out of my comfort zone than I had realized since becoming a mom. I was willing to stretch. It just turned out that this particular situation would have been a snapping, not a stretch!

I told my husband on our way home with the dog that a verse in the Bible had encouraged me to accept the challenge of dog fostering:

"Enlarge the place of your tent; Stretch out the curtains of your dwellings, spare not; Lengthen your cords and strengthen your pegs." Isaiah 54:2

One of my favorites, this verse has encouraged me many times with the idea that it's good to let go of my control a little bit in order to live life more fully. On the whole, I'm glad we fostered the dog. Even though it didn't work out as we'd hoped, I think the curtains, cords, and pegs of our marriage and our family were effectively stretched out, lengthened, and strengthened as a result of our adventure.

All or [Something]

My daughter's first birthday is approaching, and I've been remembering the day she was born. The labor and delivery experience was mostly just what I could have hoped for, but there were a couple of incidents that I wish I could go back and change (as you can read about in a post I wrote to document the experience). These lingering regrets were the topic of a recent tearful bedtime conversation between my husband and me. It may seem silly, but yes, that frustrating disappointment was still bothering me. I told my husband that I wished I could go back and fix it. True to his teacherly style (though he's not a teacher), my husband counseled me using a metaphor I could relate to as an English major: "Why? The paper has been turned in. It's done. Forget about it and move on!"

"But I want to turn in an addendum!" I moaned. "I want to fix the broken things." His response was a revelation and turning point for me: "It's not broken." Simple.

He was completely right, of course. Why, then, had I been feeling so strongly that my labor and delivery experience was broken somehow?

My general take on life, especially tasks I feel responsible for, could fit the expression that "it's all or nothing." Washing with a bar of soap that turned out to smell strange? Use it all up anyway. Using cloth diapers? Better not reach for that disposable. Cleaning house? Darned if it's not a disaster every evening when I haven't swept, mopped, dusted, and wiped down the entire house. In other words, it's all or nothing or I've failed.

But lately I've had to adjust my expectations of myself. Having a kid complicates things. Honestly, having a life complicates things. The cloth diapering is a good example of a responsibility that I've relaxed about. Sometimes a disposable is necessary or just plain easier, and using one doesn't mean that all of the cloth diapering is wasted. We can still have the benefits of cloth even if I use a disposable now and then.

The same is true of the labor and delivery that I've struggled to get past emotionally. Nothing about it needed fixing. Rather, my feelings are what need some adjustment. In reality, the experience was a good one. God gave us a healthy baby. My focus has to shift as I think more gratefully than regretfully about the whole thing. Sometimes life is not "all or nothing." Sometimes plain, ordinary "something" is enough.

Try and Fail

I recently listened to Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery. When I heard Anne make the claim that "next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing," I nearly fell out of my socks. I'm notorious for wanting to know with absolute certainty, one hundred percent of the time, with no exceptions, exactly what the outcomes will be in any given situation. If, somehow, I don't foresee said outcomes, or if, like sensing an impending storm, I sniff out dangerous outcomes ahead, I would sooner not attempt the task, not step into the situation, not make the decision, not go, not join in, not try. The idea that it's better to try and fail than not to try at all is simply shocking to me.

Yet I believe the idea might just be true. I don't mean in contexts involving a decision resembling gambling. Wisdom should be involved. But given the application of wisdom, what harm is there in failure? Embarrassment? Shame? Hurt? Vulnerability? Pride doesn't want me to feel these things. But what if feeling a bit embarrassed is what it takes to at least gain a new experience or learn more about life (even if it just means learning I'm not great at something)? I know learning is good, and pride isn't a valid reason to do or not do something.

Ah, yes, but my perfect world in its perfect orderly state is in jeopardy if I try with the possibility of failing. On the other hand, if I keep everything under control then nothing unexpected happens, and I can dance through my day without the slightest hint of a misstep.

Well, news flash, self: you are never really in control in the first place!

It may feel like I'm conducting the orchestra, but the Lord, the sovereign Creator, is the one who actually maintains even my ability to breathe. If I recognize this truth, maybe I can relax enough to try when there's a possibility of failing.

But why bother? What is there to gain? I think perhaps the gain is itself partly a loss: loss of fear, anxiety, and pride. The gain is also trust that's placed in God more than in myself. Maybe the gain could also be having a bit of fun. Wait, no. That can't be right.

Purring Silently

Sometimes when I get home after being gone at work all day, I'm greeted with the warm, furry, willing cuddles of my cat. She's not always super cuddly, but when she is, she provides a special comfort which I especially cherish: her purr. The odd thing about my cat's purr is that it is nearly silent. If you don't have your hand firmly on her chest or upper back, or have your ear placed directly on her body, close to her heart, you won't know it's happening. Her purr is felt rather than heard.

It strikes me that my cat's silent purr, although not typical, is still an expression of her feeling secure and comfortable. It's a happy response from her. Just like her atypical, quiet but happy response, I sometimes tend to be reserved rather than outspoken in my expressions of happiness.

The feelings I've experienced during pregnancy so far (I'm about 22 weeks along) have been complex, to say the least! I haven't, however, ever really felt that exuberant, gushing over of emotional excitement that I've seen in my friends when they've gone through pregnancy. And so I have tended to question myself and to feel guilty: "Why don't I feel excited? Am I not happy to have a baby? What's wrong with me?"

Some of my close family and friends have reassured me that it's normal to feel apprehensive and that I'm just highly aware of the huge changes that a baby will bring, and so my excitement is naturally tempered. I've talked with a few ladies who have also, it turns out, had similar feelings of apprehension and lack of highly expressive happy feelings during their pregnancies. These talks helped me to realize I'm not abnormal; for good or ill, I just have a personality that tends to think ahead and take (what I perceive as) potentially negative or scary changes into account in my emotional responses. (I also tend to worry about the unknown, but that will have to be a different reflection!)

The talks with friends and family were invaluable, but perhaps my cat's purr has most tangibly helped me learn this encouraging lesson. Deep down, even though I may not express it without reservation, I have joy about the baby joining our family soon. It's OK for the joy to be shown atypically. Those closest to me, who can feel my heart, know and reassure me that it's there.