Handling bounty

While technically, 50% of homes in the US are bigger than our house, having spent my adult life before TX living in dorms and apartments around the world, I can safely say our 5 bedroom house is big. However, knowing, for example, how much room my mother had growing up with 6 siblings, or how much room my co-worker in Russia had, or even how much room our friends in Los Angeles have, there's a certain discomfort about having this treasure trove of space. We certainly don't need this much space for day to day living. So why have all this space?

This week has shown how physical space can also be part of marginal living. With foot surgery, my mother-in-law's stay has extended from 3 wks to 3 months. Many things about our house make it an ideal place for her to recover. She has her own room only a few steps from a full bathroom. Our entrances have only 1 step so when she's ready to get out and about more, it'll be easier for her to do so. We're in TX where the winter can be cool, but she's not going to be house bound the whole time with darkness, snow and ice all over. Our physical space is a blessing to her.

Then, this past Sunday night, a friend went into labor a week or so early. With a no family nearby, they needed someone to watch their toddler son. With still more room, we were able to have him over for a couple nights while mommy and daddy were down the road at the hospital. And with a fenced in backyard, there was a safe place for him to get some boy energy out.

After years of urban living, middle-class suburban life became for me an image of veneered hollowness, a dangerous place for anyone wanting a lived spiritual life. I think the chief dangers are comfort and prosperity. These entice us to rely on ourselves and to live dissipated, godless lives. However, I'm finding that being here while living with the anticipation that God shows up and shows up everywhere and anywhere means that I am encountering opportunities for grace. I get to participate in those opportunities as I specifically learn to let God guide not only my use of time, but also my resources like our home. And while sometimes God uses us to show up for others--like my mother-in-law or our friends's little boy, sometimes God uses others to show up for us--like some other friends who sent us a gluten-free pizza for dinner. A real treat after a couple long days.

We do live in overwhelming comfort and prosperity, for which I am thankful. But instead of feeling shame, like I have in the past, I feel blessed and responsible. In this Advent Season as we look forward to Christmas and from Christmas we look forward to Jesus' second coming, these words of Jesus below take on a new poignancy:

“Who then is the faithful and wise manager, whom the master puts in charge of his servants to give them their food allowance at the proper time? It will be good for that servant whom the master finds doing so when he returns. Truly I tell you, he will put him in charge of all his possessions. But suppose the servant says to himself, ‘My master is taking a long time in coming,’ and he then begins to beat the other servants, both men and women, and to eat and drink and get drunk. The master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he is not aware of. He will cut him to pieces and assign him a place with the unbelievers.

“The servant who knows the master’s will and does not get ready or does not do what the master wants will be beaten with many blows. But the one who does not know and does things deserving punishment will be beaten with few blows. From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

~The good news according to Luke, chpt 12

Advent--the time is now

Well, I was going to have deep musings about advent. But about 2 hrs ago we got a call from our friends that she has gone into labor. Since we live 2 miles from the hospital and they live 20 miles away, we are at least hosting their son.

No deep thoughts but much anticipation of a birth.

Marginal living

My mother-in-law is in town and we spent Mon-Thurs carting around town going to doctors' appointments with Lil L in tow. She said she felt bad that she was taking up so much of my time with these appointments. But in truth, for me, the reason why I set aside my career is so that I would have that kind of time. Obviously, when we made the choice, we didn't specifically anticipate that she would be ill and need this kind of medical care and chose to come stay with us while receiving such care.

In our pre-baby days, N and I worked 50+ hr wks while actively serving in the church and for us, we found it was hard to simply be married. We had to work for mere relational maintenance much less relational thriving. I don't know what people see when they see us, but we are not high capacity people. We don't have endless reserves to this, that, and the other. We say no to things for the sake of our own health.

So we did not have tortured discussions about what to do about the crazy life. Given that he earned enough to support us both, it seemed obvious that we should choose a different life when the opportunity presented itself. In 2009, N got two job offers: one for a lucrative start-up in the traditional video game industry and another in an offshoot branch of the game industry that offered better hours. We took the better hours which turned out to be more interesting work and the other company has since downsized. Also in 2009, I finished my degree. Instead of starting a national job search of a tenure-track professorship, I stayed at home with Lil L and did some side gigs.

What we were wanting were margins, unfilled space in life. In our culture of busyness, I think it's easy for Christ followers to believe that a crammed schedule is a spiritual life -- and extra spiritual if a lot of the cramming is from obviously spiritual activity. Instead, we believe that letting go of the crammed schedule, having margins, allows us to experience unique moments of grace. We have time for people in all those unplanned ways; sidewalk conversations with neighbors, extra minutes staring at produce in the grocery store with Lil L, sitting in doctor's offices with my mother-in-law.

This is not to give some bucolic impression of a suburban pastoral (if that's possible). I don't know my mother-in-law well, and we have not been instant buddies. The past week has been a time of intense reflection for me; I have been faced with anger, frustration, and total exhaustion. At the same time, I have learned from my mother-in-law, learned about her, and learned about God's heart for both her and me.

This is also not to say that having one spouse not work for pay is the only way to have margins. As I said, we are not high capacity people; N works in a well-paying field; and I work in a field that tends to be all or nothing. There's not a lot of part-time opportunities.

What I am encouraging is a little more open space in our schedules, a little more marginal living, and a few more unexpected encounters.

For more thoughts on living with margins I recommend (these are not affiliate links):
Margins: Restoring Emotional, Physical, Financial, and Time Reserves to Overloaded Lives by Richard Swenson
--A book directly on this subject

Busier than Ever: Why American Families Can't Slow Down by Darrah, Freeman, and English-Leuck
--An anthropological look at dual-income families in Silicon Valley

The object of affection

My 18 month old daughter has entered a new phase that involves hugs and specifically wanting my care and affection. This is incredibly tender and sweet for me because Lil L has never been a child who would sleep in my arms and has been remarkably independent from the get go. It's also kind of shocking in its intensity.

Yesterday, we were in a new part of town in a new place while Grandma had a doctor's appointment. Lil L spent a good 10 minutes wanting to be near me while she sussed the place out. When she's upset about anything, a reprimand, a loud noise, being tired, she wants to be near me. She'll tenderly lay her head in my lap, and when I show up after an absence, I get an amazing smile and often out-stretched arms and a toddler run. At the moment, I am the clear object of her affections.

I, as an adult, have never been a kid person. So until I had a child, my understanding of children was limited to my hazy memories and TV. As I experience motherhood, I feel I've been given a new opportunity to engage little people, and this is helping me re-engage with Jesus. You know, the Jesus that said:

Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.
~The Gospel according to Luke, chapter 18

"The kingdom of God belongs to such as these." Lil L falls over a lot as she skitters around our tile living room. She can't help with the dishes or the laundry. She's our little agent of chaos. But she is unwavering in believing that mama is where it's at.

In the kingdom life, it is easy to want to think that we get kingdom merit badges for doing awesome stuff. But Jesus might be saying that the kingdom is for awkward incompetents who have a seemingly insane belief that Jesus and Jesus alone is where it's at.

The urgent long view

My current conundrum is that we don't know how many days on earth we get. I was remembering my friend Brian this morning. He has no more days; I have no more days with him. I still find that deeply saddening.

If I knew I had only 30 more days in my life, I would feel a deep sense of urgency to call some of my best friends and tell them, "I have 30 more days and beyond that my hope is in Jesus Christ, beyond that I believe I will experience beauty and majesty that we only get a taste of in this life, beyond that I will be in eternity with God. You too can experience hope, beauty, and majesty in this life and the next because of who Jesus is and what he has done."

But I don't know that. I may well have 30 + 30 years left in my life. And how sweet would be it be to have all those years with these friends and new friends? When I take the long view, I feel I mustn't force my hand, mustn't try and run ahead, mustn't try and rush things. Instead, I should live and enjoy each moment for what it is. Not rushing relationships to me means being a normal friend, not being a weird religious freak who is acquainted with someone. But that means that it might be year 8 in a relationship before someone says, "Will you pray for me and my family;" something that happened just last week. Year 8! In the urgent world, who has time for year 8? But in light of eternity, what is 8 years? Nothing.

In any event, I feel kind of stuck. So there it is, the problem of the urgent long view.

Sweet memories

I recently made a ginger vinaigrette dressing and the tangy flavors reminded me of eating crab with my mother.

Living by the Chesapeake Bay, it was easy to get a bushel of live Atlantic blue crab. Sometimes mom would go out and buy the crab, sometimes we would catch them ourselves, and sometimes friends would give them to us. When the crab made it to our kitchen my mom would steam them, clean them, and then pile them on the newspaper-covered table. We would each get a little bowl of vinegar with ginger slivers and a plate to throw the shells onto. I loved breaking into the hot shells and picking out the gleaming white pieces of sweet crab meat. A quick dunk in the bowl, a morsel in the mouth, and the hunt was on. As time went on, it seemed like it became a mom and me thing. The guys either weren't around or didn't have the patience for it.

This has to be one of my favorite summer memories from my childhood, in the kitchen with my mom. I hope L one day gets to have fresh crab with her own little bowl of vinegar and ginger.

The gospel of peace

What would have happened if Abby Sunderland completed her voyage and successfully become the youngest person to circumnavigate the world? I often wonder what happens to people who achieve record success in their teens. What is there to live for?

But here I am, recently thirty-oned. In the past 400 odd days, I had my first kid, completed my doctorate, my husband found a new job that fits him really well, we moved to a town we both like, bought a house, and are making friends. In checking off so many life goals, I am also faced with the same question, "What else is there to live for?" As far as life goals go, I don't think there are really many more tangible milestones. I might go into academia, but I don't feel like I have to do that. We'll probably have more kids and hopefully they'll grow up living exuberant God-lives and outlive us by many years. But their milestones don't have to be our milestones. So what do we do with the rest of our lives? What is God-life in middle class, suburbia for two introverts?Well, perhaps we can have this ambition--to live a quiet life.

¹¹Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, ¹²so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody.

~Paul's first letter to believers in Thessalonica, chpt 4

I first encountered this verse as a college freshman and it was the opposite of everything I was hearing. I went to Duke on scholarship, and it always weighed on me that I was expected to make a splash in this world and bring fame and glory to the school. I was learning a lot from the Navigators, a Christian fellowship, and one of their themes was leaving a legacy of reproducing believers. Again, making a splash, just this one would be a kingdom splash. So in the midst of that, wasn't "lead[ing] a quiet life" the antithesis of all the ways I was supposed to make a splash? How could this be an instruction by the Apostle Paul?

As time has rolled by, the verse had made more and more sense. The fact of the matter is that across race, gender, and class, people live with and in a lot of turmoil. Some of the turmoil is really obvious--Haiti, the Gulf Coast, Sudan, Isreal/Gaza, Greece, Iceland, Krygyzstan, and the list goes on. But you know why one of the yards on my block is so beautiful? Because that's how one wife worked out her fear and stress during her husband's cancer treatment. One of the wealthiest people I personally know is buying another beautiful house in an expensive neighborhood because she's getting divorced and has arthritis and the first house she bought has steps she can't manage. Two houses, millions of dollars, and a boatload of loneliness and pain. The quiet life is good news in places of turmoil.

First, the quiet life is hope-full. It's the opposite of desperate and chaotic. Paul says this will "win the respect of outsiders." Second, the quiet life is resource-full. The quiet life isn't "dependent on anybody," instead, it has the time, emotional and physical energy, and material resources to be available to people around. This is graceful living in the guts of life. This gospel of peace is good news in a world of turmoil. So what else is their to live for--the quiet life as kingdom living.

Apropos a lot of things

Another poem from F. Ohler's collection Better Than Nice and Other Unconventional Prayers

Life Is God-Sized

We bring our idols;

You are God.

We come with our theologies;

You are "God only wise."

We keep trying to reduce life to size

with our theology

our biology

our psychology

with all our ologies...

and

You elude our logic

You burst our boxes.

For that we praise You

and rejoice

that life is God-sized

never fully understood

drenched in mysteries

more startling than all our systems.

Humble us all

lest we shrink Your world to what WE know

or can handle.

Help us each

to let it be as unruly

wild

and grace-full

as it is.

Loosen us

to dance with joy

and to wail with sorrow

to laugh to cry to celebrate to grieve.

Help us

not only to be caught by the exceptional

but to be stunned by the ordinary

to marvel at what we call "common"--

sparrow

the people

sense

touch

and all the small and daily blessings.

My God

how incredible that we are here (and not a million OTHER places)

that we are together

that we are alive

that we are at all.

Keep us

young expectant unsure open

nervous sensitive

and alive...

at whatever age

amen.

Remembering Brian Ellis, 1978-2010

A graduate school trench-mate died this past weekend in a tragic accident.

I first encountered Brian in 2004 in a class on the neurobiology of sociality. He was an anthropology student at the time. I don't know that I actually met him, but he was the tall guy with a long blonde pony tail and eventually, I matched him to interesting questions on our class discussion board.

In 2005, we met finally in Alan Fiske's office as we were presented an opportunity to collect some interesting research observations in families coping with frontotemporal dementia (FTD). That summer Brian, Lisa, and I faced the byzantine labyrinth that is the UCLA IRB process so that we would have institutional approval to conduct this research. Brian did most of the heavy lifting, and then he left grad school to go to France.

When he came back about a year later, he joined my department, applied linguistics and also returned to the FTD project. Alan asked Lisa and I if we were okay with his return. I guess the thought was that so much work had been done in his absence would we be willing to share those results with him. For me, it would have been impossible to think of denying him a position on the team. The IRB process was brutal and he took on so much of that; I always felt like I owed him alot. In fact, as the editors of Lang, Int, and FTD were discussing who to invite to contribute chapters, Brian was an immediate, easy pick. (He ultimately decided to pursue other interests.) Shortly after he came back to the program, I began the being-on--campus-less-and-less phase, and I saw him less and less until my last year when we met again on a schizophrenia project.

One of the best things about Brian is that he had his passions. Rock climbing and the outdoors was a huge passion for him. He made it a priority to be out and about and enjoy what he enjoyed. I remember visiting his apartment years ago and it had a piano in it. I always liked that he made the effort to have that in his life since I too played the piano and never bothered. Intellectually, if he got interested in something, he read deeply and thought deeply. As a friend and colleague, Brian's priorities could cause intense frustration when they didn't match my own. After he came back from France, he seemed to have a chronic inability to stay on top of emails and show up on time to scheduled meetings. And rock climbing trips on weekends made him inaccessible when the rest of us were slaving away and might want his input on something. But honestly, you've got to admit that flickering computer screens don't hold a candle to the sweeping vistas of California national parks.

The Byrd's song Turn, Turn, Turn is taken from the book of wisdom, Ecclesiates, attributed to King Solomon. Taking up from where the song ends, the author continues by saying "[God] has also set eternity in the hearts of men." When I think of all the beauty that Brian encountered in his life, I think he understood eternity. One thing Brian always brought to our research was the persistent reminder of the humanity of our subjects. The nature of our work brought us face to face with the little everyday tragedies of living with a diseased mind. Whenever we put up too much defensive distance, Brian would call us back to people as people. In this too, I think he was sensitive to the eternal in each of us.

But this notion of eternity is also what makes his death feel unacceptable. There are no more days for Brian. He's not going to pet his bunnies, climb another pitch, love on his girl, or tickle and teach the kids he never had. Death thumbs its nose at eternity. Our hearts cry out and say, "There is more to life than what we can see and hold." And death says, "Oh yea?"

I don't have any grand finale conclusion about things. I had hoped to hear of many more Brian adventures over the years. Mostly, I think I'm just in shock still. I'll just leave off with the rest of that bit from Ecclesiastes.

9 What does the worker gain from his toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on men. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 12 I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. 13 That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God. 14 I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him.
~Ecclesiastes, chpt 3

Source material for the Byrd's song

Why do you believe in God?

Her father had committed suicide over a decade ago, when she was a teenager. Shortly after that, her grandmother had a stroke and was placed in a nursing home. That was the last time the young woman had seen her. Today that changed. After more than ten years, she had driven several hours to visit and finally face all the emotions, now rising up and choking her like fine dust from the place she had tamped them down for so long.

She asked me a little more about myself, and my ministry. Then, these words: “I don’t mean to offend you, but may I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I said.

Looking me directly in the eyes, she asked the most basic question, “Why do you believe in God?”

~From Chaplain Mike on The Internet Monk

I read this today and I did a gut check, asking myself how I would answer this question if I was standing eyeball to eyeball with this woman. And my answer would be, "Because I have faced death and God has given me life."

Whew. That took my breath away and took me by surprise. It's a little dramatic. But it's actually true. There was a time in my early twenties when I was suicidal. I was depressed and thought about ways to kill myself. It's hard to remember that time not because it's painful to remember it but because it is so far from my current reality. At that time, I could never have imagined the fullness of life that I have now. In grade school, I learned a verse that says,

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I [Jesus] have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

~The Good News According to John, chpt 10

When you boil it down, I guess I believe in God because I see the truth of Jesus in my life. I have seen how the thief (Satan) comes to steal and kill and destroy. But I am currently experiencing the full life that Jesus promised. And this is true even though I struggle in my new role as a mom.

My daughter took her first steps yesterday. I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest; I was so stinkin' proud of her. She's on her way to exploring the world in a whole new way. (Watch out, World!)

The road out of depression was long and hard. I won't deny it. But I wonder if God felt similarly as I took those first shaky steps toward a new and different life.

If you believe in God, why do you believe in God?

Motherhood: The never ending New Year's resolution

I don't know why anyone else might have a kid; I imagine there are many reasons possible, but I had a kid because it was a "good idea" or more to the point, I believed it to be part and parcel of "being married" which I was at the time and still am. This feels remarkably like the reasoning behind many New Year's resolutions; losing weight, exercising more, procrastinating less, drinking 8 glasses of water a day. All these are "good ideas", and only a contrarian would dispute that these resolutions genearlly fall under "being a better person".

New Year's resolutions in December are shiny and full of possibility as one looks forward to the payoffs of new habits and behaviors. In February, however, they have generally been discarded as the stresses of life squeeze out exercise and make mindless time wasting and mass quantities of bacon ever more appealing.

While the whale-like state of 38+ weeks of pregnancy and any weeks of nausea and vomiting are admittedly uncomfortable, any fetal cries for help are well hidden and frankly impossible for anyone to do much about. The newborn infant is but a soft idea of cuddly cuteness. About 4-6 weeks after the wriggling mass arrives, this idea is well buried beneath chronic sleep deprivation as the new mother struggles to hold on to the last vestiges of her sanity. Unfortunately for her, there is no socially approved wink for giving up on her child, but luckily about this time her baby will likely learn to smile and her breasts will decide that maybe they don't need to explode off her chest. This improves things quite a bit.

I was talking with some friends about how fear is frequently more motivating than grace and trying to figure out why this was. The more I think about this the more I think about how we--as in all people but particularly, Christians--behave as if we constantly need to justify ourselves. I don't really mean this in the theological justification sense, but partly. We're constantly trying to prove that we're ok with our bosses, with our co-workers, with our friends, with our spouses, and so on. We fear missing a deadline because of various social and financial consequences. And deep down we believe that if we only do X, Y, and Z, we'll solve the rubix cube and our lives will be ordered and ok.

Motherhood has been the New Year's resolution that I'm not allowed to give up. No matter how tired, grouchy, and entitled I feel, I'm going to change a lot of diapers and I'm going to feed and hug my baby (who's really on the cusp of being a toddler, but I'm not ready for that). And in these most tired, most grouchy, most selfish moments I am faced with my failings that are unjustified and unjustifiable. Am I really mad because my kid didn't poo in her potty? Seriously? Yes, seriously, I am mad. Wow. How revealing.

I have not always been an awesome wife, but it's not that hard to rationalize and hide behind something the husband has done or not done. But being a mother, I've lost a lot to hide behind. Who or what can I blame for being impatient or angry or unkind to my child? Nothing rational. And I see ever more vividly my need for grace. When grace isn't motivating enough for us, I think it's because we don't know what grace is to us. Grace is why I haven't been zapped off the face of the earth for my impatience, anger, and unkindness. Grace is what justifies me and my life and allows me to stop doing mental contortions to justify not being a star academic blazing trails for future generations of women in academia. Grace is what will make being a mother possible, endurable, and vibrant.

Stations of the cross

A guest blogger on internetmonk.com is posting daily meditations for Stations of the cross. I have found them very helpful in preparing to celebrate Easter on Sunday. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how to link to just the Stations of the Cross meditations, but it's worth it to scroll down the site (maybe subscribe to it in your feedreader) to get to them.

Fasting this Lent

Lent is about to draw to an end. It's the 5th week and Palm Sunday is coming up.

This year I gave up "meat" except for the Sunday feast days, "meat" in the Catholic sense where fish isn't meat. Given that I rarely eat meat except for at dinner, and I'm Chinese, and I like fish, this has not been nearly as burdensome, as say, the first time I gave up news and politics. When I have fasted from food, there has been visceral craving, emptiness, and a need for immediate comfort. I have not experienced that at all.

Instead, this year, since not eating meat is different but not wholly painful, the experience has been very different. What I've found is that I just generally long for Easter to arrive. There's a bit of a quickening in my chest, a little bit of tightness, low level anticipation. Part of me just wants to get back to my usual routine, be able to cook more meals that both my husband and I can eat, not worry about meeting up with other people and so on. That part says, "Let Easter come for my convenience and food reasons." That doesn't feel that holy at all. But part of me wants to embrace all the flavors that are out there, to savor steak the way I savored it a couple weeks ago on a Sunday feast day, to not take such moments for granted. That part says, "Let Easter come so we can celebrate Jesus and the new dawning he brought, the freedom, the grace, the wide open wonder." That feels expansively glorious.

Raised in the American Evangelical culture, Easter can feel very plastic in a wash of limp pastels. But the celebration of the resurrection should be the biggest event of every year marking the biggest event in human history. This is where divinity intersected humanity and love triumphed over death in the gory, most real, most definitely not-a-Hollywood-romance-or-Mel-Gibson-Passion-of-Christ way. I have to admit that Easter still does not outrank Christmas or March Madness on my anxiously-gripping-my-seat meter. But with every year, with every observation of the Lenten season, I find myself ever more drawn into the drama of Holy Week and the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Awe-full

Great and holy God
awe and reverence
fear and trembling
do not come easily to us
for we are not
Old Testament Jews
or Moses
or mystics
or sensitive enough.
Forgive us
for slouching into Your presence
with little expectation
and less awe
than we would eagerly give a visiting dignitary.
We need
neither Jehovah nor a buddy –
neither “the Great and Powerful Oz” nor “the man upstairs.”
Help us
to want what we need…
You
God
and may the altar of our hearts
tremble with delight
at
Your visitation
amen.

~Frederick Ohler

This poem was found as a meditation in the Mosaic Bible which is a regular New Living Translation of the Bible with a special section in the front that has art, essays, and poems by authors across time periods and continents. These are organized thematically and weekly into the church calendar. So this poem was a meditation for the first week of Lent which is this week.

It's been a long time since I have read poetry, and I like this one.

What does God do with dust and ash?

It's Lent again. I've been reading the Anglican Book of Common Prayer (1662) off and on for the past year or so. One thing difficult for me to quite come to terms with is the constant petitioning for mercy and forgiveness. It's not that I think I deserve God's kindness, but as far as I can tell, it's been extended. The whole contrite thing can sometimes feel like sniveling and hoping for grace which has already been given. But perhaps that's why I stick with it; I think I still have much to learn. Maybe I need to be reminded more often of how my life is good only in that God imbues it with goodness.

I liked this guy's meditation on Ash Wednesday:

What does God do with dust and ash?

He grows things out of them.

He covers them with purple raiments.

He lifts people out of them.

He unfairly accepts them in exchange for beauty.

He writes mysterious things in them.

He spits in them and uses the mud to give sight.

He washes them off your stinky feet.

He breathes into them and creates new life.

He descends into them, submits to their suffocation, and emerges alive and spotless.

When you return to dust, even if your body should be burnt to ashes and scattered over the four winds, he who is the Lord over the earth will be able to collect you, reconstitute you, and resurrect you into a body fit for eternity.

~Jared Wilson

Ash Wednesday

The Collect

Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that thou hast made and dost forgive the sins of all them that are penitent; Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins, and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

This Collect is to be read every day in Lent after the Collect appointed for the Day.

~The Book of Common Prayer, 1662

Tortured inadequacy

I've been thinking about why new motherhood has provoked so much reflection and desire for guidance. Reflecting on reflection, like it? For me, becoming a mother has made me painfully aware of my inadequacies at a time when I was cresting a high point in achievement. I was a couple years into a marriage with my wonderful husband, financially stable (because of him), professionally accomplished and respected, and generally well-regarded in my circle of peers.

Motherhood, in the early weeks, was like bootcamp: crazy hours, physically demanding, a steep learning curve, and nowhere to hide. You can't imagine having to nurse every 2-3 hours until you have to nurse every 2-3 hours. And in that exhaustion, you have to care for the most helpless, innocent thing who's your child at whom you get frustrated, whom you are tempted to shake into silence, and who has conditions you don't know how to evaluate as medically serious or not. Mebbe this doesn't dump some women into the inadequacy pool, but it sure dumped me there. While my daughter is well out of those early feed-a-thons, I continue to find myself challenged. I'm less challenged physically having learned more of less how to keep pace, but I am more challenged emotionally as she blossoms into personhood. Can I put aside my to-do list to interact with her wholeheartedly? Can I speak kindly when our wills are opposed? Will I pause in the "doing" to tell her I love her? Honestly, a lot of times the answer is No and I know that.

And while I could despair in this, the following promise brings hope:

9But [Jesus] said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

~Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, chapter 12

One commenter's translation for my grace is sufficient for you has you need nothing more than my grace, in other words, the grace of God is adequate. And not only is the grace of God adequate but it dovetails into completeness when it rests in weakness. The Greek word translated as weakness, astheneia, here refers to an incapacity for something or an experience of limitation. Today, this is good news because this is the way motherhood frequently feels: I am incapable of loving well, limited in my selflessness, lacking in wisdom.

I have many questions about what the future holds and I often wonder if I will have the wherewithal to make the tough decisions. This passage reminds me that I probably don't have the wherewithal and that's ok because the grace of God will fill in the gaps gladly. It will even fill the gap of questioning whether gaps can be filled. Filling in gaps about gaps being filled, like it?

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of On Expecting

Conflicting voices

I missed last week because I have been struggling between competing views on motherhood. In one camp, the 60s feminists reject the patriarchy of the 50s that told them "Father knows best" and that women were only for the home. Instead women are men; in fact, better versions of men with breasts and wombs. Anything you can do I can do better. Birth control and nannies open up endless possibilities to climb to the top of anything. In the other camp, evangelical women reject the rejection of the 60s feminists and say, "Wait a minute, mothering matters! It matters more than you would know." Just as hired hands don't care for the sheep the way the shepherd does, no one is going to love your kid more than you do, so hop to it. If you love Jesus, you won't work outside the home. At 30, I feel just young enough to have missed all of this. None of these ideologies are mine. I have never lived in a world where women weren't allowed to try for any career they wanted and where women haven't significantly contributed to making the world a better place in public fora.

I'm posting not because I've come to any conclusions about this but I'm trying to nail down why it's been so hard to pull together thoughts. So here are some observations.

1. I think that in addition to a theology of motherhood or family, we need a theology of work particularly skilled work that takes training.
2. We carry a lot of cultural baggage that makes developing any theology difficult or makes developing an honest theology that isn't just us stuffing ourselves into what we want the Bible to say difficult.
   
3. Our cultural baggage includes the false dichotomy of either being a stay at home, home schooling mom OR being a secular, working woman.
4. Our cultural baggage also includes the sense that work endows us with our identity AND is meaningless.
   

Here are some small verses that have given me pause since I last posted:

¹⁰Samuel told all the words of the LORD to the people who were asking him for a king. ¹¹ He said, "This is what the king who will reign over you will do: He will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, and they will run in front of his chariots...He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers.
~I Samuel, chapter 8

¹After this, Jesus traveled about from one town and village to another, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God. The Twelve were with him, ²and also some women who had been cured of evil spirits and diseases: Mary (called Magdalene) from whom seven demons had come out; ³Joanna the wife of Cuza, the manager of Herod's household; Susanna; and many others. These women were helping to support them out of their own means.
~The Gospel according to Luke, chapter 8

What I see here are women with publicly applied skills many of whom, given the culture they lived in, probably had husbands and children. What does this mean for us today? I don't know, but that's what I see.

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of On Expecting

Jesus is never too busy for her

In my head, I have a "9-5" which actually much longer than 9-5 but also my unit of productive work. I like to think that at the end of the day when my husband comes home we can share what we did during our "9-5s" My 9-5 has three domains: A) caring for L, B) taking care of the house, and C) academic writing. This week has been a major struggle because time wise A > B > C, but in my heart I was wanting C > B > A. I have a looming deadline to push out a few pages of writing and I am woefully behind. I'm one of those writers who works best when I can "get in the zone". It's not "be in the zone" it's "get in the zone". Getting there takes some doing and frequently, by the time I'm there, L is done with her nap or done with my ignoring her or just done and needing my attention. I grit my teeth and turn to her with unwritten thoughts flying through my head and disappearing into the ether. So that's me: at home but maybe not with my daughter.

In our evening readings this week, N and I read through the Gospel of Mark passing through this passage:

They came to Capernaum. When he was in the house, he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the road?" But they kept quiet because on the way they had argued about who was the greatest.

Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all."

He took a little child and had him stand among them. Taking him in his arms, he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me."

~The Gospel of Mark, chapter 9

I blithely tried to put this passage out of my head, but there's no denying the drama. After a stretch of dusty travel, Jesus reveals to his disciples that he overheard them arguing about who was the greatest. They're all sheepish because they got caught, but really they do want to know how they rank because they all think they have personally sacrificed the most and achieved the most. And then Jesus upends everything. What's this stuff about being first and being last? And then he holds up one of Peter and Andrew's cousin's friend's boy and says, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me…"

Maybe there are mothers who know in the deepest core of their being at every moment and hour of the day that serving their child is an act of service to God, I am not one of them. More often than not, I think that applying the training I've received over the past 7 years is an act of service to God which is hindered by having to amuse and attend my drooling baby who so wants to be with me that she has crawled under my desk and is sucking on my computer cables. This passage rudely questions my evaluation of things, now doesn't it? It's not that my job as a researcher has no kingdom value, it does. It's more that when she's crawled 6ft from her play area to be near me at the computer, can I put down that work and embrace this little one fully, with an open heart because I wouldn't want to be too busy for Jesus and Jesus is certainly never too busy for her?

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of On Expecting

Between a rock and a hard place

"Being a mother is hard."

I remember thinking that before I became a mother from watching my friends around me have children. I think mostly the issue was that they were enormous and pondering before they disappeared for a couple months and when they reappeared they looked tired.

"Being a mother is hard."

I feel this now as a mother. The first couple months, it was probably mostly the tired thing that came from frequent feedings around the clock and painfully engorged breasts. But that phase is a distant memory. L sleeps relatively well, and I now get to sleep through most of the night. Feedings are a breeze, both solids and nursing. What's hard is that I feel torn between attending to her and my work.

The trick is that I feel like I shouldn't feel that being a mother is hard because the physical stuff isn't hard anymore. Yea, I have to attend to L's physical needs: food, clean diapers, warm clothes, a safe place to sleep, but really it's her emotional needs of wanting attention and affection that tear at me. I'd rather be writing or reading. Can't she just sit with me and let me do that? We'd still be together, you know?

This past week my husband and I read through the end of the Gospel of Matthew where Jesus talks about the signs of his second coming and the end of the age. And here (Matthew 24), he talks about how at that end time those who are in Judea flee to the mountains… and in that fleeing How dreadful it will be in those days for pregnant women and nursing mothers!…For then there will be great distress, unequaled from the beginning of the world until now… In all the dreadfulness, pregnant women and nursing mothers are the only named category of people; they are singled out for particular difficulty. That has always struck me as kind of unfair, but this week, I agree.

Pregnant women and nursing mothers not only must keep themselves alive but also are the literal lifeline for their child. You might think that nursing mothers are a somewhat different case than pregnant women but their children also depend on them and not just for physical but also emotional care. Children can nurse into toddlerhood even after they can eat solid foods which suggests to me that their nursing isn't just for physical sustenance but also emotional connection. Reports from orphanages where children were fed but not tended to help us see how important emotional care is for proper development and survival.

Looking at this passage, why are pregnant women and nursing mothers in desperate straights in times of trouble? Because they cannot be substituted for. No matter the upheaval in the world around, no matter how desperate the fleeing, that mother has to care for that child or the child is not likely to survive.

For moms and probably new moms in particular, it is easy to feel a lot of guilt and then to feel guilt for feeling guilt. This text helps me to realize, new motherhood is hard. Not that new motherhood is insurmountably hard and for most of us, it'll never be fleeing from destruction hard. It's a special kind of, special stage of hard. I don't need to beat myself up for not feeling like this is smooth sailing even though I've had great support from family and friends and I get to work at home. And I can remind myself that eventually, I won't be a nursing mother and I'll be out of that special category.

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of On Expecting

Fiat Lux

Yesterday night, we (almost) rang in the new year watching Space Cowboys. The movie describes the efforts of four men to finally make it into space 40 years after they were ripped off the program. Of course, they make it to space and one turns to the other and says, "This was worth the wait." The cosmos is awe inspiring, and the mere footage of earth below never ceases to grip me.

Today, I read Genesis 1-5. It feels like it's been a long time since I read over the familiar words of Genesis 1. This passage gives an account of God creating the universe. "Fiat Lux" is the concise Latin rendering of "Let there be light." In fiat's verb form there is imperial power where speech and will are transformed into substance and action. It's like the curl of the conductor's baton that sets the orchestra in motion. That power is unleashed repeatedly as God forms and fills the earth.

The magnitude of that power highlights my miserly faith. Instead of living confidently that such a God can take care of me, I doubt and laughably attempt to apply my will and my force to bend the universe to my needs and wants. What a joke. Right? Reading the creation story is always like spiritual chiropractry.

But then comes verses 26-28, "Then God said, 'Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.' So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, 'Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it.'"

Just as I am feeling exceptionally small, feeling in absolute awe of a being with the power to hang the earth in its orbit, I read about being made in the image of God. I imagine that if I were kneeling before the Queen and she told me to stand, that these might share similar feelings. I want to poke myself and say, "My flesh and bones are made in the image of God?" Not that I know precisely what that means. I mean, up to that point, all that has been discussed about God is his ridiculously amazing, creative power. Does that mean I have something like that? Whatever it exactly is, it feels ennobling like I've been given a mission and responsibility. As it turns out, after designating humans as creatures made in his image, God designates them rulers over the earth and tells them to be fruitful and increase in number. Mission: be fruitful and increase in number; responsibility: rule and subdue the earth.

While I don't think that every couple has to have kids, it does seem that a goodly portion should if that increasing in number thing is to happen. Another new mom and I are wondering what the Bible has to say to us as mothers. We are both highly educated professionals who feel a lot of tension between our child rearing and our careers. I think this passage affirms the goodness of our role and responsibilities as mothers, an affirmation we do not receive professionally. I also think it affirms our professional work insofar as our labor extends the dominion of God, something that can be discussed at greater length another day.

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of On Expecting