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