Fullness, part 3

It will be ok, but this is hard. Yesterday afternoon, we rushed Luke to an urgent care with a fever of 104. The cause? Strep and pneumonia. I wish I could say I never saw it coming, but I did. At any sign of illness in our boy, dread rushes in and I begin to expect the worst. After my last blog, I realized it may have appeared like I was overreacting to a common cold. But last December, we rushed him to the emergency room (after a case of strep) because his entire body was swelling to the point that he was unrecognizable. The most frightening part of this experience for me was the fact that no one--no one--knew what was wrong with him for nearly 24 hours. While doctors were sure it was a reaction to an antibiotic, everyone had read about this type of reaction, but no one had ever seen it in person. After that experience, even a runny nose makes my heart beat faster.

Right now, I'm just tired. But if someone could see my soul and paint what they see there, I'd appear passive, with my hands down, resolved just to follow through. This, of course, is outside of normal for me. I only read one article about pneumonia today and I haven't imagined a hundred worst-case scenarios. I just don't have the energy. Instead, I've been thinking about a reading from Genesis from yesterday (does that break the rules?).

Abram and Sarai left for Egypt to escape a famine in their own land. Abram, nervous over the Egyptians' possible reaction to Sarai's beauty, persuaded her to call herself his sister instead. The result wasn't good--the Pharaoh was attracted to her, did take her into his house (which I can only assume meant sexually), and was struck with disease afterward. Abram was forced to confess and leave. But this is what gets me: Abram thought he might be killed if someone desired Sarai and knew she was married. But no one killed him after they found out he wasn't her brother. (Not to mention the fact that their diseased state was caused by his dishonesty.)

And so, it occurred to me that Abram was really anticipating a bad situation without being assured of its likelihood. I'm not an ancient history or Bible scholar, so perhaps I'm missing something, but this story reminds me of all those occasions where I imagine a terrible outcome, practice a script in response to that situation, predict a myriad of consequences--all based on what I suppose could happen. Quite simply, I don't want to do that anymore.


Jan. 23: Psalm 30, 32/42, 43 [morning/evening]
Genesis 12:9-13:1
Hebrews 7:18-28
John 4:27-42

Jan. 24: Psalm 63, 98/103 [morning/evening]
Genesis 13:2-18
Galations 2:1-10
Mark 7:31-37

Fullness, part 2

So yes, fullness. Part 2. The idyllic Monday I rambled on about in part 1? ....has swerved slightly to the south. Luke has a fever; early in the evening, he commenced with that depressingly lovely clinginess that marks the beginning of illness. And now, he's coughing miserably in his bed.

Admittedly, I'm not quite as perky and full of insight about my calling. I'm wondering about the night ahead. Planning for at least five scenarios which could unfold tomorrow. Questioning whether or not I should call the doctor. Feeling a bit guilty over a tiny selfish part of me that just wants things to be normal. And so I leaned over to my husband and said, "Just tell me everything will be ok."

He said, "You know it will be ok. It might be hard. But it will be ok."

That turned it into a challenge. "It might be hard." The next few days might bring more stress than I had planned for. But again, it's not about my agenda, my list of to-do's, my plan to conquer. And to be quite frank, this "challenge" [and it's beginning to feel less of one...] is at the center of my calling to mother Luke; productivity isn't.

God knows my heart. He knows and, I believe, understands the gamut of my thoughts--from the selfish to the misguided to the earnest. Somehow, that knowledge prods me [right now] to throw myself into the highs and lows of my calling. I can let Him sort through motives, desires, and reactions. "All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you. " Psalm 38:9


Psalm 38/Psalm 119:25-48 [morning/evening]
Genesis 9:18-29
Hebrews 6:1-12
John 3:22-36

Turning and Returning

Psalm 66, 67/145 [morning/evening]
Wisdom 7:3-14*
Colossians 3:12-17
John 6:41-47

Tomorrow, I return to work. And really--typing those words just now marks the first time I've verbalized them all day. I've pushed the thoughts aside, focused on the moments, forged ahead as if tomorrow was just another day of vacation. Truly, though, I love my job. I do love teaching; but there are greater loves in my life now...and one that changes at such a pace I find myself doing double-takes.

I say this with all graciousness, but unless you're a mother who's left a child behind at daycare or preschool, witnessed their sad faces, and felt that dull ache coupled with hot tears as you drive away, you can't know the dread some workdays bring. Despite necessity. Despite knowing your children are well cared for. Despite even calling.

Becoming a mother loaded me down with a desire to control; I know God is chipping away at my stoney grasp on life as I know it, which is not life as good as it could be. I worry and fret and wonder if I'm doing the right thing, if I'm doing all I can, if Luke's life is good. But always, I return to a question a friend asked me nearly a decade ago: "Do you really believe God is good?" Psalm 145 tells me He is. Not just because of "awesome works" or "great deeds," but because I need to know that the One whom I've asked to know is "gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love," "trustworthy in all he promises and faithful in all he does," and (for tomorrow) "near to all who call on him."

During a walk in the woods, Cory and I found a single purple mushroom, and I returned hours later to photograph it, searched through leaves to find it, and sat and thought about it. Really? A bright purple mushroom? It was a perfect specimen of detail and exactness to me. I need that God--who knows the details of my heart: "My name is graven on his hands,
My name is written on his heart..." **

*As far as I can determine, Wisdom is a book included in some Anglican Bibles, but not included in most other Bibles--including mine....so I didn't read it.

**"Before the Throne of God," Charitie L. Bancroft, 1863.

What I did on my first day of Summer Vacation...

Today, on our first day of summer vacation, Luke and I played, rediscovered one another, and my time felt so free I could simply watch him. I must say he amazed me. Not that he's some super-toddler, but I find myself analyzing his personality. What does his reaction to the toppling of his blocks say about how he may handle disappointment? How does he wait so patiently for me to pit cherries when I know he's famished? Will his joy over acts of service carry into the future?

I learned so much from watching him today in two separate, but connected situations. First--while we were playing outside, he began a game of truck relocation; what made the game interesting is that he used the same method of relocation for each truck in the cycle. If he pushed one, he pushed them all, if he dragged one, he dragged each. It wasn't so much the routine in his work (play), it was how he got there. He fell into a pattern and then stuck with it. Determination, perseverance, and carefulness marked his actions. I know I can't say that for myself. From tiny ages (close to his), I will only accept perfection on a first try and refuse to try again if that's not achieved. He handled his mistakes and challenges with a grace I'm still learning to accept.

Later, we began a specialized swim lesson called Infant Swimming Resources (ISR). They aim to teach children to survive in the water to prevent drowning. After witnessing three screaming children struggle through the ten minute lesson, I was nervous. I wanted to encourage Luke, but I knew he'd sense the fear in a fake smile if he protested to that degree. But--he didn't. He giggled, choked on water, laughed, splashed, and did exactly what they asked him to do, but he also navigated through moments of fear, disappointments, and insecurity.

There's something to be said to this idea: "we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts..." (from Romans 5)

St. Patrick's Day 2009

Last night we took Luke to Main St. in Rock Hill for the St. Patrick's Day celebration. We need to do more stuff like this; just the other day I saw a couple who surfs on TV who were visiting South Korea (to surf) with their six month old baby. Envy isn't even the word--walking across swinging bridges next to mountains and temples and scenery so green it almost looks like a backdrop? I want that. Or do I...I'm a drill sergeant when it comes to naps and food (just for Luke...I eat all sorts of terrible things) and I'm sure they have to be a bit more laid back than me. And help--I bet they have help; surely the baby doesn't wait on the beach by himself as the catch the next wave. But I digress...

Luke loves music; it was my second favorite piece about watching him last night. The violin and guitar duo captivated him, and he danced, and clapped, and yelled in delight. He has a penchant for bluegrass, country, acoustic, and any live music. He's particular--loves Willy Nelson, but not such a fan of the Dixie Chicks. We discovered all of this one evening when he watched Neal Young enraptured on the couch, but handed the remote to Cory and whined when John Mellencamp began to play. Cory and I both love music (even if our tastes are different), and now I see that this can be a place for all of us to spend time together with something we love individually and collectively.

But that was only my second favorite part from last night. The highlight of the evening came when Cory ran into a friend of his dad's. They talked--about horseshoes, about his dad, about Luke--and this, this was the highlight of the night. Cory's dad died a week to the day after our wedding. He never met Luke. I see Luke's Poppa in him--when he plants everything he can find, when he sleeps, when he runs to the door to check on a suspicious noise. And here was a man who could look at Luke and possibly see that too.

A great St. Patrick's Day.

"...do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them." Deuteronomy 4:9b

Recovery

We are still in the throes of Luke's illness. The doctors warned us it would be hills and valleys and not the gradual climb to recovery. "Everyone" says babies are resilient, and that's certainly true; Luke popped back into himself yesterday and we rejoiced.

All sorts of other recovery must take place though--the laundry room could use some rehabilitation, I may have to resuscitate the pantry, and we're injecting some last minute Christmas runs into the day. More than those things, I'm finding it hard to "get back to normal." I don't know if it's the single-minded focus to the week ("Make my child better...") or the complete removal of every other aspect of life from the day. In all regards, life just feels mechanical at present.

A take away....because we're always looking for application...I will be there in some form or fashion when friends experience what we went through this week. I want to make my concern tangible.