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

Maturity

As I continue to confront an unhealthy dependence on my "agenda," I've tried to distill my major roles. What's absolutely necessary? What responsibilities have I taken on just because I feel them as expectations? So this morning, when I read "... become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ," I read it as a command. It's not--Ephesians 4:13 discusses Christ gifting believers to lead others to that fullness.

But inwardly, part of me groaned. I just turned 33, and while I don't want to ever wax eloquently about my persistent insecurities, I just don't feel very different from Jess at 23 or 13. Or...the close to 3 me in this picture.... Right now? I'm learning how to be a wife and mother. But at 23, I was learning how to navigate life after college. And at 13, I was exploring my growing independence. There are mistakes galore, mis-steps--sometimes predictably so, and when I read about fullness, my first thought is, "Yes! I want that...but I am so immature..." Sometimes I sense I'm learning the same thing over and over again--it just emerges with a different frame.

Psalm 148, 149, 150/114, 115 [morning/evening]
Genesis 7:1-23
Ephesians 4:1-16
Mark 3:7-19

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.

The concept of "working mom" has been overdone. Discussed for too long, assigned too many buzz words ("mom guilt"), and entangled in conspiracy theories (recently heard a story about how working moms unknowingly assist formula companies because breastfeeding is unfairly limited in the work place). While we can discuss a myriad of issues, I know the difficulty I face in making large decisions like going away for the weekend or in committing to small things like coffee with a friend finds it's root in my desire to make up for the time I lose with my son while I work.

For instance, today's a snow day. I can finally catch up on laundry, possibly wash the kitchen floor, and vacuum the house. But I feel as if I should organize Luke's play for the day, stay by his side and pretend to be a mom who doesn't work. Yet, I don't know what that looks like. This is a new sort of pressure I'm feeling.

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.