Where did the muse go?

Well, here it is, late on a Friday night (yes, 10:00 is late for a pregnant momma), and I find myself all alone in a quiet house with nothing but my feelings to think about. I keep telling myself I won't get so personal in these blog posts, but it continues to be the only thing that drives me to writing at all anymore... so here I go. 

Something has been bothering me lately.

Something that I don't think most people ever think about when they ask me how my day was or what's going on in my life. I think they are distracted by the fact that I have an adorable one-year-old on my hip and a gigantic baby bump inside my belly. This is understandable to me. I also find that for some reason everyone things I'm the kind of person who never wanted anything more than to grow up and be a wife and mother. I don't take offense at this assumption (which has been verbally expressed to me a number of times recently) because I think it's a compliment in a way and I kind of do wish it was true... but it's SO not. 

Most of my life all I've ever wanted to do was write stories. When I first married my husband, we talked a lot about it because it was concerning to him how disinterested I was in the prospect of having children. And to take this confession further: I really don't like kids that much. I love my baby, because I can't help it... but it's not like I'm this sweet motherly person who's always looking for opportunities to nurture someone.  On principle I want a big family, but in practice it terrifies me to think of having a house full of loud, attention-needing, dirty little kids. They are cute, but they take up a lot of space and time and money. Especially time.

So now you see the selfishness that dwells deep down inside me. But aside from the prospect of being worn out all the time, I don't think these things would bother me so much if it weren't for my ambitions, which are becoming nothing more than a thorn in my flesh these days. I don't think it really matters much what those ambitions are, but having some sort of ambition is very, very important to me. Writing has always been something I could do, so I made it my ambition to become an author before I died, even if it was just a one-time deal. I've clung to that and worked towards that since I was a child. Having an ambition makes me feel like I'm a person unto myself, without needing to be defined by those around me. Perhaps this is also selfishness... perhaps it's worldliness. Perhaps it's just necessary. 

I always told myself I wouldn't let go of my writing, even after I got married and had children. I was absolutely sure if it... I'd seen other mothers give up on their "dreams" and succumb to the (I thought) soul-sucking reality of children-raising until it took over their lives completely. I would have none of it! 

Well, I didn't know a thing when I thought those prideful thoughts. Ever since Katara was born, I have spent hours every month sitting in front of a blank computer screen trying to force words onto a page, trying to craft a story which I care nothing about. I guess it didn't happen overnight, but every day I care a little less, until now, it's like I can hardly even force myself to read novels because I can only think about the pointlessness of the story. It's not real, it never was real... it can only have a minimal effect on anyone's life at best, and at worst will only serve to entertain and distract busy housewives like me.

This is SO depressing to me. I know I'm missing passion. Writing and reading used to be a wonderful escape for me because I was a wild young thing full of emotions and I could be swept away in a moment by a beautifully written scene on a page. And now I'm just sort of tired all the time, and my mind NEVER stops thinking about stupid little details- like how many ounces of formula Katara should be drinking at this age and how often the dog needs to be bathed. It's the curse of motherhood, I'm convinced- the inability to stop thinking. I even find myself getting caught up in the petty problems of others, trying to churn out solutions to transportation issues and food preparations that aren't even my responsibility to worry about. These things really don't matter at all in the end of the day. None of this does, except for pouring all the love and care I can into my children so that they will thrive in the world someday... and God knows I spend far too little time thinking about that.

I think if I never wrote again, I could be perfectly fine with that. It would be a relief, even, to release myself from that ambition. But then I wouldn't be anybody at all, except for Katara's mom and Danny's wife. This would drive me crazy, and not just because I want people to think I'm something special. I know I NEED something all my own to contribute to this world, even if it is stupid and petty compared to the high calling of motherhood. I long to be caught up in excitement for a project again, and to feel a sense of pride in the work I'm doing. 

What am I supposed to do here? Should I just drop my ambitions, and try to be content with the definite calling God has given me for right now? Should I keep pushing myself to write, even when it feels like trying to breathe life into a skeleton? Or should I try to find a new passion to keep me going when the days of diaper changes and meal plans get too long?

One thing I do know: there is no such thing as "just" a mom. I think it would be nice if the world at large learned to ask stay-at-home moms about their ambitions, because I'm pretty sure we all have them, even if they are so buried under our responsibilities they haven't seen the light of day in years. People don't exist just to keep the world running... we all like to make it a little more interesting along the way too. It is this which keeps us human. And we moms are human too, despite what our children (and culture) may sometimes think of us!

Sunday Reflections

Wow- it has been a long time since I've posted here!

Today was such a weird day. My sister was baptized at her church in a nearby town, which was a TREMENDOUS blessing to see. It is always so moving to see people walking in obedience to God and backing that up with such a public declaration of faith. And it is also always a blessing to go to sister churches and meet/reacquaint with other believers. Even just the little things done differently- the music, the order of the worship, and the decor in the sanctuary- can put new energy into worship.

Of course, that wasn't quite my experience today. My baby is a very good baby most of the time, and a terribly rotten baby the rest of the time. Today was the latter. Combine an unfamiliar setting, post-vacation exhaustion, and a forgotten pacifier, and I spent the entirety of Sunday School and morning service trying desperately to sooth a VERY fussy child. It reminded me of the days when she had colic and we would bounce and rock and sush her until we were at our emotional breaking points.

Thankfully my husband took over so that I could see the baptism and participate in communion, which was refreshing and wonderful.

I also got to hold an adorable eight week old baby today, who was so small I was convinced she must have been a premature newborn. Turns out she was a whooping eleven pounds... how quickly I'd forgotten just how tiny and fragile they are at the beginning! I felt like a total ninconpoop holding her, like I had no idea what to do.

All of this got me thinking... maybe the arrival of baby number two is going to be just a bit more stressful than I might have first thought.  This pregnancy has so far been devoid of any stress or apprehension whatsoever, and I already feel bonded to the little being swimming around inside me (something that didn't happen with Katara until days AFTER she was born). But there is a practical element of this addition to our family that is going to leave me twice- maybe three times- as exhausted and emotional as I already am. Today the weight of all that I'm giving up to be a mother is hitting me a bit harder than usual, and I can't help but wonder what other sacrifices are around the corner.

I think one thing I am learning is that I can no longer depend on anyone else to lead me to God. My husband does a wonderful job of leading us in family devotions, and I hear great preaching most Sundays, but the fact of the matter is I can't always be fully there when I have a baby to take care of, and even when the baby is taken care of sometimes I'm just not quite mentally or emotionally able to take in what I'm hearing. This means I have to seize every moment when I am free and clear-headed to go to God on my own, to study the scripture and maybe revisit some of the texts and topics that came up in other venues.

I have also been thinking a lot of the peace that comes from doing the right thing. When I am stressed and hormonal and exhausted beyond the reach of rational thought, my tendency is to throw myself upon the nearest source of strength- usually my husband- and look for any way out of the load I'm carrying. But usually that only leaves me feeling more miserable. It is far better to pray for strength, if not to triumph victoriously then only to plod on till the end of that moment, hour, or day without sinning. Asking myself what my Lord would do if He were in my shoes can spare me a lot of future regret. And at the end of it all, I may be a little more tired than I would be if I'd squirmed out from under it- but I will have that peace that passes understanding, which is far more important than any lightening of the load.

Not to say that a little load lightening is always the wrong thing! Or that it's not sometimes necessary to stop all together and admit that I am weak- maybe even to cry. As long as I am willing to get back up afterward and plod on!

a moment in time

Hello from Lake Chelan, Washington!  We have been SO blessed to receive this week-long getaway at a gorgeous lake-side condo for FREE because a family member couldn't use it. Danny had a week of vacation that was going to disappear in January, but being low on cash this holiday season we weren't planning to use it... and yet, here we are, showered in God's abundant love yet again.

Because of that low on cash thing, and also because our lives have been certifiably crazy for the last four months, we've elected to spend most of this week indoors with coffee and blankets, working on the hobbies that have fallen by the wayside in the midst of bringing up baby. For me this (of course) means writing... what does that word mean again? Oh, right. It means arranging words in the form of sentences, which then make paragraphs, which then make chapters of the novella I'm supposed to be writing for the final class in my certificate.

And here it is that I find myself coming head-to-head with the things I hate about myself. First of all, I'm realizing that for all the scheduling and to-do list making that I do at home, I am NOT a scheduled person. I like to make a schedule just to see how much I could, potentially, get done in a day- in other words, to map out the possibilities. I usually have no intention of keeping that schedule, and if the muse hits or a friend calls or Katara is being particularly cute, that schedule goes out the window without a second thought. Do I end up disappointed in myself? Usually. But only at the end of the day, looking back, when I realize I have yet again failed to hold myself to the standards I set. During the day, I am perfectly, undeniably content to drift from whim to whim, diving nose-first into projects and planning for the future which will, of course, go nothing like my plans.

It's the possibilities that are exciting, not the realization of them.

Anyway, self-analyzation aside, I do love to have everything all taken care of an all my ducks in a row- blog updated, facebook checked, emails replied to and properly filed into folders, baby fed, changed, bathed, and sleeping, lunch simmering on the stove- these are the moments when I feel high on life and finally, finally ready to sit down to the business of doing what I was supposedly born to do- writing. But then of course what always happens is the baby wakes up, the soup overflows, or a new email comes in- and I am whisked off again in the process of homemaking and mothering. I'm always kind of relieved, because starting to write is such a daunting thing- which makes it very clear that what I was really born to do was be a wife, homemaker, and mother, even though this is somehow hard for me to admit.

Ah well. The point is, life is very good, and I have much to be thankful for. Also much to learn- but I have the feeling that while I'm in the middle of scrambling and dreaming and scheming and planning the way I want my life to be, real life will take over and when I look back on it at the end of eighty years, I won't be disappointed.

Walking and Talking

Here it is, very late at night (my alarm will be going off in just over three hours), and everyone in the house is sleeping (Max included) except me.  Why?  Not for any reason except that I was hungry and needed to unwind a bit before sleep found me after a night out with friends. So what did I spend this valuable time doing?  Praying? Reading my Bible? Contemplating God's goodness to me this day?

Nope.  I spent it on facebook.

So it is that I find myself discouraged, as it comes high time to turn out the lights. How is it that I can go about my day so completely ignorant to the fact that God is guiding my every step and sustaining my every breath?  And more importantly, He is sovereign over the general patterns of my life, large and small- the ones that lead me to prosperity and joy and the ones that send me scuttling back to Him with my tail between my legs. And yet I live as though He does not exist, day in and day out.  I think about what I want for my daughter, and too often salvation finds it's self too far down on the list.  This reflects my total misunderstanding of the spiritual realm, placing it on a level with make-believe worlds that we may or may not one day find to be real.

I don't want to live like it's not real anymore.

Dr. Taccit always says that if we really believed what we believed was really real, it would change the way we lived. This is the heart of the issue.  I know that God exists and that He is good and that He loves me, but some part of me is able to dismiss these vital truths as though they were secondary to the realities of flesh and blood, time and money which rule this world of dust.  Why is that?  Not enough time spent in the Word, not enough time spent in prayer, and a failure to engage in public worship must be among the answers.

Oh God, grant me the grace to change.

Help me to cling to You above all else, to know your presence at all times, and to seek to know You better with each passing day.  Help me to remember that mediocre Christianity is not true Christianity- that You want all of me, not some unused part that can be spared for devotions each morning and church on Sunday.  Guide me to those events in life that would cause me to need You more, and give me the strength to resist those unnecessary distractions that make this world seem so all-consuming!

And most of all, direct my gaze to the Cross.

How strange to think that there was a time in this world when Christ dwelt among us, and a place in this world where his feet have walked.  A hill where heavy drops of his blood fell to the ground.  A place where sin was once and for all given a retribution, and the veil of the temple was torn in two so that we might enter that most holy of holies.  That's what this really all comes down to- because His blood was shed, the blood of the goats and sacrificial lambs no longer have to be.  And if we have been given such glorious entrance into God's very presence, without the shelter of a veil in-between, then there is only one question remaining.

Why don't we drink from the endless droughts of this glorious privilege every day, every hour, and every minute that we live?

Flesh

I just sat down here to write out the time requirements of a so-called "perfect" day.  I would like an hour to write, an hour for devotions, a couple hours with my husband… and before I could get very far into the list I was struck by the pure selfishness of what I was doing, not to mention ungodliness.  Sure, time management is important, but for me I think it has become a way of defying God's will for my life, struggling over and over to make things fit in a way they just aren't meant to be.  Realizing that I don't have time for certain things at this point has been hard, and my selfishness is astounding.  But maybe I would be better off if I just let go of my agenda and left each day open to whatever God brings, determined to work with all diligence using whatever hours He does choose to give me.

It is easy enough to recognize the providential hand when it comes in the form of calls to the mission field or opportunities to help those in distress here in America.  When Danny got the news that his Aunt's house was in need of a total remodel after a bad bout of renters, there was little question that he should give as much of his time as possible to that endeavor (though God knows my heart was not in it as it should have been). But what about those little daily inconveniences- the dog getting fleas, Katara spitting up all over the clean outfit I just put on, or a friend calling to chat for an hour that I would rather spend writing- do I recognize the Divine hand in these things too?  Perhaps somewhere deep down I know this, but my reaction to these things is often all too knee-jerk, too focused on the temporal. 

Romans 8:7 says: "For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot."

Have I become set on the flesh?  It used to be much easier to think of leaving all that I held dear for God- I guess there just didn't used to be all that much that I held dear.  I wasn't super attached to my family before I was married, I hated my job, and didn't have all that many friends.  The mission field actually sounded attractive because it would be something meaningful, even if not exactly glamorous.  But now when I think of leaving this cozy apartment with our matching black furniture and vaulted ceilings in exchange for a hut somewhere in Africa, my courage completely fails me.  

In other words, I've become comfortable.  In God's providence Danny and I have been financially secure, our marriage has been sun-kissed from the beginning, and now we have a beautiful daughter whom we would like to give the world- trips to Disney land, a beautiful rambling house in the country, and a stellar college education.  I used to scorn the American dream, but now I find myself spending hours daydreaming about home decor and summer vacations. I know it's not a bad thing to be financially secure and to use some of that money to enjoy the comforts of life, but not knowing how to live without it is quite a different matter.  Self-denial is becoming harder and harder, even while I'm supposed to be growing older and more sanctified with each year.

A mind set on the flesh is also one which cannot deny the comforts of the flesh, like that oh-so-tempting second cookie or a series of small snacks in the afternoon instead of the sensible granola bar. Even when my daughter's health depends on it, I've found it so difficult to fill my body with good things, which is just so unreasonable.  This body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, and I MUST take care of it.  

Worst of all, a mind set on the flesh sees God only as very far off.  This world and everything in it- from leather couches to marriage it's self- WILL pass away. There is a spiritual dimension to reality which should be even more potent and real to me than the temporal, but it's not.  Instead, I find that when I come to God He seems unreal, the concept of His word unrealistic and impossible to believe. When I reason through these things my mind still agrees to all the tenants of Christianity, but my heart does not belong to my Savior the way it once did.  What happened to the days when I felt His presence all day long, when my mind slipped to prayer as naturally as it now runs to numbers and schedules and calories. What a waste of energy it has all been, too, for it hasn't gotten me anywhere except more frustrated when things don't go my way.

So here is my resolution for this day, and every day following it: to "walk by the spirit," that I may not "gratify the desires of the flesh."  (Galatians 5:19)  For me, this means to stop obsessing over how I want things to go, to stop pouring over schedules and budgets and diet plans and start living these things minute by minute, as God provides the time and opportunity.  To give over each and every day- each moment- to Him, no matter what He may choose to do with it.  To spend as much time in prayer as possible, knowing that God's blessing on all my endeavors is more valuable than any amount of planning and preparation.  To deny myself as often as possible, if it's at the shopping mall, in the kitchen, or when the phone rings- so that I may learn to "die daily." (1 Corinthians 15:31).  To make a conscious choice to "Set my mind on the things above, and not on the things that are on the earth."  (Colossians 3:2) 

Because it in all of my meticulous planning and pinching and starting over again, I have yet to achieve either peace or control or satisfaction with myself.  I still go to bed distressed over my own laziness and gluttony and selfishness day after day after day.  I can't do this on my own, I have sufficiently proven that now.  Time to let it all go, give it to God, and walk with my eyes up on Him instead of down at the path at my feet.  

A young mother's thoughts on young motherhood (so far)

It is strange to think that I have only been a mother for seven and a half weeks.  In that time my life has changed more radically than ever before- even more than when I first got married.  Right now it's gloomy outside and actually chilly in our usually-stifling third-floor apartment, and I'm hunkered down in PJ's and a sweatshirt, steaming mug of coffee next to the computer screen, Katara sleeping in her bear chair beside me.  It makes me happy to think of her so warm and peaceful under two layers of blankets, dreaming away this almost-fall morning.

In a sense, being a mom is a lot easier than I thought it would be.  Over the long months of pregnancy, I wasted so much stress over the coming change in our lives.  I thought my youth was coming to an end and with it everything that looked or smelled of fun.  I thought our marriage would be pushed to the side for 25+ years while child rearing took it's needful place.  I thought I wouldn't have the physical strength needed to carry a baby around all day long and get up with her at night, too.  I dreaded the loss of my free time and hobbies. Most of all I worried I wouldn't love my baby as I should or that I wouldn't like being a mother.

Of course that last one was ridiculous- from the minute I laid eyes on Katara I was pretty sure of three things: we were going to name her Katara, she had an incredible will to thrive, and I was going to love her until the day I died.  

Many of my other fears have more or less come to pass, but they are all overwhelmingly made up for by the abundant love God miraculously instils in the heart of a mother for her helpless, squirming, red-faced little human.

But in another sense, this is also a lot harder than I thought it would be. Watching other mothers, I used to promise myself that I wouldn't be the type to let the laundry go un-folded or to push off a shower until three in the afternoon.  Well, the average time it takes me to fold one basket of laundry is now about three and a half days. And I consider myself blessed if I'm showered by dinner time. It's hard for me to even admit these things- I've prided myself on being a conscientious housekeeper and, I thought, a great multi-tasker.  I guess God knew I needed to be taken down a few notches. Not having time for these basic household tasks is beyond stressful to me- it takes a daily surrendering of my will to His, and I'm not at all good at it.

Even while I'm constantly scrambling to stay on top of things and usually wind up exhausted at the end of each day, I'm also struggling to accept the monotony of this lifestyle.  My hours are spent in a never ending three-hour cycle of feeding, entertaining, and soothing the baby, then scrambling to get stuff done while she dozes.  At times I feel so cooped up I could scream, but when I think about packing her up and getting out I can't bear the thought of leaving so many things un-done at home.  This tension between the desire to get things done and the desire to get out of the house is the name of the motherhood game, and probably something I will continue to wrestle with for the rest of my child raising years.

Perhaps hardest of all is the realization that my dreams of being a stay at home mom and writing full length novels at the same time are completely unrealistic. This is the burr that keeps burrowing deeper into my flesh these days, the one reality that I can't completely accept. All those hours of practice when I was younger, all the money poured into education- and now, to have it come to nothing... to BE nothing but a wife and mother... am I okay with this?  No. Not yet.  But I'll get there.

Don't get me wrong- it's not that I don't love being with my baby and meeting her most basic needs. When I'm at my wits end it takes only a few minutes of scrutiny from her curious brown eyes or one of her giant, dimpled smiles to make it all worthwhile.  I'm realizing she is the type of person who likes to go all the time, who doesn't let grass grow under her feet.  She's curious and brave and persistent, and loves people like her daddy. This is not the type of baby to cuddle up on my chest for a movie or lay cooing in her crib for hours on end, but I would not trade her vivacious personality for a million peaceful hours to clean toilets, write blog posts, or even see the world.  She is my world now, she and her daddy and everything that goes on between the four walls of our home.

And I know I have so much to look forward to.  Lord willing there will be other babies, each with their own little faces and personalities, bringing something to this family entirely and delightfully outside of our control. Eventually the dynamic schedule of school, sports, music and social activities will take the place of the three-hour sleep-eat-and-cry routine.  There will be family movie nights and road trips and moments of true triumph and joy for every child, just as there will be struggles beyond anything I could handle now, I'm sure.  For the time being I will just try to cherish every fleeting moment of Katara's life, accepting the little trials that come with it as necessary means of sanctification and of receiving the joy that comes with this calling. 

And I will be thankful for little moments like these, when I somehow manage to write an ENTIRE blog post before the baby wakes up- even if there are dishes in the sink and piles of laundry to be folded!  :-)

I Promise

Nothing could have prepared me for the joy this little girl brings. As we roll past her six-week birthday today, she begins to show signs of understanding and recognition when we look into her eyes or say her name. It's already time for Danny and I to start being careful what tones of voice we use in the house or how we talk to each other in her presence. Thinking about these things, I want to put into writing some of my resolutions about the kind of mother I want to be.

Many of these come from recent sermons we've listened to by Pastor Al Martin, and others come from observing my own mom and other wonderful mothers we know.

Dear Katara, and all future children:

I promise...

To maintain high moral standards, so you will leave our home with a large amount of the innocence you had when you came into it.

To walk with God before you in a manner that makes you desire a relationship with Him as the greatest joy you will ever know.

To teach you faithfully from the precepts of the Bible.

To never pressure you to come to a decision about religion which you are not ready to make.

To respect and obey your father all the time, when you are watching and when you're not. To show you that I love him more than anything every single day.

To spend time with you as often as I can.

To figure out who you are, and what you like, and everything else there is to know about you.

To never let you get away with being lazy.

To let you be a kid for as long as possible.

To make learning fun.

To eat well, be active, and take care of my body so that I always have the energy and stamina to be there for you, and so that you will learn how to be healthy too.

To apologize when I have failed you.

To put down the computers and go outside with you, as often as possible.

To always open the doors of our home to your friends.

To laugh with you and at your jokes and silly antics, and to let you laugh at me when I am doing weird Mom things (like crying during Father Of The Bride).

To let you go, weather it's your first day of school or your last day at home.

To try not to embarrass you more than is necessary for your normal development.

To love every minute of your wild, ridiculous antics, and to never be embarrassed by you even when other people raise their eyebrows.

To discipline out of love, not react out of anger.

To take you seriously.

To give you as many opportunities to serve as possible.

To be cheerful and pleasant, not stressed all the time.

To not obsess about keeping the house clean 24-7, even though I really really like it that way.

To try to be reasonably cool so I won't be annoying to you when you are a teenager.

To accept you for exactly who you are.

To give up the things I love if they are getting in the way of keeping any of these promises.

To be patient.

To encourage you to climb higher, run faster, and try new things- even if it scares me to death to watch you.

To make sure you know I'm in charge.

To stand my ground when you don't like our rules, even if you hate me for it.

To not spoil you too much.

And most importantly, I promise to pray for you every single day for as long as I live.

I know I won't do all of these things all the time, and I certainly won't do any of them perfectly. But as God is my witness this is the model I want to strive after!