Thoughts from my day

1. Activity has increased in our home in the past several weeks, but because I feel normal again (for the first time in a lot longer than I realized - and my "normal" is optimistic and energetic, generally speaking), the activity is no longer overwhelming. Which is good because, friends, the Gates' home is busy.

2. I'm reading The Secret Garden, the children's book. Has anyone else read it? It was a gift a long time ago that I neither discarded nor read until now. Do all children's stories touch on redemption? Did I just miss it when I was younger? I love The Magic and the children who speak it every morning ... it's a sweet story. Though, honestly, as a child I would have found it bor-ing.

3. I gripe about naps and fret over teaching "no," but let's be clear - my child really is like Mary Poppins. Today we went to lunch with a friend; he ate an hour late, and sat in a high chair for over an hour, with not one complaint. Nothing. Just sat there, eating his little tomato and turkey and talking to the light fixtures and pointing at the other kids. Seriously? A better baby does not exist.

4. This comment was so good, and it got posted late, so I'm giving it the attention it deserves now. From Emily, during the recent discussion of worship: "Knowing that I get that same feeling, despite my lack of belief, shows that whatever it is, it is not a) a gift from a petty God who denies grace to all those who do not believe in him or b) a figment of imagination brought on by belief in God." I would really like to sit quietly and listen to Greg and Emily talk about God.

5. I like to think of myself as a basically compassionate person, but I am no good at break-ups. It's because I've never done it. I never broke up with anyone - which is not to say I haven't had my heart broken, just not in that specific way. I get all matter-of-fact when I should be ... I am not sure what, but less of what I am. I'm working on it, though.

My friend Mikkee, whose name pops up here from time to time, made an offer on a house on Monday and could conceivably close TODAY. Her apartment is packed and she's not sure yet where she's moving. Whatever stress I think I might have today is definitely NOT stressful compared to not knowing where I will be sleeping tonight. Sheesh.

Sorry for my recent lapse. It's one of those moments in our lives where there are so many things happening at once, I'm just doing the next thing. I miss normal. I'm sure we'll have it again, but really, it's been a while. I am ready to do the same thing one day after another for a while.

In honor of Mikkee's stress and family coming into town to say their good-byes to Granny (who is deteriorating, but still mostly conscious), here are a few pictures.


Mikkee and I in Kansas City (as an aside, the itty bitty kitchen in the background fed 11 people every meal).


with Granny, fall 2005


This picture cracks me up. Here's the story - it's Granny's 80th birthday party, and the great-grandchildren are getting ready to help her blow out the candles. Asher, who is sitting on her lap, took this moment to grab a fistful of icing from the cake. Granny wiped the icing from his hand with her finger, in an effort to keep the train on the track. So Asher is eating the stolen icing from her finger while everyone else is smiling for the camera. Nice.


Mikkee and a very small Asher, on his first visit to Nashville.


in September


Granny

UPDATE: Mikkee IS closing and moving into her new house this afternoon. Unbelievable, but true. And did anyone else notice the pink theme in most of the pictures? Completely unintentional.

I've written three posts this morning, and am not going to publish any of them. I've been reading a volatile online discussion about infants and sleep, and have come to this conclusion: I hope, one day, to be the kind of parent who can act in confidence that I'm doing the best thing for my child, and not need the validity of every person I know to feel good about what I'm doing. I'm not there yet. I've had conversations all week on the phone about parenting decisions, and they are mostly because I'm not sure of myself as a parent yet. But I want to be. I don't know, as I say that I see the value in seeking other advice. I don't want to be arrogant - I don't want to assume nobody has a better way than mine. I just want to be able to think it through, make a decision, and move forward in confidence.

True in life as in parenting.

So that's what's on my mind this morning. At least that's the part of my mind I'm willing to share this morning.

For any interested party, Granny is the same. And Asher's sleep has returned to normal, just like you knew it would.

Finally, a picture. Because it's been a while.

on death and snacks

Granny is dying. Though her vitals are still good, the doctors say she's okay, Granny is dying. It's in her half-closed eyes, in the slacked jaw and slurred speech. She spent yesterday saying her good-byes, she's talking about her late husband and letting go. The end is near.

Asher and I saw her briefly yesterday. I was struck by the moment - how irreverently babies stomp on the pall of death, with their grunts of approval and insistence on waving to everyone in the room. He didn't recognize Granny, but he knew his Grandma and Grandpa were there, and felt certain they must be there to play with him. He had no sense of reverence, no hushed tone. He wanted to wave and squeal and eat his yogurt and charm the nurses, already. The nurse commented, "It's something, to think they go from that (pointing at Asher) to this (pointing to Granny)." Something, indeed.

When we left the hospital we went to dinner with Brian's family. And remember, band family, how we left Lane's father's funeral and met for dinner and had so much fun? Because what was needed more than anything else was a lightening of mood, to be able to laugh and to trust that life would still move forward. Our dinner last night was like that. Brian's brother made funny faces at the baby, Asher laughed obligingly and picked off everyone's plate, and all was as it should be. Almost.

Granny's dying, but Granny is the happiest person I've ever met. She LOVES to laugh. She's enjoyed her life immensely, and she has hope for her future. Had she been able, she would have loved Asher's breaking the mood at the hospital. She would have laughed with us at dinner. She has been a part of our daily lives for most of the time Brian and I have known each other, and she will be missed every day. But I'm not sad right now. I can't think about Granny's life and be sad.

Anyway, I didn't mean to write a eulogy. I mostly wanted to comment on the fullness of life in the hospital room, how we move from stage to stage, time ploughing forward irrevocably. And how the quiet of death and a baby's snacktime intersected yesterday afternoon.

woes

I don't have real problems, just normal life woes. Nonetheless, I have a list. Want to hear it?

1. You just knew the first one would be related to babies and sleep, didn't you? You were right. He's obviously not well-rested, but correcting that is easier said than done. All I have to say is, naptime at our house right now is not for the faint of heart.

2. We need a piece of furniture for our living room (I use the word "need" loosely - we have chosen to buy it, I should say). I almost bought it at a flea market on Friday, but Brian was hesitant. Which is good, because we found THE SAME PIECE OF FURNITURE on clearance at Target for literally 25% of the price at the flea market. Unfortunately, no Target in the tri-state area has any left. But they still have them on display ... go figure. Alas. Our search begins anew.

3. We also attempted to buy a Christmas tree Friday evening. Two lots were closed, the baby was crying, it was close to bedtime, and we nearly called it a bust when we found one place that was open. I gave a little speech before we got out of the car - "We know what they're going to cost. We're know we're going to pay for it. A 30$ Christmas tree does not exist. So be prepared." Well, their trees were all misshapen and frumpy and more Charlie Brownish than we wanted, so we actually didn't buy a tree there. But the next morning, Brian heard an advertisement for a Christmas tree farm that sells - yes - 30$ trees.

Apparently the larger lesson this weekend was about me eating my words.

not to change the subject, but

a few pictures from our Thanksgiving:


(see Mary? Same outfits from the picture you posted, taken two years ago.)


LEAVES!


a turning tree in our front yard




Also, Granny isn't doing well. She fell last week and is in the hospital, and they are beginning to say she may not be able to come home, and considering other options. Granny is Brian's grandmother, and has lived with his parents for the last several years. She has been a part of our daily lives as long as I've known Brian. So if you are the praying type, please remember Granny.

on worship

Maybe it`s the way your love swells beneath my skin
or maybe it`s because my senses are full again
maybe it`s because I can`t quite mark the source
or maybe I`m afraid to let it run its course...
Just as I am, you rush in without a warning
I didn`t think that you would want to come to this place
and make it feel like a Sunday morning.
- Sandra McCracken

I have a serious question for you, and I have no idea if the premise of my question is offensive or not. I am asking because I want to know more, which necessarily implies I am ignorant of a different perspective from my own. So, if you read this and canNOT believe I would be so small-minded, understand that your comment will help expand my understanding. In other words, please be nice.

Of all the things I could mention today, I am most grateful for my relationship with God. And lately I have been thinking about worship. When I worship, I am overwhelmed with awe and gratitude. It usually happens when I least expect it - in the stillness of early morning, in a conversation with a friend, during a communion ceremony, when I'm in the woods or on the water. It has nothing to do with music or Sunday morning services for me (ironic, considering Brian's ability to lead corporate worship is quite literally my bread and butter), and it cannot be conjured. I can decide to honor God with my actions, but the feeling I'm describing - I can't make that happen. Sometimes, it just does, and when it does, my daily life stumbles into the presence of God.

My response at times is prayer. But more often I just sit in it, enjoy it while it lasts. Most of the time, words seem frivolous and cheap. There is nothing to be said.

Here is my question: is the experience I'm describing - to be suddenly filled with awe and gratitude, to be convinced of a hope for the future, to be filled with faith - is this a universal experience? Do I call it worshipping God, when someone with a different faith would call it something else? Or those who do not believe in any sort of Higher Good, would they call this emotion happiness? I want to know. Do we all feel the same thing and have different names for it? Or is worship uniquely religious?

how sweet it is

Today's Hump Day Hmm is about the soundtrack of your life. It is a fun question to answer. I love music - I was raised by it and married it, and my life without it is inconceivable.

My mom was a child prodigy. Did those of you who know me in real life already know this? When she was three or four years old, she would come home from church, sit at the piano, and play (with two hands) the hymns from the morning. Her mother drove 30 miles one way into town twice a week for organ and piano lessons, in a time before parents needed an assistant to handle their children's extracurricular schedules. As a child, the soundtrack of my life was my mother's piano. We would fall asleep on the floor of the piano room, listening to Chopin, Beethoven, Bach, Debussey.

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
- DH Lawrence


(a Very Young Small Early Asher, sitting in his grandmother's lap at the piano)

On the other end of town, at my Dad's house, Led Zeppelin and Cream blared from the living room. My Dad had an entire room devoted to records, and spent Saturday afternoons listening to the stereo at what can best be described as a visceral level. He taped Bruce Springsteen for my Walkman. My soundtrack at his house was an electric guitar and a bass line that is felt rather than heard.

Then I married a musician. And like that bass line, music has become so much a part of our daily lives, so much a part of who Brian is, I cannot imagine him or us without it. The soundtrack of my life now is Brian's voice - as he makes up songs for the dog and the baby in the mornings, as he rehearses or records after dinner, as he leads worship.






How sweet it is.

What I've learned this weekend:

1. A rash and fever? Is a virus. But a rash that itches and swells is an allergic reaction to penicillin. And a dry cough from a baby in the midst of an allergic reaction will cause me to sit bolt upright in the middle of the night. Praise GOD for Halle, my nurse-turned-mother-of-multitudes friend, who told me that viral rashes aren't supposed to itch and swell, and that he needed Benadryl immediately. Please note I spoke to the on-call doctor twice over the weekend; why didn't she catch on?

2. I love my husband. The way to my heart is to stay up with the baby, knowing I'm not going to sleep either way, and that he's going to want me to hold him. Knowing that he'd worked the entire previous 72 hours, and had to be at his other job in another 5. Knowing he has the same cold I do. I love my husband.

3. Being reasonably well-educated and reasonably attentive to your child is not enough in medical situations. Once again I ask - how in the WORLD would I have ever known the difference between a viral rash (that had already been diagnosed) and an allergic reaction? Intuition alone is not reliable for distinguishing between one rash and another.

What a weekend.

Sabbath

This morning I've been thinking about the man Jesus, and how little Christians talk about him, myself included. Why is that? It's ironic that for all the good and bad that has been done in His name, the man Jesus is as ignored or misunderstood now as He was then.

And I've been thinking about the verse that says, Religion God finds pure and faultless is this: to look after widows and orphans in their distress, and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

So that's what I have to offer this morning - ignoring Jesus and pure religion.

Happy Sunday everyone.

on opportunities

The other day Asher complained about being strapped into his carseat, to which Brian replied, "This isn't a real problem, Asher. There are problems and then there are problems. This isn't a problem; think of it as an opportunity. To play ... with ... SMASH" (the favored toy of the moment). Asher laughed as Brian gave him Smash, and I laughed at Brian's philosophical answer to the baby. I've been thinking about his speech all morning, though, as this weekend has become my opportunity.

Asher is sick, the sickest he has been so far. He has a virus that is causing a myriad of unfortunate symptoms, including a fever, sore throat, cruddy nose, and a rash covering his entire body. And he has an ear infection. Yesterday the little guy literally got sicker by the minute. During breakfast, I debated whether a doctor's visit was even necessary, but by noon, I was pacing the waiting room with a dotted feverish baby, praying a fever and rash were a sign of something non-life-threatening, because everything that came to my mind sounded scary. But it was nothing scary, just a virus, regardless of how bad it looked.

So Asher is sick, Brian is working this weekend, and I had obligations all weekend long. Had - past tense. I worked for months on events at our church that are happening right now, and I had leadership responsibilities in those events, but my baby is sick. And that's that.

It's the first time I've knowingly disappointed someone else in order to take care of my family. I know it won't be the last, but it is the first. The truth is I was going to feel guilty either way, I was going to disappoint somebody whether I left my sick contagious child with a family member or bailed on the project at the last minute. Knowing there was no good answer, I feel less guilty if I take care of my family than if I take care of social obligations. I know I made the right decision, but the people-pleaser in me still wants to justify myself to my friends who had to finish what I started. But Brian's right - there are problems and then there are problems. This is an opportunity for me to trust my parenting decisions, to trust my friends to still like me at the end of the weekend. To not view my value to a group solely on my ability to produce or achieve. And to let it go - to just let them feel however they feel, and not allow their emotions to dictate my response.

More importantly, it's an opportunity to nurture my child. Juxtaposed with doctors visits and church obligations, I have been thinking recently about forgotten children - babies left in orphanage cribs for days, infants on doorsteps, children in closets. Forgotten. There are problems and then there are problems. If it was within my power to protect every child from the horror of being forgotten, I would, but it's not. Right now, Asher alone has been entrusted to me to nurture and love. As much as is within my power, Asher will never feel unloved or unwanted. This weekend is another opportunity to nurture him, and to know the world of forgotten children is a world he will (Lord willing) never experience. That is the opportunity I don't want to miss. Any number of people can fulfill my social obligations, but to comfort my baby when he's sick is uniquely mine. And that's never a problem.

(In the interest of full disclosure, my mother-in-law is scheduled for an hour or two of relief baby-holding this afternoon. Mostly because my husband always thinks about me, and was concerned that after our sleepless night and his absence all weekend, my attitude might become less philosophical if I didn't have a quiet hour or two. And as much as I mean all that I just said, I will also happily accept her help. We all get tired, and Grandma sleeps pretty well, too.)

playing well with others

So. If I want to hear from you, I should speak up more often on other blogs. I should also acknowledge when I've been given a blogging award, and pass the baton. I should ALSO pass on the interview questions, when it's my turn. In other words, I need to work on playing well with others.

I don't expect anyone to know what to say when I'm talking about heavier topics. There is no magical phrase that doesn't sound trite or feel stupid when you say it. But there is power in presence, in knowing I'm not talking to myself. So if you'll stick your head in the door every now and then, just to wave, I'll feel like blogging life is worth the effort. And I will be better about doing the same.

In the spirit of playing well with others -

It appears I have been given the

twice. The first time I completely ignored it, for reasons I cannot explain. It was April - maybe I was still lost in the newborn fog? No, he was almost five months old. Maybe I was just a nincompoop? Sounds about right. So thank you, Heather first, then Emily, for calling me a thinker. I appreciate it.

Passing the baton to-
Elizabeth (Liz, now): Emily has already crowned her once, but seriously, E(Liz)abeth is the most honest blogger I know, and that's worth recognizing twice.

The Sacred Journey: because, well, he's a thinking blogger.

Cindy at Just an Average Blog: for the Kentucky Mutt post. I loved it.

I could add several more, but they have already been tagged by someone else, or they don't keep up with this blog, so they would never know the difference. But if you aren't already, check out KiWords, Thailand Chani, and Wheels on the Bus.

I'll end the commenting/blogging etiquette conversation with a quote from Heather, who did not say this publicly and will hopefully be very gracious to me for quoting her without prior permission:

Blogging habits tend to cycle, for most people. I will comment constantly and then there are times when I don't say much at all. I go through phases where I make lists or do surveys instead of writing. Right now, I cannot share how I'm feeling on my blog, so I am hiding behind quotes for a bit.

It's like life, I suppose.

Indeed.

I've written two posts this morning, long posts too. One on identity and one on racism. Then I scratched them both.

Stephanie said yesterday - write something positive! Then Brian said today, "I miss your writing." The two comments combined stirred me up to write, but I am not happy with anything that came out. Maybe another day.

For now, I would like to know - I get about three comments every time I post my guts for the public to peruse. Have I lost you guys completely? Are you so bored with baby pictures and nonsense about birthing woes that you're no longer reading? Or is it because my commenting friends just don't have an opinion about what I'm saying? Inquiring minds want to know.

on loss and gain

This week's Hump Day Hmmm topic is losing it all. Specifically, to write about what you have lost, and what you've gained of real value as a result. Can I just submit my entire blog?

From two miscarriages and one birth in two years, what I've lost is faith in my body to do what it was literally built to do. I've lost excitement over the prospect of pregnancy, and the innocent giddiness with which my friends plan nurseries and showers. That part is gone. Even with Asher, when my pregnancy was completely medically uneventful, I did not get excited until the twenty week ultrasound, when I saw his spine and the chambers of his heart. Only then could I honestly believe we were going to have a baby.

But I've gained so much. I appreciate my life and my baby boy so much more than I would have, if I'd not lost the others. I love raising him, love the dailyness of it, the washing hands and folding clothes and teasing yogurt out of his hair. I loved last night at 2 am, when he woke up in toothy pain and would only let his mom hold him. I love my life, unremarkable as it is to the outside world. I don't think I would have had the capacity to love it as much had I not been emptied by loss.

And I've gained compassion for other people. I know what it means to be devestated. As a result, I am not intimidated when others are hurt; instead, I feel compelled to help in whatever way I can. Pain is part of the human experience that binds us to one another; though our experiences may be different, if you haven't felt the way I did yet, some day you will. So I can love and serve others better because I know where I've been.

There is no metaphorical scale in the sky, measuring gain and loss and determining if one was worth the other. I do not believe God causes pain, but I do believe He blesses it. Healing and growth are always a spiritual work; our natural tendency, from birth, is to move toward decay. Finding perspective and even value in the loss of children is nothing less than the hand of God in my life. And love and compassion birthed from pain is nothing short of supernatural.

I started to think today, what if this is it? What if I only have one baby, and that baby is about to turn one year old? Of all of the variations of my life I have conjured in my head, that was never one of them. Until today, it had never occurred to me that I might have an only child. And I know someone will tell me not to worry, of COURSE I'll have more children, but that is naive. I don't know that and neither do you. Most of you don't know this, but Asher is here because someone prayed for us to have a baby. (I am positive she would prefer to remain nameless, since I am posting her business on my public blog) At the time, she was not in the habit of praying, but she prayed for a week for us to be pregnant. Asher was conceived that week. More and more I appreciate how supernatural his conception and survival were. He is a miracle of the New Testament variety.

And tonight I thank God for him. Because tonight I am aware of how unpredictable our future is. So please excuse me if I don't rush Asher out of the baby phase - if I rock him after he's asleep, or let him keep his bottle an extra month (seriously WHAT is the big deal? When did a bottle become so detrimental to a 13-month-old baby?), if I seem ambivalent about first steps and first words. I really love having a baby. And I know it can't last forever, but he can stay a baby a little longer.

milestones

(UPDATED WITH BONUS PICTURES IN HOPES OF ILLICITING MORE COMMENTS).

I am so tired I have no business posting anything, but I'm doing it anyway.

As Asher is barrelling toward his first birthday, people keep asking about milestones. Things like dropping bottles, drinking milk - stuff 80% of you do not care to read. But there are a few milestones that I think will interest all of you, or at least both the moms and the band family, so I'm going to list them here.

1. Music - Brian and I agree that Asher gets to decide what his interests are. People keep asking us what instrument we want him to play, and this seems like the silliest question to me. Who's to say he'll want to play an instrument? We have no preconceived notion of raising the Partridge family. Even so - Asher LOVES the guitar. LOVES IT. The first time he ever crawled across the room, he was motivated by Brian playing the guitar. This morning we walked into church, and he immediately saw his dad picking up a guitar (keep in mind Brian was probably fifty yards away from us, in a crowded room with lots of stimulation) and started pointing at him and squealing. All during the music this morning, he kept pointing at Brian and making the sound that I interpret as "Look!" But Asher's first true musical milestone was a few weeks ago. His Granny (Brian's grandmother) gave him a child-sized guitar recently. When I pulled it out to see what Asher would do, he crawled over to where I was and strummed. I would hold down a couple of strings (simulating a chord, because I certainly don't know any real ones), but he didn't like that. He would stop strumming until I let go, then start again. He played until his fingers bled. I KID YOU NOT. He would have kept playing, too, if I had not interrupted him. Even with bleeding fingers, when I put it away, he started to cry. He loves the guitar.

2. Walking - Not yet. He's been pulling up forever, but hasn't been interested in taking any steps until this week. Thursday night he pushed his toy across the room like he'd been doing it all of his life. He's getting more and more proficient; he'll let go, stand alone for a second, then fall toward me. But the little guy doesn't always know what will support him. His worst injuries so far have occurred by pulling up on a dog that wouldn't stay still.


3. Affection - My mother-in-law has been trying to get Asher to blow kisses. He laughs at the game, but he hasn't done it on his own yet. But I think he's found his own way of showing affection. When Asher gets tired or grumpy, I have a habit of rubbing his cheek or forehead (which makes me such a mom, but I'm okay with that). Over the weekend, Asher started pulling up to me, grabbing my hands, and putting them on his cheeks. Then he rests his head on my leg. It really is the sweetest thing ever.

4. Talking - I want to be able to roll my eyes at the cliche about girls talking sooner than boys, but every little girl baby around me seems determined to prove it true. My friend's little girl - who is only a few weeks older than Asher - says 4-5 words and babbles constantly. Asher babbles some - enough to count on a developmental test - but more often, he points and says "Aah!" which is interpreted in our house as "Look!" I'm ambivalent about sign language with babies, but we are using the sign for "eat" to try to curb the impatient grunt that he uses between every single bite to say, "feed me!" Yeah, that grunt is cute once. After that it's like nails on a chalkboard. He recognizes so many words, though - dog, eat, play, pat-a-cake, ready, night-night ... I could keep going. I feel like he understands a good portion of what I say to him, especially if I'm talking about everyday activities.

5. Sheer brilliance - like I said, Asher understands a ton of words. I love to watch him learn. Today we were playing with the light switch in the hallway - light on, light off. After he flipped the switch once or twice, he pointed to the light fixture, looked at me, and made the "look!" noise. Genius. He's just so curious about the world. He's an observer, especially in a crowd, and seems to notice everything. I wish I could think of better examples (my brain is so so ready for bed), but maybe they'll come to me in the morning. Curiosity is exhausting for me, though. Asher is definitely not a child that can be left alone to play with toys. The same little girl who is talking so much has bookshelves in her living room with actual big-people-not-for-a-baby stuff on the bottom shelves. "She doesn't mess with that?" I asked my friend. "No, so far she hasn't noticed." Asher definitely notices - the fireplace, the DVD buttons, the toilet paper dispenser, the computer, the dog's eyeballs ..... he notices everything. (NOTE: Let it be known it was not my idea to take a picture of the baby playing in the toilet. My idea was to get the baby out of the toilet as quickly as possible - Brian and I made the mistake of trying to have a conversation yesterday morning, and when we realized Asher had gotten quiet, this is what we found.)

Good night all. Happy growing, everyone.

thoughts on adjusting for time

Yesterday morning was Asher's breaking point with the time change (I swear this is not a mommy post, so stick with me). Starting at five a.m., he would cry for a minute, sleep for fifteen, cry briefly, fall back asleep ... for another three hours, when he woke up happy and squealing. It's my least favorite part of being a mom - hearing the cry that says, "holding me will not help," and waiting while his little body sorts itself out. Picking him up would make me feel better, but it would wake him, disrupting his sleep even more. So there was nothing to be done but to wait.

However, unlike Asher I am not able to wake for one minute, sleep for ten, so I was up, and Brian was out of town. I sat in the living room with a cup of coffee and the early morning light. I thought about anger and about loss and about all of the things I have said and not said here recently. And then it was over.

I remembered that God loves me. There's no cosmic force messing with me. I've been looking at the past two years as a series of events that have happened to me, but that's a short-sighted and incomplete picture. There is something larger at work. I don't understand it, and I can't predict it, but I know it's true as well as I know my son's sleeping habits. I've been looking at pieces of a puzzle and expecting them to make sense, to stand up and give me the explanation I deserve. It won't ever happen. But that doesn't mean it's been random.

I take issue with the popular gospel that includes the word "destiny." The phrase "God's plan" is used to determine career paths, business decisions, what furniture to buy, what car to sell. I just don't know about that. I know that God has a plan for humanity, and God has a destiny for His children. But I'm just not sure that Early Intervention was my destiny, or that the Lord ordained I should drive a Civic until it returns to dust. But in my haste to separate myself from any hint of a prosperity gospel, I forget that our paths are directed, our steps are guided. That all things work together for God's glory and the good of those that love Him. I am so quick to say that not everything is ordained, that I begin to think nothing is ordained, and that's not true either. God did not cause the miscarriages, but he has allowed this experience to be a part of our family. I think Adrienne was onto something when she asked why God has brought their loss into their lives. I'm not ready to answer that question for my own life yet, but I think it's the right one to ask.

My friend Halle often says it is her goal to receive every experience, both good and bad, as a gift from God. To thank Him for it, and allow herself to be changed. She has more faith than I do. I can't thank God for this yet, but for the first time yesterday, I understood what she means. Thanks be to God.

Hi all. I'm better. I'll write more soon about how and why, but for now, that's all. Things are looking up.

Until I post something less vague, go read Thailand Chani's post on forgiveness. It's really good.

rules of engagement

Ok, after my last post I had about eight emails and phone calls from sweet friends ready to talk me down from the ledge. Which said to me that clearly I am not communicating very well. Here are a few things you need to know so that you won't fear for my sanity:

* I am both an internal and external processor. Things have to chug through my mind for a while before I can articulate my thoughts, but I cannot put something down completely until I've talked about it. So - the fact that I'm talking now actually means that I am better than I was. It means I've done what I can do internally. Don't worry about cryptic posts; be worried when I'm not posting at all.

* I'm not expecting answers from anyone; there is nothing good to say. Like I said, I'm writing mostly because I need to say it, not because I need you to do anything about it. Consider yourself off the hook.

Having said that, the big chunk of information that I inadvertently left out of the last post is how angry I have been lately. It's taken me a few weeks to figure it out, but I am mostly angry that life doesn't slow down. I still have obligations and meetings and dinners and laundry and work to do. And then I realized that I was angry two years ago (to the day), too. As we were leaving Birmingham, I was angry to be leaving empty-handed. So maybe I'm not angry at any one person or any specific obligation as much as it is just my time to be angry.

Realizing that makes it easier not to resent people, but it also makes it easier to resent the process. And isn't it shocking (I know I said this yesterday, but I still mean it) that grief can be summarized and bullet-pointed? That it can be so predictable? That even though we have no idea what will happen in our lives, once things happen, someone else can tell you how you're going to respond? And they would be right?

It boggles my mind that the human experience is so universal it can be empirically proven. That no matter what the experience, none of us is alone in it. I've heard the word "solidarity" a lot lately. I'm not sure I understand what other people mean when they use it, but what I see is how we're all in this together. If you haven't been where I am yet, one day you will be. Our experiences will be different, but our emotions are the same.

Adrienne asked why God keeps doing this - she had her fourth miscarriage a few weeks ago, and wonders if it is helping her to be more empathetic toward birth mothers who give their children for adoption in hopes of a better life. I don't know about any of that. I can't speak to God's role in this, except to say I do believe God is the giver and sustainer of life, and that our souls are present at conception. But I do know the experience has helped me to be more aware of others' pain. My elderly neighbor says her only baby died, and I blink away tears. Because I can imagine - I don't know, but I can imagine - losing your only baby, and living now as an old woman with no grandchildren to tend. I could not have imagined that before; more than likely, it would have been a detail of our conversation I would have forgotten. She would have been just another old woman in my mind. Now we are bonded by the experience of loss, and I am more able to love my neighbor as I love myself. I wouldn't say it's worth it, but at least it's something.

unexpected, again

Some of you who were around back then may remember that I've written this post before.

And that's the larger point this morning. It is inconceivable to me that something that feels so out-of-control could be that predictable. Look at the date on that previous post: Halloween 2005. My emotions seem chaotic and unpredictable, but I could draw a timeline and know what's going to happen next. If all goes according to plan, the day after Christmas, I will wake up and feel normal. By the new year, I'll be focused and ready to move forward.

But I'm afraid of what we'll leave in the wake. Last time we fled the scene. We know better now; there's no rainbow in Kansas. We also know that sitting on the front porch, covered with children, saying "no" and "stop that!" may be someone else's life, not ours. Our family has had two deaths in two years, with every conceivable major life change in between. I'm just not sure how much more we can take.

So I don't know what's next. I don't know what we'll leave behind, when we leave this stage behind. But as chaotic as it feels, I know from experience it will end. I guess one day I'll stopped being surprised.

Hey guys, don't give up on me. I don't need a new blog - I just need to be honest on this one. I have a lot to say, but a soSOsleepy-and-not-napping baby (curse the time change!), so now is not the time. I just wanted to stick my head in the door to say, a representative will be with you shortly. Thank you for your patience.

Also, my dog stinks. It doesn't matter how much money I sink into his upkeep, he still smells like a dog. Alas.

celebrating cute babies in lion costumes

You can see the rest of the photo shoot here.

My friend Laurie is at our house this week. Laurie is my friend that I talk to for two hours before I ever ask about her job or the weather out there. And I swear if I called her back the next day, we could do it all over again.

She pointed out that my blog does not reflect my life right now. I was very intentional, when I began a blog, about not creating another space for surface-level conversation. So this is not intentional, it's just that not everything is for public consumption. I'm thinking maybe I'll do what Carrie's done, and move to a password protected blog? I haven't decided yet, but it might make for better posts.

Don't worry, though; if I do, you'll all be invited. All of you that I know are reading, anyway. It's the lurkers that mess with my head.