To snip or not to snip...

For the first time in 4 years and 9 months I am not pregnant and I am not breast-feeding.

I was sure after Macy was born that I was done having kids. I didn't want to go through any more progesterone poisoning, labor pains, middle of the night feeds, two-hourly feeds during the day, two-hourly diaper changes, having to be the one to get up to feed the baby first thing in the morning, choosing a name, postpartum depression, hormone swings, any of it. I was looking forward to getting to the stage of life where I had three young ladies who could sit and eat a meal without me having to get up, so that in effect I was going to have my first hot meal with children in four years. I was looking forward to having all three kids in forward facing car seats. I was enjoying the fact that they are all old enough to move around by themselves, to come to me if they need something, that they all play really nicely together, and that life can only get easier now.

But then we went for the vasectomy consultation, and in the same week Macy stopped breast-feeding, and all of a sudden my hormones are freaking out, and I'm freaking out, and I'm thinking, "Life is great. I could totally have another baby." I all of a sudden think that maybe I'm not ready to leave the baby phase yet. I love Macy's age. From about 6 months to 18 months is the most irresistibly cute age, in my opinion. Sure, all my girls are still cute, but that age is when they are smiling, giggling and interacting but not yet able to be naughty. Fantastic. Am I really ready to see the back of that? I'm remembering now how much I love being pregnant. Apart from the first three months, I love the anticipation, I love telling people and seeing their reaction, I love feeling the baby move, I love the way my body looks when by belly is so big I don't even notice how big my ass has gotten. I love the midwife visits and counting time in weeks and appointments. I even love people touching my belly. I love actually giving birth and seeing the purple, swollen, mess of a baby that only a mother could think is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. I love the adrenaline rush I get and that lasts for about six weeks after birth. And I love watching that baby become (thus far) a little girl. Ooh, I just love every bit of it. At the moment. I remember very clearly saying to people in the last six months, "I am so ready to be done with the baby phase. I really need to keep a journal to remind myself of how hard this has been this time so that I can't say 'it wasn't that bad.' a few months down the line." But I didn't keep the journal, and now I really can't for the life of me remember a single part of it that I didn't love and wouldn't be ready to do again.

I just don't know what to do! I'm not good at indecision. Mr.t pointed out that Tim and I just make decisions and don't look back. And he's right. That's what we do. So this feels really weird to not know the way forward.

Yet another guest appearance

After nearly six years of marriage, I can almost always tell when Tim is kidding, but occasionally I take him seriously when I shouldn't. So at his request, I have removed this post for further editing, since he didn't want me to post it just yet. Even though he said he was. But that's Tim.

Not for the Faint Hearted

This is not for the faint hearted. It may be hard to hear, particularly for those who love me. It certainly was hard to say. But good to humble myself. Praise be to God.

Offended by Jesus

Matthew 11:2-6 and Luke 7:28-23 give almost identical accounts of John the Baptist sending some of his disciples to ask Jesus if he really was the Messiah or if they should look for another. I never gave these passage much thought until I heard Bill Johnson speak about them, and what he said gave rise to all sorts of thoughts. I cannot take credit for the idea, but the uncensored meanderings are mine.

John the Baptist had seen the Holy Spirit descend on Jesus like a dove and a heavenly voice declare that he was the Son of God, and yet he needed reassurance that Jesus was in fact the prophesied Messiah. Jesus replied that he was healing the sick, the lame, the deaf, and that "Blessed are those who are not offended by me." What a strange thing to say. Bill pointed out that Isaiah prophesied that the coming Messiah would amongst other things bring freedom to the captives. And where was John? Stuck in prison. So if this Jesus really were the Messiah, why was he allowing his biggest fan to rot in prison? I imagine John, being human and probably not terribly enjoying his stay in prison, sent his disciples not only to find out if Jesus were really the Messiah, but also to gently remind him that "Hey, I'm stuck in here, and it's your job as the Messiah to get me out." Jesus reply was heartbreaking. "Blessed are you when you are not offended by me." In other words, "I'm not getting you out, but stand by your faith in me anyway."

Hard. Impossibly hard sometimes. I think about the times I've been offended by Jesus because he hasn't done what I want him to do. I hated him when my parents got divorced. I thought it really out of order that he would (seemingly) answer prayers for their reconciliation only to allow them to divorce again within a few months. At the time (I don't feel this way anymore) I thought it would have been easier for them to have died than to have hope restored and subsequently crushed. I was terribly offended when Will died. I could not have imagined better parents and more worthy people than the Stavs, and their life was ripped away from them. The prayers of hundreds of people were ignored, and it seemed even scorned. And though I didn't hate him, I boxed him up and put him on a shelf and said, "You must not care about these things, so I'm not going to talk to you anymore about them." And I ignored him until Macy got her hernia and I really needed him again. Then I prayed and prayed and prayed, and I went to someone who God has used to heal people from incurable diseases, and I felt what I now know was Macy's ovary retreat through the hernia back into place, and my heart lept and then fell again when the ovarry reappeared the next morning. And I told myself at that point that I was not going to be offended, if it killed me, because God is just too big for me to understand, and if I understood him he probably wouldn't be God anymore. And the night before Macy's surgery, as I prayed for comfort and peace and help, I came to that strange place that the Bible refers to as the "peace that goes beyond understanding" and realised that even though Jesus hadn't healed Macy, he does care about her, and he does love her, and he was very aware of my anxiety and pain, and that he wasn't going to fix it but he was going to be there with me through it, and that had to be enough.

I am sure that many more situations will arise though the course of my life where I could be offended by Jesus, by his inaction, by his seeming indifference, by his silence, by people who claim to follow him but who don't love. But blessed are those who are not offended by him. And so I pray that I will make the choice, every day, to not be offended, and to continue to hope for his Kingdom to come. To see him as perfection and to not allow my personal feelings and perceptions to cloud that truth or to box him into my own experience. We see now in part, but in the future we will see him fully, and all this muck will be removed, and that peace of God will become understanding.

Lent

I don't pay much attention to the other parts of the Church calendar, but for some reason I find Lent very intriguing and motivating. Forty days set aside for a kind of fasting. When I was younger it was something we made fun of, with all of our Catholic friends giving up brussels sprouts and cabbage as their act of sacrifice. But as I grew older and was introduced to some people who actually made use of the practice as a way of growing closer to God, I started to appreciate that perhaps our Church Fathers weren't as legalistically religious and as I was brought up to believe. Perhaps they saw some actual value in spending forty days with a constant physical reminder of our need for a saviour and in spending that time in closer communion with that Saviour.

And so I began the practice of giving up all sugar for Lent. I did that for three years running, and found it incredibly difficult, as I have the biggest sweet tooth known to man. I spent the first few days in agony watching every donut, every square of chocolate, every custard cream biscuit, every bit of ice cream pass through the lips of anyone around me, wanting to reach down their throats and grab it for myself. Gradually the cravings decreased until by day forty I had sworn off sugar forever since I was by then feeling full of energy, having gotten over the highs and lows of daily sugar intake. But by April I had given in to the urge for a taste, by summer ice cream was a staple in my diet, and Christmas brought a gorging on chocolates, cakes and cookies. As another Lent rolled around I vowed to give it up again, and the cycle started again. After Christmas this year I decided to pray for some self-control, having gained nearly ten pounds in America and by eating the cookies sent home by my mom and AJ. The weight is off, and for the first time in my life I feel able to eat chocolate as a once-in-a-while treat rather than as a daily indulgence. Three years of discipline followed by gluttony conclude with the grace of some answered prayer. Is that what Paul meant about working out my salvation?

This year I didn't feel the need to give up sweets, and so I struggled to think of something that would be both sacrificial and life-giving. I came up with sacrificing sleep. Not all sleep, but a little sleep in the morning. Rather than starting the day with the children dragging me out of bed despite my protests, I've decided to greet the day before the kids wake up and spend some time with God, with my own thoughts, with my iPod and running shoes. Anything to take charge of my day rather than letting it steamroll me. Here I am on day three, a bit groggy, but trusting that the Redeemer will take my small sacrifice and bring life.