Hope Without Expectations

Is there an issue in your marriage that causes chronic hurt? I don’t mean your spouse not taking out the trash or leaving clothes on the floor; I mean something deep. Some way they do not meet a fundamental need or desire that you have, which you have communicated about, and elicited promises of change about, and yet about which there is no visible progress. An issue that has been going on for years.

A few things happen: at the beginning, you bring it up. You have conversations and arguments, resolutions and promises. Then the issue comes up again, nothing changes, and you feel hurt again. The whole process repeats for months or years, until you wonder if you should even bring it up. You lose hope. You try to suppress the desire or need you have, with frustrating results. Eventually your anger turns into resentful bitterness or even contempt; your resignation into despair. You start to turn to other things—other relationships, media, fantasies—that can fill that need, or distract you from that need. An increasing gulf in this area grows between you and your spouse. It doesn’t help that these are often issues that are very difficult to share about with other people.

How do you cope with this? How do you have hope without expectations? How do you continually seek growth without becoming crushed if nothing happens, when it’s something so important to you?

It’s worth figuring out because despair is really dangerous. Studies examining people who survive long imprisonments or conditions of chronic suffering have shown that one thing you can’t survive without is hope. And even more dangerous for a marriage is contempt. A study examining couples’ facial expressions found that those most likely to split up were the ones who displayed expressions of contempt. Not to mention the power and joy that is missing in your marriage, and often life, even if everything else seems to be going okay.

I think the first thing is to be willing to open up your wound. To let all your hurt out, and know it is okay to feel hurt, and to sit with it a while. To acknowledge the ways the hurt may have spilled into other areas of your life or driven you to various habits. To try to sit with your hurt with God. To let Jesus into the room where it is and find that he understands, has even experienced the same thing. Sometimes it helps to spark up the courage to tell someone else about it and let them sit with you too.

Then you try to listen to God when he says he loves you, in, as C.S. Lewis puts it, “the deepest, most tragic, most inexorable sense.” You try to look into the layers of the need and ask God to somehow meet you in it. In one sense, he obviously can’t meet it in the way a physical person or your spouse could. But I’m trying to believe and discover that he can in a better way, because in him is everything our from-another-person needs reflects. As Lewis also says, “the intimacy between God and even the meanest creature is closer than any that creatures can attain with one another.” This is somewhat of a mystery to me, but it has the ring of truth.

I think the second thing is then to accept. Accept that this issue exists, that it isn’t a horrible mistake or accident that it is happening to you. I accept it because I believe it is serving a purpose, and that is the only way I can accept it with hope, and not with resignation and despair. I believe that this purpose is one that God is working, regardless of whether my spouse changes or not, and thus I can have hope, in God’s working and purpose, regardless of outward change. His love is a love that wants to make us better, not always give us what is easier.

The next thing is to ask God to give you that kind of love, that kind of belief in his purpose and workings, for your spouse. Then I can try to really understand him, through his own lens, not through my lens. Maybe he has hurts too I can listen for, or ways he is created that I can better understand. My hurt is often shouting so loudly that I can’t hear his. Then, also, I can try to see it as an issue we work through together, instead of his issue that hurts me. That means we talk about it, without judgments or demands. Maybe that means we seek counseling or therapy (I’m convinced everyone should do that if they can). But it’s really only then, once I have that kind of love for my spouse, and that kind of trust in God, that I can approach the issue with open hands.

In the end, of course, that is how God loves us: with greater hopes and standards for us than anyone on earth can have, yet completely without condition as no one else on earth can. As Lewis says: “he forgives most, but he condones least: he is pleased with little, but demands all.”

Myers-Briggs: Applications for Marriage and Parenting

An insightful commenter brought up the Myers-Briggs personality types, and I started going back through some study notes I had, and figured I might as well write them out. The basic content is straight out teaching from our pastor and friend, and the rest are my strictly amateur thoughts.

1. Extroversion vs. Introversion: where you get your energy. An extrovert gets energy from being around people; an introvert from being alone. Does not have to do with whether you are a “people person” or how loud/quiet you are in crowds. I’s tend to be more introspective, more focused on family. E’s may consider non-blood people family. I’s can see E’s as gregarious, needy. E’s can see I’s as self-absorbed, mysterious.

Knowing this about someone helps you know how to help meet their needs, so they are then more energized and able to function. In marriage for example, I’s can love E’s by letting them go out without them, and E’s can love I’s by being sensitive to when I’s are “done” and need to leave. With parenting, it helps me to realize that as an E, Ellie is actually better when we’re alone if she’s had time to be around other people. And of course, it helps to expect Eric to be clingy or quiet when we’re in crowds, and be okay with that.

2. Sensing vs. Intuition (N): how you receive information. Sensors receive it through concrete experience, the past, statistics, examples, what’s practical. You can’t know something until you experience it. Tends to be focused on details. The intuitive receive information through their own intuition; by considering the long-term, big picture, what’s possible. Tends to be less practical, more futuristic.

If you are an S, the most important secondary letter to determine your personality is J/P: SJ’s want their environment to have order; SP’s want things to look nice but don’t use a system anyone can identify. If you are an N, the most important secondary letter is F/T: NF’s are idealists who can be critical and try to fix things; NT’s tend to always think they are right.

Knowing this about someone helps you understand how to communicate with them, what matters to them, how they understand things. As an S, when we fight I’m always saying, “name one time that happened”; as an N, Dave can’t think of an example, but just knows it is that way. Our kids seem too young yet for me to figure out whether they prefer experience or intuition, but I suppose I could communicate to them using examples or a big-picture idea (as an S I’m not even sure what that would mean), and see which they prefer.

3. Feeling vs. Thinking: how you make your decisions. F’s decide based on how they feel; T’s based on how they think. T’s tend to see things as “right” and “wrong,” be rule-oriented, logical, have a justice gifting; F’s tend to see things based on a personal value system, have a mercy gifting.

Knowing this about someone helps you, well, not judge them, because it seems to me this can be a particularly polarizing area. When it comes to small decisions, I can be a T, but I’m at heart more of an F, and make all my big decisions that way (who to marry, where to move, whether to have another kid), and knowing that helps Dave not to think I’m crazy when all I have to say about a decision is that I have a “gut feeling.” Same goes for kids: knowing Ellie is an F when she makes decisions helps me ask, not “why is she being so irrational?” but “what is this showing me about what she values?” Knowing Eric is a T helps me ask, not “why is he being so stubborn?” but “how can I help guide his logic?”

4. Judging vs. Perceiving: how you view your outside world. J’s like organization, a script. P’s like options, flexibility. J’s can see P’s as unorganized, flighty, undependable. P’s can see J’s as controlling, rigid, boring, manipulative.

Many people think they should be a J because of how our society functions, and test that way when they are actually P’s. If you didn’t have a schedule or deadline, would you still plan your day, or clean your room, or have a rigid schedule?

Knowing this about someone helps you function with them. I appreciate how Dave as a J always has a good plan for the day; as a P it’s also nice when he gives me some flexibility or understands if I just want to do nothing on my day off. Ditto for our kids: I’m thinking Ellie is a J because she asks me twenty times in a row, “what are we doing today? And then what are we doing after that? And then what are we doing after that?” Hmm—I’m getting the sense that as a P, I need to make an extra effort to have a planned-out day for my J child…

Of course, there are spectrums for all this. It’s an interesting exercise to draw four lines, with each pairs of letters on either end, and then map out where you think you are on the spectrum for each line. Then where your spouse is. Then where you are as a couple (there often seems to be a dominant personality for the couple or family). Then where your own family is. Then where his own family is. Then where each of your siblings and their spouses are. Then where your kids are. Then where you think your business or work-place is, even what your culture (Asian, Western, etc) is.

It is also interesting to map out how you think you tested over time. I tested ISTJ for a long time because our family is a strong ISTJ, but after I married Dave, after I finished my medical training and had less outward structure in life, my ISFP personality emerged. I smiled at one note I wrote: “happier since marriage because marriage has allowed my F- and P-ness, kept my I-ness, and career allows my S-ness.”

Is there an ideal personality type? In our culture, probably an ESTJ. But for me, for our family, I don’t think it’s as much a value judgment as it is a tool to understand how to better communicate, live with, and love each other. A way to understand each other so we don’t take things as personally; a way to overcome our own blind spots. God created us all different for a reason, and that can be a strength as well as a weakness depending on how we use it.

Disciplining In Love, Not Selfishness

“Love is something more stern and more splendid than mere kindness… There is kindness in Love: but Love and kindness are not coterminous, and when kindness (in the sense given above) is separated from the other elements of Love, it involves a certain fundamental indifference to its object, and even something like contempt of it… Kindness, merely as such, cares not whether its object becomes good or bad, provided only that it escapes suffering… It is for people whom we care nothing about that we demand happiness on any terms.

“We were made not primarily that we may love God (though we were made for that too) but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the Divine love may rest ‘well pleased.’ … What we would here and now call our ‘happiness’ is not the end God chiefly has in view: but when we are such as He can love without impediment, we shall in fact be happy.”

 –C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

I’ve been struggling with not acting out in anger towards my kids, not disciplining in anger: this is a complicated issue about which I’m learning a lot, personally and practically, but I was meditating on this passage today.

Dave and I asked each other once, if your kid could be really good at only three qualities, what would they be? What would the top one be? His was kindness. He’d much rather our kids turn out kind than smart, or successful, or pretty. And I think that comes through: we explain and make up stories about what being kind means; we compliment them when they are. But kindness isn’t love. Kindness is an act of consideration: you want to make something easier for someone else. You try to think from their point of view. Love is a commitment to someone else’s sanctification. That doesn’t always mean something will be easier for someone else; in fact, it is often harder. That doesn’t mean you think from their point of view, or even your point of view; you think from God’s point of view as much as you can.

That idea first comes up in marriage: the longer we are married, the more I realize the point of our marriage is not to make each other happy, but to make each other more sanctified, more like Christ. The point of marriage isn’t that romantic rush through the airport at the end of romantic comedies, or fifty years of being able to finish each other’s sentences, but it is when we present each other to Christ at the end of this life and the beginning of the next. Did I make Dave more blameless? Did I help him grow?

The same is true of our kids, though I find it harder to think this way about them. I feel more ownership of them than I do of my husband (possibly because I popped them out of my body and then keep them alive every day?). It is easier to think about them from my point of view: how I want them to turn out. How they make me feel.

That leads to a selfish sort of discipline. We all know we should discipline in love: train our children to be godly though it may cause temporary suffering. But that can get tainted with selfish discipline: when I am actually punishing them because what they did made me angry or upset, or ruined my plans for the day, or caused me extra work or embarrassment, or wasn’t how I wanted them to act. I react not because I desire their growth in godliness, but because they’ve driven me to my emotional limit.

And that’s when it’s hard to keep control over what I say or how I act, or over the inner ranting voice in my head.

So I guess God is showing me that my anger erupts because I don’t always have a real heart of love for my children, in the way that C.S. Lewis writes about love. That kind of love is not something I can manufacture in the moment, while desperately trying to tamp down my emotions. It is a vision and commitment that I cultivate, through regular prayer, through asking God to help me understand his heart and desires towards my children. It’s not focused on the immediate outcome as much as the process. It has no concern for what I feel and want but total concern for what God feels and wants.

People talk about how marriage is a triangle: two people drawing each other closer to God. Parenting is the same, in that that kind of love for my kids draws me closer to God. It’s not just me trying not to yell, and my screaming kid who won’t stop crying, both of us battling it out alone. God is present, both to give me his heart of love for them, and to give me the desire and power to overcome my selfish anger.

Housekeeping

Apologies for the font glitches today. I was trying to find a sans serif font, but unfortunately what HTML code I knew is super rusty, and this blogger template has a horribly limited selection-- the only sans serif font was Arial, which I've never really liked, so here we are back to the old font. Have I mentioned my slight obsession with fonts? (least favorites: Papyrus and Kristen ITC; many favorites, but a go-to sans serif font is Optima)

Parenting My Kids, Not Myself

I think one of the hardest things about parenting is learning to parent each child the way they need, not the way you would need if you were them. I’m sure parents of kids older than ours would have a lot more to say about this, but Ellie and Eric are old enough now that I’m noticing differences in what they need.

I find Eric’s way of thinking and feeling easier to understand, because he’s probably more like me. When he wants something, he is single-minded and strong-willed about it, but he’s willing to change his mind if presented with a reasonable option and given space to make the choice. He enjoys words of affirmation, but his sense of self isn’t terribly affected by things I say, good or bad. He enjoys being around people he loves, but feels drained and increasingly tired when around bigger groups.

Ellie is a little different. She easily changes her mind about what she wants depending on her emotions or relationships. Words are very important to her: she lights up when I say something affirming, and is devastated if I imply anything negative. She is an extrovert: the longer she is around other people, the more energized and worked up she gets.

I’ve been relearning, for example, that I need to be careful what I say to Ellie, not because I don’t know that words are important, but because they are more important to her than they are to me. She feels hurt even when I may not feel I’m speaking harshly. I throw out words in anger that affect her for a long time. I need to repeatedly say things I may take for granted, for example, that I love her even if she misbehaves.

She’s young enough that sometimes she just tells me what she needs: “mommy, am I being good too like Eric? Am I beautiful today? I feel like you were too harsh. Do you love me too?” But sometimes I don’t know what’s going on with her. I find her overly emotional or histrionic. I don’t understand why she’s acting out and can’t tell me. I forget that she needs to get out and be around other people more than I would want to. She’s so verbal and insightful typically that I sometimes even forget to remember she’s just four. I have to remember not to judge her as I would myself.

Parenting is hard because it’s so easy to have blind spots, but so hard to accept criticism, or even just to find people who know you and your kids well enough to offer specific advice. It’s so hard to treat all your children fairly, yet differently in the ways they need. Sometimes I feel like it’s just stepping through one moment or stage at a time, trying to be open to advice, asking God to wipe out the consequences of your mistakes, asking God to help you forgive yourself for those mistakes, and praying like heck that God would give you the insight you need, the power to do what goes against your own tendencies, and the faith that your kids are in his hands in the end.

Story Hunger

“I had always felt life first as a story: and if there is a story there is a story-teller." - G.K. Chesterton

“And as He spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.” – C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle

Lately I've been thinking about my mental diet: what I input through books, the internet, television, radio; what I dwell on through thoughts and conversations. My mental diet hasn’t been too great lately. It’s like with food: if I eat nothing but pizza and fries for days, I know I'll end up feeling groggy and yucky. Same goes for mental junk food, which for me are mostly unedifying novels and TV shows. I turn to that stuff for the same reason people eat comfort food. For escape, for entertainment, because it gives me an emotional and mental rush that feels good.

There’s nothing wrong with a well-crafted tale, exercising the imagination, or zoning out with a show to unwind, but the problem for me is that the line between restful leisure and numbing addiction is a fine one. I’m either binge-reading or binge-watching, and eventually it steals away my ability to be present. Instead of being attuned to what God is showing me in my own world, I am reliving imaginary scenes in my mind. Instead of being fresh and rested for the new day, I am just trying to make it through because I'm tired from reading all night. Instead of being content and thankful for my life, I want to be somewhere else.

At the heart of it, I crave romance, a journey, a world: I crave a story, one that is bigger, more exciting, or different than mine. I’m constantly searching for good stories, and when I run out, I settle for mediocre ones, and when those run out, I settle for cheap ones.

I am trying to see that this is how God created me, because there is a story, and in this story there is a journey, there is the promise of a world that is our world but altogether different and better, and there is the resolution of a romance that has been going on for a long time. A romance that is like the coming together of two best friends, of a king with an ordinary girl, of a supernatural being with a mortal one whom he loves into a supernatural transformation, of a protector with the one he sacrificed for, of a groom with his long-lost bride. Pretty much every romantic construct ever written or directed into popularity is in this great story, and it is the story of God and Jesus’ love for me.

I have a hard time feeling this. I want the faster, cheaper rush, the one concocted by humans, but it only leaves me wanting more. But God is in it for the long haul. He wants me to hear and see the story he is telling in my life, and he wants me to see that that itself is only the prologue for the story that comes later, for eternity, the story that really matters. In the meanwhile, I’m trying to wean myself off this mental fast food I’ve become accustomed to. I want to sleep with peace at night, to rise with eagerness in the morning, to be present in the day. I want to see people and ask good questions. I want to listen to whatever God is saying in my day. I want to be able to tell the right stories to my kids when they ask for one. I don’t want to look back one day and say, well God, I missed a lot of this story I’m in, because I was too busy trying to escape into another one.

I Won't Complain About My Kids If You Won't

It feels good to complain. It felt good in med school to complain about our hours and our residents, then in residency to complain about our med students and even more about our hours. It feels good as attendings to complain about our patients, or what we get called about when taking call. It can feel good to complain about our friends, our spouses, our parents. About the weather. About where we live. Complaining makes us feel special, better, because look what we have to deal with! It is the lowest form of bonding, the cheapest and fastest way to feel connected with someone else.

It’s especially easy to complain about our kids. For one thing, what we deal with as parents is so relentless and yet so unseen that complaining feels like our way of getting some acknowledgment. For another thing, there is so much to complain about. My two year-old never stays still (eye roll). She’s always whining. Can you believe the baby is still waking me up at night? It’s so annoying when they don’t put away their toys. It’s gotten to be an almost accepted rite of passage—hey look, it sucks to have kids, but at least it feels good to complain to each other about it.

I think it’s important to be open and real about our struggles as parents, but I’ve been increasingly convicted that complaining about our kids is not a good habit to fall into, for a few reasons.

It tears down rather than builds up. Complaining doesn’t go anywhere positive. It allows us to write off our kids’ behavior instead of actually taking the effort to understand or change it. It helps us feel inclusively smug or prideful without helping us actually become better people. That’s the difference between complaining and vulnerable sharing—the former is an end unto itself; the latter tries to go somewhere better. When we relate our struggles honestly, we think about whether the time and place is appropriate for sharing. We are open for advice and suggestion. We are offering encouragement and solidarity. We are building each other up.

It’s a bad witness. It struck me one day: do I complain so much about my two kids that people wonder why I want to have a third? What must people think about kids when they hear parents complain all the time? Dave says he reads Facebook posts all the time from moms who have nothing but negative complaints about their days with their kids, and it’s a real turn-off.

Our kids overhear it. This is like the stealth bomb of parenting. Your kids hear and see EVERYTHING that you do. That time you muttered under your breath? Yup. That time you farted and didn’t say “excuse me”? Yup. One day, if they haven’t already, your kids will hear you complain about them. Can you imagine anything more destructive to their sense of self? To their ability to believe in your unconditional love? Plus, kids repeat the behavior that is reinforced. If all they hear is you complaining about how they are “so whiny,” they will believe they are whiny, and they will whine more.

It’s what we signed up for. It’s not very compassionate to say “suck it up,” but it’s true: you want to be a parent? You signed up for the possibility of sleep deprivation on any given night, a twenty-minute routine to get everyone buckled into the car, sticky fingers, spills, toys everywhere, exposure to bodily fluids. That’s just how kids are. Sure, it takes a bit to adjust to a new sense of “normal,” but that doesn’t make it any less normative. We might as well complain about gravity, or having to eat.

The Bible says not to do it. Yeah, I had to pull this card. Probably the two most compelling verses are Philippians 2:14 (do everything without grumbling or arguing) and Ephesians 4:29 (do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen). Not to mention all the stuff God says we should be doing instead (give thanks, count it all joy, etc).

Here is where I confess that I complain easily. There’s a mother of two I’ve gotten to know, and for a long time I felt like something was weird about her until I realized that I’ve never heard her complain. About her kids. About anything. And I realized, if I want to complain less, I’m going to have to be intentional about it. When people ask how the kids are, do I usually have something negative to say? Do I have friendships that are based mostly on us complaining to each other? Do I complain in my heart about my kids? If there is a pattern of negativity, maybe it reveals some issue I need to examine in my life. It’s okay to explore that and be real about it. But it’s better not to complain.

Knitting

It's really cold outside right now, which means it's about the time I pull out this cabled throw I've been working on every winter for the past two years. It's a brainless enough pattern that I don't have to think while my fingers move, and the yarn feels awesome-- a blend of alpaca and merino wool. I definitely have a weakness for luxury yarns.

On Changing Diapers

Changing a diaper sums up a lot of motherhood. You put one on, only to take it off and put another one on. It's a pretty crummy, stinky job. It's almost too mundane to talk about.

I enjoyed the week I spent on the plastics service during my surgery rotation in medical school, so much so that I thought very seriously about going into plastics. But I remember thinking how ironic it was that the people who enjoyed reconstructing  faces and debating the most cosmetic way to close a laceration also had to run the decubitus ulcer service. Of course, they got the lowest people on the totem pole to do it, me and the intern. Decubitus ulcers are what happens when bedridden patients lie in their own waste: the skin on their butts get irritated, break open, and inevitably get infected from nearby poop. If surgical intervention becomes required, it usually involves skin flaps, thus the plastics consult. Our job on the service was to see and treat every decubitus ulcer in the entire hospital.

I remember my intern was this incredibly nice, soft-spoken guy, despite being worked to death. The two of us would gown and glove up, and be hit with this absolutely putrid odor as we walked into the room, the smell of human waste mixed with dead flesh. I would help him log-roll the patient over and peer underneath while holding my breath.

Well, I never went into plastics, but here I am, still in the business of keeping bums clean. I remember hearing a Tim Keller sermon on work, and how to God, the person who wipes a counter clean is as important as the neurosurgeon--if that person didn't wipe that counter clean, we would all die. Changing a diaper is like that--if I didn't do it, they would all get decubitus ulcers, become septic and die (I should threaten Eric with that when he insists he has "no poop!" despite the massive stink emanating from his rear). There's a strange sort of weighty glory to that, to knowing that God makes absolutely no distinction in importance the way the world does; that what I do is just as vital to the survival of humankind, though not as well compensated or visible.

And boy, can I change a diaper well. I am probably at the height of my diaper-changing career. I can detect the tracest sent of poop, pick up the most subtle pooping expression (slight reddening of the face and look of concentration). I can whip that sucker off, wipe off microscopic residue, slap on Desitin in the most strategic spots, and get a new one on and fitted perfectly in record time. I can package up dirty diaper and wipes without contaminating anything, and dunk it into the trash can with a better free throw average than some professional NBA players. And I can do it all while singing a very loud, artificially cheerful song to distract a wriggling toddler.

What God cares about is not what we do for our work, but who we are doing it unto: "you are serving the Lord Christ" it says in Colossians 3. And earlier, "whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men." That means changing diapers can be something done whole-heartedly, as absurd as that sounds. That means there is something of worship in the repetitive, everyday things of motherhood, in the most stinky, unwanted tasks. I am saying, here, God, is this diaper I am changing. Here is this being you have given me that I am keeping alive; here I am being present, in this way I may very much not want to be present. Here I am believing that this child understands it as my love to him and to you. And here I am hoping in ten years, I'll never have to look at another dirty bum again. 

She Walks In Beauty

The first time I thought about my body critically was in high school. I remember once avoiding family dinner and eating a few saltine crackers instead while running on the treadmill, more out of curiosity than anything else. I'd examine how my thighs looked in shorts during the summer. This was all child's play compared to college, where there were endless buffets and the freshman fifteen on one end, and girls who thought it was normal to eat one small bowl of pasta for the entire day on the other. I gained weight in college, lost it in early medical school, gained it back again, and became increasingly obsessed with body image. I'd perpetually want to lose weight, but not be able to. I'd eat celery and carrot sticks in public, but gorge on cartons of ice cream in private, then exercise in the gym for hours. I was increasingly better educated about what constituted a healthy diet, but unable to control how I actually ate. I stalked blogs of people who'd lost a hundred pounds or ran marathons. I refused to buy bigger clothing and instead wore stretchy black pants and other clothes I really didn't like. Food, body image, weight--it all became an unhealthy, unbalanced, private inner obsession.

My third year of medical school, I stopped living in dorms for the first time and moved into an apartment with a friend. She ate good stuff and bad stuff, in moderation. She believed in colorful meals. She exercised moderately but consistently. And she did it all in public, and I got embraced in all that, and gradually I thought less about food and more about meals. I thought less about precisely how many calories I was burning off on a machine and more about working up a sweat jogging or walking outside together. In the middle of all this, while I was still on the heavier side, I met Dave, who told me the second time he laid eyes on me that he wanted to date me. Who said during our first date, "I'm glad you're not super-super skinny," and managed to make that sound like a compliment.

Gradually, I equilibrated into what felt like a healthier weight, closer to what I had weighed in high school. Then surgical internship hit, and the stress and lack of time to eat anything but energy bars stuffed into white coat pockets took the issue entirely out of my mind. I kept shrinking and never gained much back even after finishing residency.

Then three pregnancies happened, and for the next six years I gained thirty pounds one year and lost thirty-two the next, trailing my way through four clothing sizes and four bra cup sizes. I think: eight years ago, all that really would have thrown me for a loop. Now, it all is just part of life. Here I am, losing over thirty pounds for the third time. I get to be voluptuous, I get to be stick-straight. My husband doesn't mind, my kids don't care. I'd prefer not to have to keep reorganizing my closet (and I think major celebration is in order the day I stop having to), but other than that, it's all more okay than I ever would have thought it could be.

I think of Ellie, and of how the road to a healthy body image for a woman in our times is littered with pitfalls. Right now she likes her body because it's hers; she is beautiful because she believes she is. But one day she will notice magazine covers and ads. She will hear that being skinny matters more than being healthy, that looks can make up for character. She will enter a world where, for better or worse, she'll be judged by her appearance, and it makes me hope we can give her somewhere to start: the assurance that we will never judge her by her appearance. A healthy concept of food, as something interesting and enjoyable but not a source of control or escape. A palate for the types of food that are good for her body. Delight in dressing herself. A habit of being physically active; a sport she enjoys being good at. An awareness of wrong messages that the world might be sending. In the end, her habits and attitudes will probably reflect whatever mine are, so I suppose reflecting on and being intentional about this myself is a good place to start. 

Shaping, But Not Breaking, Your Child's Will

When Ellie was younger, I only had to look warningly at her if she was about to throw a pea from her high chair, and she would put the pea down and burst into tears. Even now, I speak with only mild displeasure and next thing I know there are sniffling sounds coming from the corner. So Eric threw us for quite a loop. He refused to take a bottle, going on hunger strikes for days until my dad finally drove him over every three hours for me to nurse at work (I think I’ve suppressed those memories). He throws physical tantrums from which he cannot be cajoled or distracted.

I’ve been mulling over this idea of the strong-willed child, and trying to get what it means to guide the will without destroying it. Interestingly, God gave me an experience this week that helped me get into Eric’s head a bit. It involved an issue that Dave and I frequently fight over, and it hit me that while in an objective, logistical way he may be right, the reason the issue became emotional dynamite is because my fundamental sense of self felt shut down, trampled on, by the way it was handled. I would have been much happier going along with things had I felt more validated, or been offered options.

It helped me see the difference between two things: the “object” of the will, and the “spirit” of the will. The object of the will is simply what it is you want, in whatever time or manner you want it: a vision, a concrete goal or item. The “spirit” of the will is that thing in you that wants: the desire, the force, the drive. It is your sense of self, your identity, derived from experiences, skills, talents, inclinations. It is your sense of self-image, derived from others’ feedback. It is your expression of self, your excitement and enthusiasm. It is the thing in you that fights and wants, that takes you through obstacles and difficulties.

The spirit of the will is a precious thing, and I think in children, often fragile. I want him to keep that. I want that to take him to amazing places through challenging times. But obviously, it is not okay for him to direct the spirit of his will towards wanting to empty the entire bag of rice on the floor, or towards hitting his sister on the head.

So you have to shape the will. If not, your kid becomes defiant, selfish, disrespective of authority, including possibly you when they’re a teenager, God, or their future spouse. They may not be observant enough of the world outside their own wants. They may not be malleable enough to be used by God. They may be too intolerant or judgmental of others.

At the same time, you don’t want to break the spirit of the will. Otherwise you destroy their self-motivation, their self-esteem. You may damage your relationship with them. They do not grow up into who God wants them to be, but what you want them to be.

I think you shape the will by very simply explaining consequences and enforcing them. You have to enforce them in a consistent manner that is free of anger (more on that later). I think, at the same time, you preserve the spirit of the will by understanding, and listening when appropriate. You give them some room within which to still exercise some control. You affirm their underlying self-image or any element of good in their desires whenever possible.

Some practical reminders for myself of things that have worked:

Give him a choice. I’m a person of task-oriented efficiency. Clearly, in the morning it is most efficient for me to get him from his crib, lie him down, and change his diaper and outfit at the same time before rounding everyone downstairs for dinner. But if he doesn’t want to change, I’m there strangling a kicking, screaming kid out of a poopy diaper and into clothes. Then Dave discovered, if you offer him a choice of shirts, he’ll simply pick one, and happily change into it. It’s not so much changing that he doesn’t like, as much as the way we ask him to change. So when possible, instead of issuing a command, I give him a choice.

Explain and listen. I used to think all two year-olds were irrational and petty, but I’ve actually found that if I explain things to Eric, and give him a chance to slowly get out what he’s thinking, he will often cooperate, which will spare us a tantrum and preserve his sense of self. If I yell at him, it never works. If I explain calmly with respect, it sometimes does.

Keep his love tank full. This pretty much goes for all our kids, but especially for Eric, I’ve noticed that if he feels unconditionally loved, if I have recently given him a lot of undivided attention and spoken in his love language, then he just chooses to exert his will against mine less. He’s more willing to go along for the sake of our relationship.

Pick your battles. And when you do, be firm. It can’t all be lovey-dovey talking and listening. Dave and I have discussed non-negotiable lines, we have made Eric aware of those lines, and if we witness intentional crossing of them, that is no time to talk, or “count to three,” or do anything but give an immediate time-out. Not wanting to put on his jacket—that isn’t a line we’ve drawn. Throwing something at someone else—that is. And believe me, he will keep scooching a toe over the line to see what we do. We’ve gotten to the point now where when he’s mad, he won’t throw something, but he will hold it in his hand and tell us he wants to throw it. So the whole tantrum sounds like this on repeat: “WANT TO THROW THE BEAD! WANT TO THROW THE BEAD!” What can I say, except, well, I can’t really help you there, buddy.

This Obviously Means We Are Superior Parents

He's holding the King James Bible he got from the church dedication ceremony.

Mornings

So I open my eyes this morning and see Penelope staring at me. Obviously, Ellie had crept into my room, found me still asleep, taken my bear from where it was lying in some corner since I don't really hug it anymore, figured I'd need it and stuffed it right up next to my face.

She's so grown-up now. Every morning, she and Eric wake up goodness knows when, and Ellie turns on the light. She takes clothes off the hangar in the closet and rifles through dresser drawers, dresses herself, accessorizes, does her hair (quick brush-through, barrette clip, hairband). She entertains and plays with Eric, who (fortunately for us) is still confined to his crib. It's not unusual for me to walk into their room in the mornings and find his face covered with stickers. Or sporting five hair clips in his hair. Or standing naked down to his diapers. When they get bored, she starts slipping into our room to "check" on how we're doing, and "take care" of things for us, like reorganizing all our DVDs into different cases, or tidying random photographs by sticking them into the fridge for safe keeping. She doesn't wake me up, so I can't complain.

To be fair, and because I (speaking of dinosaurs) recently discovered Instagram, here are the other two:

Importance

One thing I have always struggled with is this desire to be important, according to what I or the world sees as important. Perhaps it's not all that hard to figure out from the trajectory of my life: I wanted to be a doctor, before I really understood what all that involved; and I did. I wanted to go to Harvard, before really understanding whether it was the best place for me, not just be the best place; and I did. Ditto for Hopkins.

I don't regret any of those things necessarily, but I feel like God is trying to teach me, particularly in this season of life, that he doesn't care about me being important. He doesn't care about importance at all. Look just at the one chapter we read this week in BSF, Matthew 14: he surrounds himself with disciples who are very ordinary people. The boy who offered the means to a miracle in the feeding of the five thousand was ordinary (or rather, the mom who probably packed his lunch was ordinary).

Dave gets this. He is probably the person I know who lives this out the most. He has given up respected, flashy, impressive roles, titles, and opportunities because he felt it wasn't consistent with what was more important at the time-- and he does it with quiet conviction, no angst or dragging of feet or big show. It doesn't bother him that most people don't even know. On the outside, he seems ordinary, but the more you know him, the more depth and integrity you find, and that is probably what attracted me to him to begin with.

I, on the other hand, struggle with mixed motives. Do I partly want to play for worship because I like being on stage? Does it bother me that I'm not as flashy of a cataract surgeon as I could be if I worked full-time and could rack up a more impressive number of cases? Do I want my kids to be nicely dressed and well-behaved in public partly so people think I'm a good mom?

It's interesting how the trajectory of life has changed as God is teaching me about this, as I'm trying to listen more, in my own feeble way, to what he has to say about this to me. I am learning to play at home with just as much delight when circumstances make it hard to play with a band. I am trying to set my own goals for learning at work that have nothing to do with a measurable outcome. I am learning to care enough about my kids' discipline to risk a public disruption, about their sense of self and creativity enough to risk a mismatched outfit. I am living most of my day completely unobserved to most, I am building an alumni report that is only notable for its unremarkability-- and in some ways it's the hardest thing I've done. But probably (and you knew this line was coming) the most important thing of all. 

In Which I Talk About Sex

I’m going to write about something I wish we talked about more: sex in marriage. And how it can be hard, and confusing. Most Christian couples seem to struggle with it, but no one ever talks about it. So I thought I could at least write down a few things that have helped me over the years, if only as reminders for myself:

A healthy sex life does not come naturally or immediately. Did we meet, get engaged, and get married in one night? This sex thing is a relationship. It putters. There are ups and downs. It takes work. One couple shared that it took them a few days to figure out the technicalities during their honeymoon. One couple told me they didn’t really start enjoying sex until after their five kids were grown.

Everyone has baggage. Our first kiss was at the altar. Neither of us had dated much, if at all, before each other. But there is still so much baggage, which I’m starting to think just means we’re normal people living in a super-messed-up world. There is so much in the way of expectations, shame, guilt, habit, fears, that we’ve inherited or absorbed from our families, books, media, both from the Christian world and the secular world. It is impossible to ignore the effects of pornography. We are so far removed from Eden before the fall, when it was just about the two of us and God—nothing else.

My spouse is God’s chosen sexual partner for me, even if it’s not always what I would have chosen. Not my choice, God’s choice. Not accidental, but purposeful. Not good, but somehow best. Probably because my choice would have concerned primarily myself, whereas God is not as interested in what I want as in what I need, or what my spouse needs. He’s not interested in sex as an end to itself, but as a means to something more important.

Our sex life wouldn’t be better if we had experimented more before marriage. It’s what our culture tells us, but the personal experiences of friends seem to testify to the contrary.

Whatever I’m struggling with, even if I think I am weird or abnormal, I’m not the only one. In fact, the more I think I’m alone, the more likely a ton of other people are dealing with the same thing. Sometimes the sense of isolation is the worst, the idea that there is some norm that we are falling outside of, and getting over that feeling is half the battle. Like we’re always hearing, Satan likes to isolate us, to make us think we’re defeated before we even begin.

It’s not “his” issue, which hurts “me,” or vice versa. It’s our issue. Everything our world teaches us about sex is that it’s about me; it’s only about someone else to the extent that it makes me feel a certain way about myself. But here God asks me to unlearn that, and relearn a mindset where I take ownership of the issues we face, together. He asks me to stop the mental commentary in my head and asks me to be open to sharing my hurts and thoughts. He asks me to get into my spouse’s head and imagine how he is feeling. He asks us to do it together.

I think our world has so heavily conditioned us to view sex in a certain way—as consumers, as performance, as an end unto itself—that it is nearly impossible not to think in unhealthy or unloving ways. It is nearly impossible for selfishness or guilt or insecurity or doubt not to creep in, and in those times, I hope I remember these things. Sometimes I get a glimpse of what sex can be—a powerful thing in which God is present, which actually draws us towards God and each other, which shows us something about God and each other that we couldn’t have learned otherwise, which redeems the naked shame from the fall, which shows us what waits for us in eternity. Sometimes it can be funny, or awkward, and that can be just as poignant. It is all so far from where our world has come, but I have to believe these things are true, and possible, and that in the meanwhile, it is okay to talk about it sometimes, to find it a work in progress.

Quality Time

Dave said the other night he asked himself, “why am I washing the dishes?” He was cleaning up in the kitchen while the older two were playing by themselves in the playroom next door; I was upstairs nursing Elijah. It occurred to him he should just try to spend some quality time with each kid, so he stopped washing, asked Eric to join him on the couch, and gave him his full attention while asking about his day. Then he patted his bum and sent him back along to play. Ellie wanted to do the same thing, so then Dave sat on the couch alone with her for a while to ask about her day.

I came downstairs with the baby to find Dave reading to both of them, and they both were unusually attached to him the rest of the night.

When I’m at home with the kids, I can get really focused on all the stuff that needs to get done around the house, particularly since I tend to be a task-oriented person. That’s all good, but sometimes I miss out on what’s right in front of my face: my kids. At home. With me. My kids who don’t care about how clean the house is, how tidy their rooms are, how fancy dinner is. My kids who probably just want Mommy to 1. be happy, and 2. spend time with them. Too often I fall into a pattern where I’m busy doing a chore, and only paying attention to them when they interrupt me, usually for something I find negative or frustrating. I go to them because I have to referee, or clean up a spill, or find a lost toy; I don’t go to them because I want to volunteer concentrated, focused, loving time.

I think one love language all kids have to some degree is quality time, when I give my full attention to an individual child in uninterrupted fashion. It could be thirty minutes at home, or a date out, or a bedtime talk, or a daily walk. It’s a good reminder to do the more important, less urgent thing. And I’ve noticed when their love tanks are filled up, they are in much better moods for the rest of the day.

Dedication Prayer

Dave and I dedicated all three children yesterday, at the first dedication offered by the new church we've been involved in planting. He wrote and read this prayer during the service, which he said could be shared-- plus I think it's becoming a bit awkward trying to abbreviate all the kids' names here since they all start with the same letter..

****

Our heavenly Father, thank you for these three children, Elise Joy, Eric Edward, and Elijah Jack that you have given us to parent, love and support over the past four years. We acknowledge that these are your children, and dedicate them to you today, in the presence of our church family.

Help give us, as parents, strength, perseverance, and a selfless love that reflects you, and forgive us for the times we have fallen short of that.

I ask that you would break all the generational sins, curses, and unhealthy thought patterns that could be passed down from us or other family members. In the name of Jesus, I proclaim that these three children would be set aside for you, free from bondage, free to pursue you and love others without being hindered by the past.

Send your Holy Spirit to guide Ellie, Eric and Elijah. That when they lose their way, they would still hear the quiet voice behind them and remember that there is a Father waiting for them who wants them to come home again.

Ellie Joy, you have been a joy to us, and to our family and friends, since the day you were born. We love you and are so thankful for you. We pray that you would become a joy to the nations. We pray that God would woo you, protect you, surround you with the cozy comfort you love when you feel alone, and always be the foundation of your sense of value and identity. May God develop your creativity, kindness, and perceptive spirit to reflect his glory to everyone around you.

Eric Edward, you are a delight to us, and you have amazed us with your indomitable spirit over the past two years. We love you and are so thankful for you. We pray that you would always walk the narrow straight path, and never be swayed to the left or right by popular opinion, in a way that would quietly win over many to Christ. We pray that you would be the wisest steward of all the gifts God has given you, so that you would touch the lives of thousands with your faithful witness. May God give you power, perseverance, and the wind behind your back to run the race well.

Elijah Jack, we love you and are so thankful for you. When you smile, you suspend time, and make us feel that there is no better, no more wonderful place in the world, than to be right there in front of you. We pray that you would be a prophet of God, courageously and lovingly pointing the way to Jesus through your words and actions. We pray that God's words and truths would always come easily to you. May God give you discernment, wisdom and strength to live a life worthy of the calling God has given you.

May all three of you know, experience and be overwhelmed by the love of Christ, so that you may be filled with the fullness of life and power that comes from God (Ephesians 3:17-19). To Him be the glory for your lives.

In Christ's might name we pray, Amen.

Letter To The Little One

Dear Buh-Bee,

I’m not supposed to write you a letter because you haven’t had a birthday yet. But I simply must tell you that you are doing a great job growing a neck these days. Your head bobbles around now in a fantastic fashion not unlike those toys on car dashboards, right there amid the three chins you are nursing to life. Your eyes look like black round buttons tracking everything within a three-foot radius, and when my or Daddy’s face appears, you split into a grin so wide you can barely see past all the pushed-up cheek fat. When your older sister or brother’s face appears, you don’t always grin, probably because you know something really loud or sudden is coming. I would describe your expression in those cases as stoic.

Daddy is completely over the moon about you. I think it is mostly because he doesn’t take the night shifts, but regardless, he wakes up every morning missing you and keeps saying you are the perfect baby. You are pretty nice. I guess we’ll keep you.

Love,

Mommy

In Which I Sound Like A Dinosaur

So D is probably the most well-read he’s been since we’ve been married. He gets a handful of public news feeds. He follows his Facebook feed, populated by well-educated friends he’s acquired throughout his life who now reside all over the globe. He twitters for his health district. He’s been interviewed on a news station about what he’s learned in Washington and lobbied in Congress. I, on the other hand, finally got myself some alone time and went out to Barnes, where I picked up a “year in review” by TIME and found out there was this major security leak, that bad stuff is happening in Syria, and learned what a hashtag and a selfie is.

I don’t currently find motherhood a naturally communal experience. We still go to BSF, where I see some mothers, and I still have occasional play-dates with friends from church, but it’s all in the setting of relative chaos, and I don’t know anyone deeply enough to have meaningful discussions about the topics I think about these days: parenting styles and how they differ. How to improve the kid’s diets or try new foods. New parenting ideas like deciding not to brag about our kids, taking them out for regular dates, or whatever else we are processing. What we think about homosexuality. Finding friends after thirty. Toughing out ill-fitting clothes until the last ten or so pounds from the pregnancy are off. Whether it’s worth investing in the 529 college fund.

So D suggest I look into social media, since that seems to be a way a lot of folks are finding community these days. I did find a mommy blog (momastery.com) that had a great assortment of inspiring and humorous entries—sometimes it’s just great to read something and know you aren’t the only one who hates having to sing “one more” bedtime song when you’re feeling mad, or who recognizes that marriage isn’t all a cakewalk. D and I were inspired to consider blogging more.

But then I forayed more into tumblr and twitter and all that, and just got totally weirded out by how much meaningless stuff is out there, things that seem like a waste of time. And even getting into all this took the whole afternoon. As a person on the outside looking in, it seems odd how flippantly meaningful terms like “friend” and “like” are thrown around. It seems strange how a lot of social media breeds a culture of self-absorption that doesn’t seem entirely healthy.

Well, this probably all just makes me sound old. I remember when I didn’t see the point of texting, and now I text more people than I email (which is somewhat sad—I feel like we’ve lost the art of epistolary writing—or any writing at all). So who knows (though I do get chills thinking of our kids texting one day and am stubbornly keeping them from my iPad and into library books). I do enjoy this blog for what it is: not a bid to get a lot of readers or likes or pins or whatnot, but a reminder to put what I process onto paper occasionally, and a way to preserve for the future a snapshot of what our lives are like now.

Journal Excerpt

The baby does this really cute thing now where he suddenly focuses on his fist as it floats past his face. His arm stays extended, his eyes get really big and crossed, and his mouth shrinks with seriousness. He punches his chin back in real surprise, and the three chins and crossed eyes just looks hilarious in combination.