Joyful Submission

I confess that sometimes I struggle with thoughts like, how come I always take care of the kids alone more? How come I’m the one getting up in the middle of the night?

And they escalate: he’s never had to deal with this. He has no idea how hard it is.

Now, there are logical answers to these questions: I wanted to work less. I’m the one nursing. I have no regrets about working less and no grief about where my career is. We agreed together for him to pursue a doctorate; that and his job entail occasional travel and I support that. He’s there one hundred percent as a caregiver when he’s home. It doesn’t do any good for me to get grouchy before he leaves for trips, to get inwardly resentful while he’s gone.

I’ve been realizing that at heart, I have not been submitted to Dave, to unreservedly supporting his outward pursuits, and providing the unconditionally peaceful home that allows him to lead without fear. Well, okay, mostly and definitely outwardly, things are fine, but inwardly I haven’t always had that heart attitude. Ultimately, I have not been in submission to God. It isn’t an accident that I find myself in this situation. God surely has something for these kids, and surely something for me, and until I embrace that fully, without comparison or resentment, I am not being submitted to God. He hasn’t called me to tell Dave how to do his job, or look at how my former classmates or current colleagues are doing their jobs; he’s called me to do my job, and do it well, with the strength he provides.

Frankly, it’s tough. I mean, yeah, I worked pretty hard in the past, but it was always for myself, and any suffering was temporary. But now—trying to meet everyone’s needs while fatigued, dealing with the endless demands and bickering and occasionally discipline, cooking, cleaning, doing lessons, coordinating rides and naps—doing it alone for most of the day—it’s probably the toughest thing I’ve ever done.  There’s no way to pretend, no reliable break, and my true self comes out in a jiffy. It’s a spiritually raw situation: I either submit to God and live it out by his strength and wisdom, or I tank as my fatigue-induced irritability naturally overwhelms the situation.

Sometimes I think: how much of my life has really been lived out as Christ lived? Have I just said I would follow, thought about and studied it, or have I really put myself aside, given up what’s comfortable, been willing to suffer, been driven to witness? Well, if anything, this is probably the period of my life that looks most like how Christ lived. I am a witness to these kids. I am putting myself aside and trying to live out the gospel in service with joy and intentionality. God, I submit myself to you. Give me the strength I need.

Good Read

In Case of Blizzard, Do Nothing (NYT)

My sister forwarded me this-- some life-giving writing, there. He used the word "quotidian"!

Life-Giving

Dave’s sister coined that term a while back and it’s a concept that’s stuck with me. Even when she’s out here spending time with the kids, she’ll schedule life-giving things for herself: a jazz concert, time for deep conversation.

I think to me, something life-giving is something that restores a part of myself that I’ve maybe lost, or lost sight of. That’s the thing about mothering: it’s all-consuming in a way no other venture really is. God created me to enjoy and be good at a lot of things: to write, to play music, to travel, to teach, to knit, to draw, to study, to enjoy stories, to linger in deep conversation, to be in nature, to shop, to bake, okay, to sleep—the list goes on. Some of those things are incorporated into what I do with the kids, sure, and there’s a unique kind of pleasure in that, but the parts I did for myself just fade away. Not so much amputated as atrophied, until one day I find myself with some time off and don’t even know what to do.

You would think doing something life-giving is automatic, but it’s not, especially when you’re out of routine. My default isn’t really to ask, “what can I do to restore a sense of myself?” My default is to eat chocolate ice cream (which I’m doing right now—why aren’t there more ice cream places around here? that’s one thing I miss about Boston) and read escapist novels. Which usually leaves me more loath to return to real life rather than refreshed for it.

Everyone’s list probably looks different, but things that generally fall into this category for me are: a deep conversation with a friend (away from the kids; play-dates don’t count). Playing the piano for a length of time (again, away from the kids, who like to join in—sensing a theme here). Visiting a yarn store. Browsing in a bookstore. Meeting with a friend. Shopping for myself. Taking an art class (taking any kind of class). Journaling to God. Eating something new. Being surrounded by nature. Giving a good lecture. Taking a nap in a quiet house.

Sometimes I don’t know I need to be doing something life-giving until I’m at the point of burn-out, but one of my resolutions this year is to be better at taking care of myself. I tend to get obsessed with a task at the exclusion of all else, and since parenting is one non-ending task, I actually need to remind myself that it’s okay to leave the kids, to get out, to do something that helps me remember who I am. The more I enjoy myself in the different ways God created me to be, the more I enjoy God, the more I enjoy the kids, the more life I can pour into them. I actually need to put some forethought and nearly always some planning into it, since it’s not a default, and since doing anything without kids involves planning. But it’s always worth it.

I'm Back! (I Think)

So my sister asks me over Christmas break, “hey, are you going to write in your blog again?” and I’m pretty much speechless. Blog? What blog? Does that page even exist anymore? Does anyone care if it does? “I check it regularly,” she says. Wow, okay. So that’s where the one page hit I get a week comes from.

But the thought stuck. I’m going to try writing regularly, even though it feels like overcoming an incredible level of torpitude (is that a word? it should be), in an attempt to solidify the reflections I have from day to day, in particular what God is teaching me. If it provides food for thought, or empathy or encouragement for anyone else, great, but since I’m not even sure who still reads this, I think the point is to get something out there for myself.

Obviously I had to update the page. I could only do surface stuff of course since I’ve forgotten whatever rudimentary html I used to know. Couldn’t change the pretty meaningless banner text (“mysteries of life”? what is that?). Changed the profile photo from an artistic one of Ellie to a chaotic one with all the kids (but representative: at least one not looking at the camera, one about-to-get-a-root-canal grimace, one face blocked, all in jammies). Changed the job to part-part-time as I now work around ten hours a week. Really wanted to change the font (I love the new San Francisco font, ironically, from Apple), but no luck. The biggest laugh was updating the “on the bookshelf” list… I wish I read all those edifying things… settled for sticking in a kids’ book and leaving out the useless comfort-novels I’ve really been reading.

I used to have a lot of standards for my blog: must not talk too directly about the blog itself. Must be edifying and have an enlightening conclusion. Must be carefully edited. Must remain vague on personal identifiers. Ideally have an epigraph prefacing each entry. In other words, post only if it’s good enough to publish. I suppose those rules worked back in 2005 when it got Dave to blog-crush on me, but if I stuck to them now I’d never post anything. Especially the “reach an enlightening conclusion” part. So I am officially chucking them out the window. I’m just going to be honest about where I’m at. Here goes.

Three Weeks

I’m pretty sure “sleep while your baby is sleeping” is the best advice I’ve most hated. Yes, as soon as the baby closes her eyes, I should rapidly wind down and shut off my mind, get as comfortable in bed as my achy, milk-filled chest will let me, ignore the bright midday sunlight, and try to sleep for what may be ten minutes or, at most, two hours. Repeat this cycle eight to ten times a day around the clock, and you pretty much have the last three weeks. I get so tired of constantly trying to sleep, yet I’m not really good for anything else.

I think that’s the worst: when I’m asleep, never getting to sleep properly (deeply or long), and when awake, never getting to be awake normally. Being awake is like living underwater. I feel groggy, I move slower, and I have a feeling my perspective is skewed: objects in the mirror are different than they appear. I have to constantly tell myself: it’s okay. Let it go. It’s not the end of the world if the kids break a few rules or mold is overtaking the shower tiles. That comment was not meant to be as hurtful or annoying as it sounded. You’re just tired.

Speaking of which, Esme is sleeping. So off I head to bed.