Beautiful Difficult Gift

It was 2002 and I was expecting my first baby. My due date was a few months away. A couple in our young married Sunday school class was also expecting their first. We saw them at church on a Spring Sunday and the wife was glowing. She was just days from her due date and though I didn't know her well, I was excited for her.

Then a few days later, we heard the news: the baby was dead.

From church, this couple had gone to the hospital because the wife hadn't felt the baby move as much as usual. The doctors had discovered then that Baby Boy had died in utero (so close to his due date!!) and our friend had to deliver her precious stillborn son, surely anticipating the agony it would be to never hear his cry.

Weeks later my own labor began. I sat in my bathtub on the morning of July 3, knowing that if these were not real contractions, a warm bath might make them stop. And as I ran the water, I kept thinking of Baby Boy who had died. I thought of my own squirming adorable baby, who I'd only seen by ultrasound but was already in love with, and was suddenly terrified. I kept thinking, "I'm so close to delivery, but what if my baby dies? What if something happens and I don't get to meet this amazing person I've been growing for 9 months?"

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Even if I made it through delivery fine and got to meet a healthy baby, this would still only be the beginning of a lifetime of risk.

From now on, there would never be a guarantee that my child would live. Sure, I lived in a wealthy nation, known for decent healthcare, and I'd be able to give my child as good a chance as any. But beginning the journey of motherhood meant exposing myself to the risk of heartache. I would have to spend the rest of my life with my child (and later 4 more children) in open hands, knowing that ultimately they don't belong to me and I have no control over their hearts or their lives. The depth of my love for Naomi, Josiah, Ethan, Miriam and Selah is fathomless. I can only begin to imagine how heartbroken I would be if one of them died before me.

And so I treasure the moments. The moments of laughter and creativity, of bright intelligence and tender compassion, of shared wonder and new ideas. It's not all pretty, and it's definitely never easy, but they're worth it. I pray for my friends who have lost children, and whose children are struggling, and who wanted children but never had them. This womanhood, this innate desire for motherhood in so many women, is a beautiful difficult gift. 

Pandemic Ponderings: More of Us

Armed protestors storming the Michigan statehouse. Federal forces seizing shipments of medical equipment from states and counties. Wisconsin citizens being forced to attend polls in person despite the huge risk to their health. States being told that they won't receive help but should instead "file for bankruptcy." The president actually encouraging insurrection. Defunding WHO and coronavirus research teams. Blaming China, Obama, Biden, WHO, Democrats -- anyone he possibly can for the troubled state our nation is in -- instead of admitting he made BIG mistakes. And all the while, removing well-qualified career officials and installing loyalist cronies instead, as well as packing the courts with as many judges who believe in the unitary executive theory as possible, and really only caring about his re-election efforts, not the people he represents and swore to protect and serve.

I've heard a lot of friends say that they're severely reducing the amount of news they watch. I've also seen a lot of folks quote from Fox News, as if it's a news station (it's not). I've heard people echo the gaslighting propaganda that has marked this presidency since its beginning, and as much as I worry that we're not thinking enough about other countries whose people are suffering more from the virus and economic disaster than even we are, I also believe that in many ways we need to think more of us. We need to be careful to not turn off the news, but to stay aware of underlying currents that have been directing our country for decades and are now using this pandemic to put the final nails in the coffin of our democracy.

For the past few months, I've been reading daily letters by history professor and author Heather Cox Richardson. Because she's a historian, she looks more at the big picture than journalists do. She's not out to get elected. She's not tied to a certain politician. She's not looking for money or fame. She daily reads a lot of news, knowing where to look and what trends in history to link to, and then puts together essays that synthesize current events with her great store of knowledge. She's especially good at picking up on "smaller" news items that get lost in the fray and then revealing why they're not actually so small after all.

I am deeply afraid for my country. I'm afraid for the way minorities are being so much harder hit by this pandemic than other people groups, and I'm afraid for the way leaders actually imply that this is okay. I'm afraid for the integrity of our government who seems to be getting away with all kinds of rule breaking and general dishonesty and gaslighting, and I'm afraid for the ends Republicans will go to to stay in power. I'm afraid for our environment, whose protections get continually rolled back by the current administration, and I'm afraid for the future of scientific inquiry and medical excellence when conspiracy theories abound and science is denigrated and defunded.

My teens all want to leave this place. They're ready to emigrate tomorrow, if the opportunity arose. They're ready to leave what they know and love here because of disgust with their leaders and fear for the future of America. I tell them that other places have their own problems, and that nowhere is perfect. But that doesn't mean that America is better than other places, or that our problems aren't worth moving for. I wouldn't blame them at all if they left. I feel like leaving myself.

Pandemic Ponderings: Homeschooling Empathy

This time when schools have been closed and people have been working from home has been a gift to our homeschooling family in some unusual ways. After years of feeling so different and so little understood, now a majority of our friends are at home as much as we typically are, and finally seeing what it's like -- both the good and the hard.

It's interesting to hear others now speak of the great benefits of our normal lifestyle. They find the unrushed mornings a Godsend; they rave about the change from harried busyness to slowing down and doing things with their kids. They mention how nice it is to wear elastic-banded pants and not feel pressured about hair and make-up. They notice reduced commute times and increased family time. They bake and cook more from scratch, often out of necessity, but surely enjoying the fact that unrushed home-cooked food is often tastier than the alternatives. They've breathed great sighs of relief as they've spent more time outside and gone for family walks. They've even seemed to notice that yes, indeed, kids do grow and learn without constant adult oversight, especially without sitting-still-desk-work.

Can I just say how refreshing it is to finally hear people acknowledge and enjoy many of the reasons we love homeschooling? My teens love hearing from their friends, statements like, "Hey! It's fun doing school on my bed!" and "I didn't even get dressed til afternoon yesterday!" I love hearing people close to me say how much they like being with their kids all day. Even an article in Christianity Today had the writer admitting that she doesn't want to go back to "the way things were." Given this extended change of pace, she realizes how unhealthy and unhappy her previous harried existence was.

However it's not all cheery warm fuzzies, is it? I've also found it affirming and relieving to hear others finally get how HARD this lifestyle is. Admittedly it's a little difficult for me to feel sorry for folks when this has been my struggle for so many years. When I hear spouses moan about having their partner working from home all day every day, for just a few weeks, I want to scream, "This has been my life for the past six years!!"

Ever since my husband began his PhD program (and actually for a number of years before that, just not all consecutively), he has had nowhere he must be every day. He's had plenty of work, of course, but he's been in our home for much of the time. In fact, once his classes ended 4 years ago and the priority became preparing for comprehensive exams, researching, and writing his dissertation, he's been in our home almost every single day. We don't have a big house (no office, no basement). We don't have a second car. We don't live in an urban enough environment to easily walk places like a library. And I'm already home all day with homeschooling kids.

It has been tough.

It may have been the toughest thing about the past few years of our family life. The finances have been hard. The uncertainty has been hard. The high pressure of metro DC living has been hard. The stress of a PhD program has been hard. But being on top of each other in a small space has been super, super hard. For him, for me, for our marriage.

I know these are first world issues. The ability to work from home and teach my children has been a privilege. The fact that I moan about having my husband at home is also a sign of privilege. But it's my life. It's my joy and my pain. And now that the country is under "lockdown," I don't feel quite so alone.