We've been on the "No" end of the contraception permissiveness spectrum for a while now, and all's I have to say is, it's weird. Outsiders may be surprised to learn that there is no party platform on the topic. Some won't space, some will by any non-abortifacient means in only the direst of circumstances, some will space for more or less critical reasons but only by NFP, some will call it quits after 4 or 6 or 8 and others won't. Every couple makes its own rules, and those rules are largely colored by personal experience*.
So one person thinks I'm a license-giving antinomian sellout. Another considers me a heartless, ever-accusing binder of consciences. I'm a Pietist theologian of glory and a faithless Modern compromiser, with some Gen X/Y postmodern angst/indifference muddying the rhetoric.
It's all terribly exciting.
*For those keeping score, your humble blogresses aren't all in the same boat parturitionally speaking, and should not be assumed to be walking in lockstep on these matters. For example, breastfeeding spaces children somewhat generously for one of us. One of us doesn't puke her brains out the entire time she's pregnant. And one of us isn't pure evil.
18 August 2008
17 August 2008
I don't roll on Shabbas
I hate Sunday, because I should love it. But everybody needs to eat on Sunday, which requires cooking to begin with and by-produces dirty dishes and diapers just like any other day. Obviously there are all the complications that go into getting everyone to church while remembering to keep my voice down so the nice people on their way to church won't hear the all the yelling that goes on in their beautiful parsonage. Dad has to spend the afternoon pulling oxen out of wells. It wouldn't be a big deal except that I have this baptismally implanted notion that Sunday should be a day of rest. So I spend the whole day thinking about how it's Sunday and I should be resting instead of doing all the normal stuff plus. Then I get crabby.
15 August 2008
How to have an intervention-free hospital birth
Homebirth propagandists' warnings notwithstanding, it can be done. I've done it four times. What you do is, when the nurses come at you with a needle or a plastic bag full of evil or a pair of scissors or a beeping gizmo, you tell them no. And then they can't do it, because if they do, you can sue them. See? Easy.
Now, you do have to be ready to tell them no. You might have to tell them more than once, because nurses are used to the standard interventions and it makes them nervous not to do them. Your husband should also be prepared to tell them no because once you're in it hard core you start getting confused. But if you tell them no, they won't do it. Remember, you pay them. If they start acting up, fire them (more likely, they'll leave on their own and send in someone more accommodating). The first time is the hardest. After you've done it a few times, nurses are cooler about letting you do it your way.
D.A.R.E. to keep moms off drugs
Our first time, the nurses all thought we were Jehovah's Witnesses because I wouldn't let them hook me up to anything. But they can think whatever they want. Just push out the baby with whatever personal flair you find necessary to get the job done and be on your way. They'll be impressed, and wonder why Lutherans don't allow pitocin. :D
I would be a good candidate for homebirth if I lived in a state that allowed it, and if I lived close enough to a hospital that we could get there in time for them to save me or the baby in case of an emergency. But I don't and I don't, so it's not an option for us because I will not take the risk of not having help for our baby (I'm pretty sure I'd be fine by this point). Hospitals are all there are in these parts, and if that's the case for you, and you don't want to get poked, take a lesson from Nancy Reagan and Just Say No.
Now, you do have to be ready to tell them no. You might have to tell them more than once, because nurses are used to the standard interventions and it makes them nervous not to do them. Your husband should also be prepared to tell them no because once you're in it hard core you start getting confused. But if you tell them no, they won't do it. Remember, you pay them. If they start acting up, fire them (more likely, they'll leave on their own and send in someone more accommodating). The first time is the hardest. After you've done it a few times, nurses are cooler about letting you do it your way.
D.A.R.E. to keep moms off drugsOur first time, the nurses all thought we were Jehovah's Witnesses because I wouldn't let them hook me up to anything. But they can think whatever they want. Just push out the baby with whatever personal flair you find necessary to get the job done and be on your way. They'll be impressed, and wonder why Lutherans don't allow pitocin. :D
I would be a good candidate for homebirth if I lived in a state that allowed it, and if I lived close enough to a hospital that we could get there in time for them to save me or the baby in case of an emergency. But I don't and I don't, so it's not an option for us because I will not take the risk of not having help for our baby (I'm pretty sure I'd be fine by this point). Hospitals are all there are in these parts, and if that's the case for you, and you don't want to get poked, take a lesson from Nancy Reagan and Just Say No.
10 August 2008
I saw my life flash before my eyes today
Or, to be more precise, I saw what I always thought would be my life: Mom, Dad and 2 kids in a midsize SUV with kayaks on top and a pop-up camper behind.
This vision appeared as I entered my seventh hour in the middle seat of our minivan--the dog, that spoiled mutt, was riding shotgun, while I tried to entertain the baby and help the back row with their stickers, maps, and etch-a-sketches.
When I remarked to my husband that I had just seen my (not) life pass me by, he immediately corrected me: "No, we passed them." Well, yeah. True in all senses. Not even a contest. Though I do look forward to reclaiming that front seat.
09 August 2008
Support local business
and buy yourself a little free time for yardwork.Go to your hometown Hardware Hank and pick up a few of these spray bottles, then go home and turn the kids loose. The bottles cost less than a decent squirt gun, have a good range, don't have to be refilled every two minutes, and feature a cool mist setting.
When the kids are done squirting each other, they move on to semi-productive things like blasting anthills and pretending to be firefighters. Lots of burning bushes around here (though none of them have delivered any particular messages).
Bonus feature: pick up some sidewalk chalk too, and they can spray their drawings when they're done.
Disturbing quotation of the week
This article (which was recently reprinted in our local paper) discusses the difficulty parents face in trying to determine which TV shows are "appropriate" for their kids.
Since parents find it taxing and time-consuming to screen what their kids are watching, Lee Woodruff, mom and parenting topics reporter, offers this advice: "That's where the mom network is really helpful. I can't know about all the shows that are appropriate for them ... so I'll do a quick 411 info gathering. 'What are your girls watching? What's it like?'"
And here's my favorite part of the article: "It takes a village of cable TV watchers."
Um, or maybe we could NOT rely on cable TV, and other people's opinions thereof, to raise our kids? Just a thought...
Since parents find it taxing and time-consuming to screen what their kids are watching, Lee Woodruff, mom and parenting topics reporter, offers this advice: "That's where the mom network is really helpful. I can't know about all the shows that are appropriate for them ... so I'll do a quick 411 info gathering. 'What are your girls watching? What's it like?'"
And here's my favorite part of the article: "It takes a village of cable TV watchers."
Um, or maybe we could NOT rely on cable TV, and other people's opinions thereof, to raise our kids? Just a thought...
07 August 2008
Tunnel Vision
Thanks to Dr. H (of L&P fame) for alerting us to some inspiration over at One More Soul: This article is brief and worth the read.
Cheatsheet: Emily Sederstrand writes, “While new parenthood is certainly joyful and miraculous, the years in the Tunnel [the first five years of parenthood] can also be frightening, overwhelming and anxiety-producing. I have known many parents with two young children who say with conviction, “We couldn’t possibly have a third!” They often are working under the assumption that adding another baby would exponentially increase their current burdens, and they predict (incorrectly) that those burdens are permanent and unchanging.”
I’m not naïve enough to think that parenting suddenly gets much easier once the kids hit a certain age. I have only secondhand knowledge of challenges yet to be faced (educational decisions and responsibilities, the sturm und drang of adolescence, activities here and there and everywhere, etc.). But from my limited perspective, I’m inclined to agree with Sederstrand: in many ways, the first few years of parenthood are the most overwhelming. I understand why so many people give up and say “Done” amidst the struggle to get two kids housebroken and socialized.
We haven’t hit that 5-year mark of parenting yet, but I’m already able to tell people with younger kids that in some ways, life with 3 kids is easier/more sane than life with only one or two. Never thought I’d say it, but it’s true.
Don’t get me wrong: Yesterday it took me almost an hour to mobilize the troops for a simple outing, if you count the time it took to nurse the baby, pack the snacks and diaper bag, supervise the bathroom visits, grab a few books and trucks to take along, break up the incidental fracases, get everyone buckled in…to say nothing of the emergency roadside stop—in the rain, in the mud—when the back row declared a bathroom emergency…
But it’s not always like that. And we’ve noticed that BoyTwo (not exactly a Compliant Child) will often, remarkably, follow the hard-won lead of BoyOne. A year ago, I would never have thought such a thing possible. We actually have fewer all-out battles of the will with things like church behavior now than a year ago, even with adding a baby. So by the fourth kid or so we won’t have to do much actual parenting, but just stand back and watch them fall neatly in line, right? (ha ha haaaaaaaa).
We need more of what Sederstrand is calling for in this piece: experienced mothers encouraging mothers who are struggling through those first “tunnel” years. I wish I’d had more women telling me this 2 or 3 years ago. Heck, I’d still like to hear it. We need more forthrightness about this whole adventure of motherhood: the darker realities, yes, but the light at the end of that tunnel as well.
Cheatsheet: Emily Sederstrand writes, “While new parenthood is certainly joyful and miraculous, the years in the Tunnel [the first five years of parenthood] can also be frightening, overwhelming and anxiety-producing. I have known many parents with two young children who say with conviction, “We couldn’t possibly have a third!” They often are working under the assumption that adding another baby would exponentially increase their current burdens, and they predict (incorrectly) that those burdens are permanent and unchanging.”
I’m not naïve enough to think that parenting suddenly gets much easier once the kids hit a certain age. I have only secondhand knowledge of challenges yet to be faced (educational decisions and responsibilities, the sturm und drang of adolescence, activities here and there and everywhere, etc.). But from my limited perspective, I’m inclined to agree with Sederstrand: in many ways, the first few years of parenthood are the most overwhelming. I understand why so many people give up and say “Done” amidst the struggle to get two kids housebroken and socialized.
We haven’t hit that 5-year mark of parenting yet, but I’m already able to tell people with younger kids that in some ways, life with 3 kids is easier/more sane than life with only one or two. Never thought I’d say it, but it’s true.
Don’t get me wrong: Yesterday it took me almost an hour to mobilize the troops for a simple outing, if you count the time it took to nurse the baby, pack the snacks and diaper bag, supervise the bathroom visits, grab a few books and trucks to take along, break up the incidental fracases, get everyone buckled in…to say nothing of the emergency roadside stop—in the rain, in the mud—when the back row declared a bathroom emergency…
But it’s not always like that. And we’ve noticed that BoyTwo (not exactly a Compliant Child) will often, remarkably, follow the hard-won lead of BoyOne. A year ago, I would never have thought such a thing possible. We actually have fewer all-out battles of the will with things like church behavior now than a year ago, even with adding a baby. So by the fourth kid or so we won’t have to do much actual parenting, but just stand back and watch them fall neatly in line, right? (ha ha haaaaaaaa).
We need more of what Sederstrand is calling for in this piece: experienced mothers encouraging mothers who are struggling through those first “tunnel” years. I wish I’d had more women telling me this 2 or 3 years ago. Heck, I’d still like to hear it. We need more forthrightness about this whole adventure of motherhood: the darker realities, yes, but the light at the end of that tunnel as well.
05 August 2008
CSPP Conversion: A progressive tale
Not everyone has to be dragged kicking and screaming into CSPP. But here’s one version of my story.
1) This is your brain on drugs. You pop your pills, congratulating yourself on being responsible enough to put off children while you “get to know each other” and do Important Things like Hanging Out and collecting random graduate degrees. You may have an occasional sense of unease but it’s vague (and quite possibly related to the side effects of the hormones you’re pumping into your body).
2) Isn’t that a Papist thing? A longtime RC friend speaks gently to you about why the Pill might not be such a great idea. You try to relegate this to the same category as purgatory propaganda…but your hormone-addled mind is nevertheless more uneasy than usual. Perhaps the disquiet is reinforced by a brochure Renee Gibbs handed to you at seminary, and by rumors of classmates—uber-Lutherans!—who are tossing their pills.
3) Uh-oh. Now it’s getting personal. The unease grows and you think hey, maybe this is important enough to consider for more than half a minute. You come across evidence like this that makes you quit drugs cold turkey. Perhaps you attempt some other “methods” or perhaps you’ve simultaneously become an NFP convert, squinting through the Kippleys’ papistry in order to become champion charters (or learning the Billings Ovulation Method, or…).
4) Slippery Slope. As we well know, the trip from NFP to Baby to CSPP is notoriously short...
5) Reluctant Martyrdom/Angry Resignation. By this time you have a baby or two and are adjusting to the normal systemic shock brought by bearing a child and being in the full-time company thereof--but also to the staggering realization that the road ahead is paved with more diapers and less You than you ever envisioned. You can recite the pro-CSPP arguments in your sleep (when you get any sleep) but that doesn’t mean you have to like them. This stage may also be characterized by CSPP-evangelism that is motivated largely by Self-Pitying Self-Righteousness and Misery Loves Company.
6) Earnest zeal. You’ve become somewhat reconciled to your fate but still tense up whenever childbearing-related topics or references to being Done arise in casual conversation, feeling an intense burden to say exactly the right thing every time. (Like anyone’s really listening to you anyway!)
7) Live and let live (literally!), and revel in the wonder of it all. Theological arguments for CSPP are great…if you’ve got the time and can organize your gray matter, which seems highly unlikely, given the jumble of shoes in the back hall and the upheaval of playthings across the house. You’re not afraid to speak boldly for truth, but your life becomes your witness, along with quiet conversations at opportune moments.
And these children—they who seemed (and indeed still sometimes seem) to be your prison wardens—these same children, they are amazing. Incomprehensible. Every new morning, new every morning, you have the opportunity to nurture their growing bodies, to shape their stretching souls, even as you yourself are sanctified through the same process. And you think: I would trade the co-creation of persons who will live forever in Christ’s presence for—what again? A cubicle? A corner office? More stuff and more vacations? More time to pursue “my Christian calling and gifts” as dictated by my own self?
O, this tow-headed row of blue-eyed boys—these unexpected, undeserved, unruly and unrivalled blessings—there is no contest. There will be no trade.
Or as Rebekah has so adeptly, so succinctly, so eloquently described it: Kick A where you’re planted!
1) This is your brain on drugs. You pop your pills, congratulating yourself on being responsible enough to put off children while you “get to know each other” and do Important Things like Hanging Out and collecting random graduate degrees. You may have an occasional sense of unease but it’s vague (and quite possibly related to the side effects of the hormones you’re pumping into your body).
2) Isn’t that a Papist thing? A longtime RC friend speaks gently to you about why the Pill might not be such a great idea. You try to relegate this to the same category as purgatory propaganda…but your hormone-addled mind is nevertheless more uneasy than usual. Perhaps the disquiet is reinforced by a brochure Renee Gibbs handed to you at seminary, and by rumors of classmates—uber-Lutherans!—who are tossing their pills.
3) Uh-oh. Now it’s getting personal. The unease grows and you think hey, maybe this is important enough to consider for more than half a minute. You come across evidence like this that makes you quit drugs cold turkey. Perhaps you attempt some other “methods” or perhaps you’ve simultaneously become an NFP convert, squinting through the Kippleys’ papistry in order to become champion charters (or learning the Billings Ovulation Method, or…).
4) Slippery Slope. As we well know, the trip from NFP to Baby to CSPP is notoriously short...
5) Reluctant Martyrdom/Angry Resignation. By this time you have a baby or two and are adjusting to the normal systemic shock brought by bearing a child and being in the full-time company thereof--but also to the staggering realization that the road ahead is paved with more diapers and less You than you ever envisioned. You can recite the pro-CSPP arguments in your sleep (when you get any sleep) but that doesn’t mean you have to like them. This stage may also be characterized by CSPP-evangelism that is motivated largely by Self-Pitying Self-Righteousness and Misery Loves Company.
6) Earnest zeal. You’ve become somewhat reconciled to your fate but still tense up whenever childbearing-related topics or references to being Done arise in casual conversation, feeling an intense burden to say exactly the right thing every time. (Like anyone’s really listening to you anyway!)
7) Live and let live (literally!), and revel in the wonder of it all. Theological arguments for CSPP are great…if you’ve got the time and can organize your gray matter, which seems highly unlikely, given the jumble of shoes in the back hall and the upheaval of playthings across the house. You’re not afraid to speak boldly for truth, but your life becomes your witness, along with quiet conversations at opportune moments.
And these children—they who seemed (and indeed still sometimes seem) to be your prison wardens—these same children, they are amazing. Incomprehensible. Every new morning, new every morning, you have the opportunity to nurture their growing bodies, to shape their stretching souls, even as you yourself are sanctified through the same process. And you think: I would trade the co-creation of persons who will live forever in Christ’s presence for—what again? A cubicle? A corner office? More stuff and more vacations? More time to pursue “my Christian calling and gifts” as dictated by my own self?
O, this tow-headed row of blue-eyed boys—these unexpected, undeserved, unruly and unrivalled blessings—there is no contest. There will be no trade.
Or as Rebekah has so adeptly, so succinctly, so eloquently described it: Kick A where you’re planted!
04 August 2008
Encouragement for the Battle-Weary
"Perhaps you find the duty of your calling too heavy for your weak faith. Look to God for strength. When you are sick of your work and ready like Jonah to run away, encourage yourself with God's words to Gideon: 'Go in this thy might...have I not sent thee?' (Jud. 6:14). Begin the work God has given you, and you will engage His strength for you; run from your work, and you engage God's strength against you. He will send some storm or other after you to bring His runaway servant home...
"Your heavenly Father is so eager to care for you, that while you are timidly asking for a nibble of peace and joy, He is longing for you to open your mouth wide so that He can fill it....
"Go quickly now. Search your heart from one end to another, and gather up all your weaknesses. Set them before the Almighty, as the widow placed her empty vessels before the prophet. Expect a miracle of deliverance from the limitless resources of God. If you had more vessels to bring, you could have them all filled...
"Never let the weakness of your faith keep you from the presence of God. The very sight of the pale face and thin cheeks of your faith, your love, your patience, will move His heart with compassion and carry a strong argument for His aid."
From the modernized abridgment of William Gurnall's The Christian in Complete Armour, p. 54-55 (Book, probably Recommended; I'm only 55 pages into the 3-volume set).
01 August 2008
The King Of Love My Shepherd Is
The thing that makes being a pastor's wife weird is not that pastors know people intimately, deal with them in high-pressure situations, or end up being hated by some people. These things happen in lots of other professions. The thing that makes it weird is that many people love their pastor. Doctors offer healing, police and lawyers and soldiers and Thrivent dudes offer protection. To them we are grateful, and their services are as reliable as the bills they incur. But pastors offer comfort, and comfort garners more than gratitude; it garners love.
So we who are left home alone on Sunday afternoons or Christmas or whatever other inconvenient times sheep are taken ill, alone, and comfortless cannot begrudge them their need for our loved one. He is their loved one too. He has cared for them in their indignity, respected their fear and pain and anger and doubt and sorrow by taking it seriously, even learned to see thestrals with them; of course they love him. And when we are the sheep in need of comfort, how dear is the shepherd who tends us, who leaves his dearest flock to rescue one lost.
So we who are left home alone on Sunday afternoons or Christmas or whatever other inconvenient times sheep are taken ill, alone, and comfortless cannot begrudge them their need for our loved one. He is their loved one too. He has cared for them in their indignity, respected their fear and pain and anger and doubt and sorrow by taking it seriously, even learned to see thestrals with them; of course they love him. And when we are the sheep in need of comfort, how dear is the shepherd who tends us, who leaves his dearest flock to rescue one lost.
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