on privilege and parenting

Dear Samuel,

I am often struck by your demographic information: "white, male". It is uncomfortable to recognize that those two characteristics, things completely out of my control or your control thrust you into the most privileged category of human on the planet.

What do I mean by privilege?

I do not have to worry about police stopping your car (or worse) because you look like you don't belong.
You will always be given the benefit of the doubt.
In every career field, you will be able to find a role model who looks like you.
I will not need to actively strive to keep you out of the school to prison pipeline.
You are likely to earn higher wages than your white female counterparts or your male or female counterparts of other races.

Now, don't get me wrong, your dad and I plan to do everything we can to raise you to be a kind, generous, confident, hard-working individual. But, the fact that data can tell us all the above points about you and your life while you are still an infant means that there are some inequalities in our system.

I am trying to prepare for these conversations (and other hard ones) now. I know that I am going to have them imperfectly, but I think it's better to try and be imperfect than not talk about it at all. To close, here is a quote from a podcast I listened to about this very subject recently.

"If we're silent about it, it tends to trivialize the voices of these marginalized groups of people, that can contribute to minority children feeling devalued. And as a white person in America, you have the privilege of not having to think about your race. You're not constantly reminded of the fact that you're white. And so, it's a lot easier to take a colorblind approach when you are white. Where if you're a black person in America, you are constantly thinking about your race. And so I think it's important that as white people, we also recognize that not everybody has this priviledge of not having to think about our race all the time. And if we want to move toward true equality, it has to be an effort on everybody's part." - Dr. Brigitte Vittrup

I love weddings

My pastor sometimes talks about the Celtic idea of thin places. These are places or times in life when the veil between the human and the divine becomes very thin. The saying is that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in thin places, that distance is even shorter. (Source)

I went to a wedding a while ago. I find weddings, on the whole, to be thin places. There is something exceedingly special about being in a crowd of people that know the couple from all times and stages of their life. This crowd converges from far and near to celebrate in a way that is unmatched at any other time in someone's life. The energy is palpable. We are all breathless as the groom* and bridal party trickles in. Finally, the bride makes her entrance. The joyful significance of her procession down the aisle to her love brings a tear to many an eye, particularly for those who have watched them chase after love for many years before witnessing them finding it in each other.

There are things about weddings that make me feel uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel nervous about seeing people I haven't seen or talked to in many years. (#IntrovertProblems) This usually passes after I push through the first burst of it.. sort of like diving into a cold pool. The worst thing about weddings is when the officiant (or anyone else, but especially the officiant) makes stereotypical marriage jokes or offers marriage advice during the ceremony. The jokes kill the sacred mood that was just created during the processional. And let's be honest - the couple isn't going to remember the advice - you should have given them that before the wedding day.

But even amidst the small talk with strangers or the awkward jokes and advice, I still love weddings. To me, this is a sign that they are truly a thin place. In the midst of our too-long, rambling toasts and wondering if we are dressed up too much/ not enough, something special happens. It's un-ruinable. And that is why I love weddings.

*I have never been to a wedding with two grooms or two brides (though I hope to someday!), so I can't speak to that experience, but I imagine the weight and beauty of the ceremony would be similar. 

Kenosis hymn

I wrote this last year while I was pregnant, but for a number of reasons, decided not to share my pregnancy online. 

August 21, 2016

Who, being in the form of God
did not count what he had
as something to be grasped...
but he emptied himself
he took the form of slave
becoming as we are
becoming as we are
And being in every way like a human being
in every way like you and me -
he was humbler yet.

These are words based on Philippians 2:7 from a song we sing at church called "Kenosis hymn." I hear in them an invitation to release my own agenda and priorities, to open up and let God's energy flow through me rather than balling up my fists and trying to control it.

It struck me a lot today that this release is something I've been... what is the word?... wrestling with this whole pregnancy.

Pregnancy is opening up your body in a very physical, emotional, and spiritual way to the real needs of another person living inside you. No longer is your body just available to serve you. Hunger changes. Cravings happen. Sleep needs change. Emotions are all over the place. Things that were familiar before become unfamiliar. I used to know how much to eat every day, how much I could eat if there was a lot of delicious food available, and then how long it would take me after that to go back to my normal hunger levels.

This is the most real way I have ever been asked to empty myself and my own desires to serve someone else. I desire wine? Too bad. I want to stay up and get that project done? Not going to happen. My cravings are bizarre, my clothes don't fit. And the only way forward is to embrace it, to release into it. To acknowledge the privilege I have in hosting this small person that I do not yet know inside me. It is a radical hospitality that demands much... it will demand almost everything. And in its own small way, I hope and know that it is serving God somehow. Because when we open up ourselves to the stranger, we open ourselves up to Jesus. 

We are three!

Author's note: Apparently this got lost in my blog files. But even more than one year later, it is still accurate. 

August 11, 2016
Dear Caleb,

Last night, I dreamed that my mom was becoming a police officer and that you and I were taking a second honeymoon. But I already told you that.

What I didn't tell you, but you probably felt the ramifications of since I hugged you like eighty bajillion times this morning, is that I stayed awake for a long while thinking about you and about love and marriage. 

I thought about how we have lived in a new place every year since getting married - three in total - and about how this year we aren't planning to move anywhere. I say "aren't planning" because we weren't planning to move anywhere last year either, but you just never know. 

I think it's pretty special, because looking back on it now, I remember our first place on Jackson and how new marriage was to us and how new life together was. How I didn't really want to see very many people that year except for you. How we both changed jobs, me twice. It was a special time. Remember when we used to sit around and listen to the Hobbit on tape, because we didn't have internet or TV or smartphones? I remember at the end of that time, I really wanted a room with a door besides the bathroom. It was hard in some ways, but I remember feeling so in love with you, and so thankful for you when you comforted me about the mice. So. many. mice.

And our second place, in Rosedale. It seemed like the cleanest and most beautiful home in the whole world. Everything was finished, and there was carpet and the washer was in the kitchen, and you had a garage to tinker in!  It was the perfect size for us, with two rooms with doors besides the bathroom. It was close to everything and so cozy. 

Then last year we bought the house where we live now. Our neighborhood is a blend of re-done and run-down, but still very live-able, houses. Nobody cares if you don't mow your lawn, or if you have a rooster, or get your mail in your underwear. I like it. We have lots of ideas for improving our house, but time is tight, and money is tight because of our plan to get out of debt. One thing that has defined this year is that Ralph lived with us for most of it. And we got our lil chickens, who have been a source of great delight. 

And as I laid in bed and thought about these things, I thought about how people say that you think you couldn't possibly love each other more than you do on the day when you get married. But somehow over the years, through the daily routines and waking each other up, and reminding the other person that you are out of milk or peanut butter, your heart grows and grows. And even though there are tense times or times when one or both of us is stressed, I love you so much more than I ever have before.

Words and not rushing it

Sometimes my baby just wants to be held.

At times, this is difficult for me because my baby is HEAVY. He was 15 lbs by six weeks. But he has all the same needs for closeness and cuddles and comfort as a teeny little baby.

A fierceness I didn't know I had sprang up inside me sometime during pregnancy. One of the places I was surprised to find myself directing this fierceness was at protecting his littleness.

"What a man child!" an acquaintance exclaimed upon seeing him when he was just a few weeks old. "No." I heard myself say. "He is a baby, a newborn baby. Please do not call him a man child." A larger than average baby, yes, but still, relatively speaking, a very tiny human being.

People often call their baby boys "little man". This phrase has always bugged me. Babies are not little men. They are little boys or little girls. No need to make them adults before their time. I think this is especially true for babies who are on the larger end of the growth charts. A friend who has a 3 year old who is big for his age shared with me a particular challenge - he looks older, so people expect him to behave like an older child. But he is still very young. It is important to me that he gets to be young, gets to be a baby. He is little! He is growing and looking bigger every day, but when I step back, I see that he is still very small. (Though I am sure there will be a time when he lets me know that he is no longer a little baby, but a BIG boy. And that will be lovely too!)

In general, I tend to place a lot of importance on word choice. Words have power. I am careful to not refer to my baby as "naughty" or "bad". Partly this is because an infant can't really be naughty or bad. (Though of course they can be fussy, wake often, and be very needy!)

I am careful about what words I use when I soothe him. I try not to say, "Don't cry." It's important to me that as he comes into consciousness memory as a child, that he knows that we value his emotions and he knows that crying is a healthy emotional expression. I try to say instead, "I am so sorry you are upset, but I am glad you are letting me know how you feel. I am going to keep trying to help you work through this and together we will figure out what you need." (Yes, it did feel a little funny to say that initially to a newborn.)

Source: The Gottman Institute

More than anything, I want to hold space for my child to be himself at each stage, and language is a part of that. I want to stretch out space for my child in the midst of rushing and hurrying. I want to be mindful of his pace.

I imagine my day as a series of scatter points across a graph. I am a line going from A to B to C to D, etc. What I want to do is take a metaphorical tent post and stretch the line from the ground up, creating a little more room. I try to do this by slowing down, with my actions and my words, and hoping we'll both linger here a little longer. 

We are four

From August 31

This morning, our anniversary looked a little different than ever before. When the happy cooing sounded over the baby monitor that the littlest member of our house was up, I went and got him, and we all laid in bed- Caleb who could not quite open his eyes yet, Samuel who looked around eagerly as he lay between us, and me who alternated between looking around eagerly and not being able to keep my eyes open. 

This year has brought new ways of living out the promises we made each other. And so I have written a few new vows to articulate these new ways. 

I promise to always come check on you when you are trimming trees or working on the roof and there is a thud.
I promise to sit by your side when you are nursing a newborn, even if I am so tired I fall asleep.
I promise to always take over on baby duty when you are so tired you are about to lose your mind.
I promise to keep our cars running and the walls of our house from falling down.
I promise to tell you how much I love you 87 times per week, minimum.
I promise to be the keeper of the memories of Samuel's birth.
I promise to handle the baby poop and kill the cockroaches.
I promise to deal with the mice.
I promise to put away your socks and fold your t-shirts.
I promise to remember where you put your things (phone, keys, water bottle).
I promise to always fawn over how you look in flannel.
I promise to always tell you how good you look in pajamas.
I promise to always tell YOU how good you look in pajamas.
I promise to tell you how good you look period.

As I was working on this, I rediscovered this post. Our first year of marriage was so, so sweet. We cut back on a lot of commitments and activities to just focus on each other. This year, we are cutting back  on commitments and activities again, but for a different reason - it is less of an intentional decision and more of a sort of need to survive. And it is hard, but also it is also sweet. And there is no one I'd rather be sharing it with. 

On keeping vigil, part II

Three a.m. finds me sitting in the rocking chair, holding my infant who is curled around my torso. His little body is relaxed, his breaths soft and quick. I could put him down and go back to bed - I need to put him down and go back to bed - but I linger, willing myself to stay awake for one more minute. I feel his warmth against my heart. The energetic pull is strong.

In these moments, at three a.m., I know that the Bible was written by men. (Men who were probably not very involved in child-rearing.) There are a few metaphors of God as a mother in the Bible, but only a very few. 

The fierceness with which I love my child, with which I love (as much as one can love) the three a.m. wake-up calls, the desperate cravings I experience to be in his presence, to see his face as he discovers the world, the energetic pull that causes me to draw him to my heart over and over again - nothing could have prepared me for it. 

I can only imagine that God's love for us is just as fierce, just as strong. Okay, probably stronger and fiercer. And for all the metaphors for God, I think they miss this. Or maybe it's just something we have to experience. 

On keeping vigil [part I]