Post #57: A Grief Observed (Birthing Edition)

I'm just going to start this post with a trigger warning. Death is not what is being described, but this post in going to involve the processing of some birth trauma, and so if this is something that may trigger you, I would strongly encourage you to not read.

Last night I sat down to start watching season 10 of Call the Midwife. I was pretty excited for this. Jordan was working late, the kids were in bed, and I'm a pretty big fan of the show. I've even read the books the show is based on. I got halfway through the first episode and then I couldn't go on. I was a complete mess. 

Now I do cry a lot more since having kids. Like every time we watch Encanto, and the point in the finale hits where the townspeople show up and tell the Madrigals to lay down their burdens and let them help? Yup. I cry. Every time. I know it is coming and still I cry. So at first I chalked this experience up to that.

Except I couldn't stop crying. And along with the tears came the flashbacks.

The delivery room.

The red button on the wall getting pushed and help being called for.

Finding myself surrounded by doctors.

My baby getting rushed away.

A feeling of defeat.

I didn't realize I suffered from birth trauma until I was in the process of giving birth to Gwen. I had a healthy son and didn't feel that I should have anything to process or deal with trauma from. But now, for the first time, I'm going to actually sit and write and process what happened. So please bear with me.

Anson's Birth

It took us almost a year to get pregnant with Anson, something I know I have shared before. My pregnancy with him was about as smooth as they could go. I kept up my running until my midwife suggested I stop at 32 weeks to safe my pelvic floor. I even ran a half marathon at 20.5 weeks. I felt good. Anson was due October 18, so my plan was to still teach for the first six weeks of school, and then start my mat leave the Friday before my due date. Both Jordan and I were late babies, so we just assumed our kids would also push well beyond its due date.

The third week of school I got the strongest urge to make sure that I sat down with the three teachers who were taking over for me and make sure they knew where I was in each class and what my plan was for the next three weeks. I didn't actually think anything would happen, but figured better late than never.

I was also convinced our baby would be HUGE. I was 9lbs14oz, and Jordan was 9lbs at birth. So I didn't have any newborn clothes ready, only size 3mos. That same Friday I felt like I should hit the store and just pick up a few newborn things. Just in case. So I did. I then went home and, as was my custom, curled up in bed with our cats and took a nap.

Jordan came home and woke me up. His parents had stopped in. We were renovating our bathroom and they wanted to see the process. As I groggily made my way downstairs (seriously, I can see this happening as if it were just yesterday), I felt a sudden gush. I actually thought I was peeing myself, although I was vaguely aware that I didn't feel like I needed to pee. I remember clenching my legs to no avail, and at some point asking everyone to get out of the bathroom. My in-laws left and I went back upstairs. Jordan came up to find me in clean pants and smelling my old ones. I remember saying, "Well, either I just peed my pants, or else my water just broke."

Sure enough, it was my water. I was 36+2 weeks. We ended up at the hospital for an induction. After about 21.5 hours of induction, nothing was happening. My midwife looked at my belly and informed Anson that he had about 5 minutes to kick active labor into gear or else we were going in for a c-section. Within 5 minutes active labor started and in about 5 hours Anson was born. My midwife held him up for me to see and I got to announce "It's a boy" as we hadn't known the sex. He was placed on my chest and it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life.

And then he got pulled off and the peds team was called in. The midwife noticed something funny about how he was breathing and they had to take him to the NICU. I got stitched up, taken to see him (couldn't hold him yet), and then put in my room, where I spent the night listening to the couple beside me with their baby, all while wishing beyond all hope that I could have had my boy with me.

Anson and I spent the next five days in the hospital. Of the nights we spent there, I got to have him with me for one. The other nights were spent listening to other moms with their babies. Time spent trying to breastfeed, but because of his jaundice and the fact that he was early the nurses had be pump and bottle feed him. Every three hours I would go in, snuggle him, give him a bottle and then go back to my room and use the hospital pump to pump milk out that I would then give him at the next feed.

We got sent home on the Thursday. On Saturday we were told we had to take him back for another night because of jaundice.

By the time we got home, Anson was in the clear. There was never anything seriously wrong with him, he was just a bit early. In fact our doctor ended up declaring at his two month check up that you would never believe he was early and that he was right on track for his actual birth date.

Once he regained his birth weight I was able to stop only pumping for feeds and we were able to breastfeed.

So happy ending. 

Which I why it never hit me that the whole process had been traumatic.

Gwen's Birth

Three weeks before Gwen was born Jordan implemented a new system at work. This meant that the man was putting in roughly 18 hour days, 6 days a week. One week before she was born we moved. Had one of my best friends not swooped in to help organize our move for us, I'm fairly certain Gwen would have showed up that weekend. Instead she graciously waited until I was 38+5 weeks.

 I remember watching TV with Jordan the Saturday night after we moved and finishing my report card comments (and sending them to my partner teacher for editing). After texting a friend and colleague that comments were done, she jokingly texted back "So baby tomorrow?" And we laughed.

The next morning we headed to Canadian Tire to get some things for the house. While Jordan was inspecting new locks for the door, I started feeling a trickle. And then another one. And then another one.

We went home, I called my midwife, and by that night we knew that my water had broken. The midwife said she would call in the morning if she hadn't heard from us overnight. Cue the next morning where there were zero contractions or signs of Gwen making her appearance. We made our way to the hospital for another induction. Our midwife and I shared a few laughs as we listened to Jordan on the phone walking through someone how to copy and paste in excel. 

12 hours after induction and 36 hours after my water broke, Gwen was born. Her labor was easier than Anson's and minus a pre-term labor assessment around 32 weeks my pregnancy with her was fairly smooth (no half marathons, but you can't win them all). And then she was born. And instead of Jordan cutting her cord and me getting that immediate skin-to-skin, all I saw was Gwen's very blue face. She was immediately taken to the warming table and the midwives had to get her oxygen.

This was the moment when I realized I may have suffered birth trauma from Anson's birth. As I watched another baby taken to a warming table it felt like the longest 30 seconds of my life. Jordan stood by me and we held our breath and were certain an eternity had passed.

The got Gwen breathing and she was placed on my chest and the only time I put her down after that in the hospital was when the nurses came to check her blood glucose levels. After two nights in the hospital we got to go home. 

But because of the busyness with work, the next few months were a whirlwind of trying to find a routine, trying to settle into a house, and trying to allow my body time to heal while also taking care of my two kids.

Despite the blue face, Gwen was fine (and is currently riding a stuff Pluto doll calling in her horse), and while the circumstances and stressors around her birth were not at all ideal, I still didn't think I had anything to be traumatized by.

Ella's Birth

Cue our Covid baby, haha. Aside from the normal side effects of three pregnancies and four years, my pregnancy with Ella went smoothly. It was definitely different due to covid protocols (Jordan didn't get to come to any appoints or the anatomy scan with me), but Ella and I were healthy.

At 37 weeks I was officially on leave, my house was ready, and I was feeling soooo prepared for my baby to come. Then Jordan came home, told me he had been identified as a close contact of someone who tested positive, and that set off about a week and a half of him isolating in our attic and masking around us so that I could still leave to go to midwife appointments. We had hoped for an induction as baby was measuring big, but ultimately the call was made to try and not induce labor while Jordan was still isolating.

He came out of isolation when I was 39 weeks. My mom came and took the kids for the weekend on April 30 and they came home on May 2. Everything was again ready.

I put Gwen to sleep and as I was leaving her room that night I again felt that trickle. Followed by another. Despite the fact that only about 15% of women have their water break naturally before labor begins, it happened for all three of my kids. We called the midwife and we didn't even have to go in for them to double check if it was my water. We called our parents, figured out the plan for the next few days, and went to bed. After about three hours I woke up to contractions. I timed them, texted with my sister the nurse, called the midwife, and we headed to the hospital.

While I didn't have to be induced I did have some pretty significant back labor and so, like with the other two, I opted for an epidural. Everything seemed to progress normally with Ella's birth except that it felt like it took forever to push her out. Once her head was out the midwife wasted no time in pressing the red call button and calling for help.

Ella was stuck.

All of a sudden our delivery room was flooded with people. I was surrounded by doctors. Three different doctors stuck their hands into me in an attempt to get Ella free. The third succeeded. I remember feeling like a failure. Being overwhelmed with this sense of defeat as I tried to push my daughter out but couldn't. It felt like I was killing her.

I remember watching this not crying baby getting carried over to the peds team and the warming table. I remember seeing blue hands and blue feet. And then she was wheeled away. I remember lying on the table and just crying. They stitched me up and all I could do was cry.

The doctor working on Ella came in to tell me what had happened. Her head had been out for about four minutes while the rest of her body was still stuck inside. I later found out it was moderate-severe shoulder dystocia (both her shoulders were stuck on my pubic bone). They had to monitor her for organ failure and neurological damage because all the oxygen from her body had started rushing toward her head when it was the only body part out. He said she was looking really good but that they were taking this seriously and covering all their bases.

Once I was taken care of I got wheeled out to see Ella.

Within 2.5 hours of her birth the NICU was calling me to tell me Ella was hungry. I went to nurse and she took to it right away. They felt confident that she was going to be just fine, and her love of eating definitely encouraged that. About 25-26 hours after she was born we were released from the hospital.

Since Ella's birth, there have been random moments when driving or watching TV or cuddling her when all of a sudden I am transported back to Ella's delivery room. Where I am reliving the experience or the feelings from her birth. Then I find myself working backwards through the others' births.

Out of my three babies I only ever got to hold one of them right away. And the one I got to hold got taken away right away. Of my three babies, two ended up in the NICU. Jordan and I have always wanted three kids, but had we wanted more I would have ended up saying no anyway after Ella's birth. Despite healthy babies and healthy pregnancies, birthing is not an easy process for my babies. I don't know why. No one does. It is just the way things have gone.

But I have struggled to admit to many that I struggle with birth trauma. I didn't get emergency c-sections. My babies are all healthy and happy. I didn't lose a child.

Last night, for the first time, I finally looked up birth trauma. I discovered that it is actually a form of PTSD. That my experiences were common ones linked to birth trauma. And that my feelings of reliving those experiences are common symptoms of it.

So why write this? Why this post? 

It is different than most of my posts. But my blog is called Seeking Sanity. And God has always used writing as a means of helping me process. And maybe, just maybe, someone else is out there, reading this, and feeling like they might be dealing with some form of trauma, but because the circumstances that caused it aren't as "bad" as someone else, they don't feel they can admit it or talk about it or get help for it.

One day I really do hope to get the chance to sit down and actually talk about this with someone who is licensed to help me with the processing part. But for now, finally writing out my birth stories and acknowledging how and why they have impacted me is the first step on my road to healing.

Post #56: Dear Christians (Part 2)

Dear Christians,

This post in all sorts of variations has been simmering at the back of my mind for a while. Today I'm finally sitting down to write it, but am finding that I'm having trouble coming up with where to start. So maybe I will start with this: 

I am not "anti-church." I attend church. I love my church. And I have had Christians in churches I have been a part of love on me as no one else has.

But I have also been hurt by churches. I've seen the damage that can be done by insecure leaders. I've seen (and had to deal with) the hurt and trauma caused by unbiblical teaching. And I have talked to a lot of people who have had to deal with similar (and far worse) trauma than I have.

Just over a week ago, my sister sent me a text. All it read was, "Did you hear about Ravi Zacharias?" At that point I hadn't, but as soon as I read her message, my heart sank. The thoughts racing through my head mainly consisted of Another leader? Sure enough, a quick search revealed the truth slowly coming to the surface surrounding the abuse suffered by many at Zacharias' hands.

One thing I have found interesting in the wake of this is the number of people I have talked to who have been able to address and share some of the trauma they have suffered at the hands of the church. Whether it was how sex was taught, how male-female relationships were dealt with, or that you should never ask questions, there have been a lot of people sharing a lot of hurt.

My own hurt has been varied, and I honestly feel like I came out relatively unscathed compared to so many I know. I spent a long time feeling like my value rested only in my relationship status. The older I got and the more single I was, the less I felt like I was valued and belonged. I felt like the most important part of me was my virginity. It was implied that anything I prayed for would happen as long as I had enough faith (which meant when things didn't happen, I felt like I was an awful Christian who just didn't have enough faith). When people I loved took a Biblical approach to conflict, I watched church leadership strike back because they were insecure. I listened to Scripture being twisted so that sermons were not used to teach about the Bible, but instead to pat a pastor's back and to point to all the things he had done right. I listened to sermons on unbelief and questioning, where people were told to just not question and to just believe. I felt stupid and like a bad Christian because I thought dating sounded like fun and I couldn't wait to get to do it (which meant the fact that I didn't get my first boyfriend until I was 20 made me feel like maybe God was punishing me because of my views). 

And a lot of people have shared similar experiences, as well as other ones. I'm not surprised by any of this. The church is made up of imperfect people, and as such it has a long history of causing hurt and pain and devastation in the name of holiness (Crusades, Inquisition, Residential Schools, etc). People are imperfect, and so it makes complete sense that they will screw up.

But today I read something that made me view this from another perspective. I watched as someone shared their experience of trauma from growing up in the church, but this was someone younger than me who I had been in a position of authority over. And as she shared her experiences, all I could pray was, "Dear God... what hurt and trauma have I caused? What faulty teachings did I perpetuate that in turn led to someone else suffering?" I used to be a youth leader. I was a young adults leader. I have been a teacher for several years. I've been in authority within the church.

So right now, if you are reading this and you are someone who was hurt by me, I am so sorry. I am so sorry I caused you pain and trauma.

Christians, there is a lot coming out now. A lot of people are feeling the freedom to share their hurts and experiences. I'm going to ask something of you, and it will be hard. But please listen.

Don't get defensive.

You will want to. You will want to show all the ways you didn't perpetuate bad teachings. You will want to show that your intentions were good, that you were not trying to cause pain but that you genuinely cared and thought you were doing right.

But please don't.

Because your intentions don't matter. My intentions don't matter. Our intentions don't matter. 

If people were hurt, then they were hurt. You justifying yours or the church's motives is not going to help heal them. But what will help is acknowledging that their pain is real. 

At a time when I was incredibly bitter toward the church, two women in leadership stood in the gap. They were from a completely different church and they had caused me no pain. But they stood in the gap. They listened to my story. The acknowledged my story. And on behalf of church leaders, they apologized for hurting me. When I close my eyes, I can still see myself sitting in a chair in their home, crying as they not only listened and acknowledged, but also as they didn't try to justify away my hurt. 

And so, Christians, despite feeling like you didn't do anything, despite wanting to defend yourself and the church, please don't. Please take the time and the energy to listen. To acknowledge. And through that, to show how a group who, despite being imperfect, can work to reflect Christ's love. 

Post #55: Dear Christians

Dear Christians,

I'm hoping to keep my snarkiness in this post to a minimum, for a few reasons. First of all, I know that it tends to turn people off. Secondly, I really do love you. And lastly, because I am a Christian and I know that I need to reflect Christ.

But I'm also going to admit that it is going to be difficult to do this. Because in the last few weeks many of you have broken my heart. I don't think you mean to, but the things you have been sharing and commenting on social media is enough to repeatedly drive me to tears and breakdowns as I cry out, "Why, God? Why can't they see?"

So please, take this as it is. Which is me sharing my heart with you.

Before anything else, I want to delve into a little history. Regarding slavery, did you know that a huge number of Christians went to church every Sunday, read their Bibles, reached out to the poor in their community, but also wholeheartedly supported slavery? Many even had slaves. Many who claimed to be Christians were members of the KKK, attended and took part in lynchings, and believed that Black people were inferior to themselves. That is not Scriptural. But these Christians still took part in it. Did you know that residential schools in Canada were run by churches? That the people claiming to love Christ were the same people who tried to beat the culture and language of the Indigenous peoples out of them? When Canada and the US were founded, when constitutions were created, they were not created with people of colour in mind. They were created with white people (and specifically white men) in mind.

Please don't tune me out now because I referred to white men. Some of you may be tempted to because you are tired of being told you have white privilege. Please don't. I am begging you, as a fellow Christian, to please keep reading. To please listen.

In my last post I shared what Ijeoma Oluo says about white privilege. How it doesn't mean that you, as a white person, has never had to experience hardship. It just means that the colour of your skin is not one of the things working against you.

I understand you when you say you're tired of hearing that you're racist and privileged. Because you don't see it. You see your personal struggles. You see your experiences. You see how hard your life has been. And you feel like people are trying to tell you that those things don't matter. What you don't see, is that every time you say that, you are also discounting the fact that POC face hardship because of the colour of their skin. You probably don't mean to do that. But you become so defensive, that ultimately it becomes about you. And right now it really doesn't need to be about us. I tried to break this down for someone this week. I explained that privilege does exist and it exists in a variety of ways. Jordan and I had this discussion earlier this week. I'm a woman. Because I'm a woman, it is dangerous for me to go running when it is dark out. Jordan doesn't have to live with that fear. If he wanted to go for a run early in the morning or after work, he could. I have gone for runs in broad daylight and still had men leer at me and yell, "Hey! Wanna come suck my big, fat, white cock?" Jordan doesn't have to live with that fear. He hasn't had to cut a run short to get home because he was scared by what was being yelled at him or how he was treated.  Now that is just a difference between men and women. But it is an example of privilege. A few years ago I had the pleasure of teaching two young women of colour in one of my classes. The most humbling moment of my teaching career to date was when one of these women explained to me that since she was eight, she had had it drilled into what to do if she was pulled over by the police when driving. Since she was eight. My parents never had a talk like that with me. They didn't need to. Another woman explained that every time they traveled somewhere, her dad and brother were always pulled out into another room and questioned. Not just the random, "Hey, you've been chosen for me to do a scan of you" kind of the things. But they were pulled aside, separated from their families, and detained.

My dear Christians, you need to stop being offended and threatened when people explain that you have privilege. I get it is hard to hear. But it is also the truth. You don't need to live in shame of it. What you need to do is acknowledge it, understand that your personal experience is different, and then be open to listening to the experiences of POC. They have spent their whole lives listening to your experiences and being inundated with the assumptions that their experiences are the same as yours. Culture and media are catered to us as white people. I'm not saying this as a way to cast blame, but in the hopes that your eyes will be open to it.

You are right, All lives do matter, The lives of police officers matter. But right now, at this moment, the lives of POC are the ones that need defending. They are the ones being treated differently. They are the ones the most impacted by systemic racism.

A few weeks ago, the house across the street from us caught fire. The fire spread to the house beside it. There was a lot of damage done. Everyone survived, but none of the pets did. But do you know what our neighborhood did? They surrounded the family who lost their home. They provided warmth, food, and comfort. They didn't sit their trying to convince them that their homes also mattered. They didn't sit there wanting to speculate about the cause of the fire to determine whether or not the family needed help. They helped. 

Yes, slavery happened in the past. Yes, residential schools happened in the past (although not that far in the past). Yes, you personally didn't do these things to POC. But guess what? Our Indigenous people are still dealing with the fallout of reserves and residential schools. Alcoholism is used as a coping mechanism to deal with the trauma of this abuse. It leads to many cases of FASD. And the cycle continues. Because of policies towards Black people in the past, there are often cases of them being in poorer neighborhoods. Maybe we didn't cause these issues, but our neighbors are still dealing with the very real consequences of those issues. So please stop telling them to "Get over it because it is in the past." Please stop feeling like a victim because you didn't do anything. Please step past yourself, and realize that your neighbors are hurting. That their pain is very real. And please stop feeling like you need to protect yourself, more than you need to fight for them.

Yes, looting is bad. It is awful that people are taking advantage of protests to loot. But please know that every time you take the conversation to looting, you are saying that businesses are more important than the lives of those who have been murdered. You probably don't mean that, but it is what is coming across.

When you call for an end to protests (which are not illegal, by the way), you are telling Black people that they don't have a right to ask to be treated like equals. They have already been told that the silent, peaceful ways they have protested in the past is not acceptable, so what is?

This next point is probably going to make people angry with me, but please hear me out. What does it mean when you say you are "pro-life"? It means that you are for life. It is often associated with being anti-abortion, but it technically means that you care for life in all its forms. I'm having a really hard time understanding how people who fight for the rights of an unborn child who has no voice (and people who will protest for those children), are also against Black people protesting for their rights when their voices have been taken from them. You cannot say you care about life if you only actually care about life from conception until birth. That makes you anti-abortion, but not pro-life.

Dealing with all of this is heavy. I get it. For the last few weeks I feel like I have a constant weight on me. I want to cry all the time. I almost asked God to take this away, and then I realized that the sadness and hurt I'm feeling is only a portion of what our Black and Indigenous neighbors have always dealt with. If I truly want God to develop His empathy within me, it means that I need to learn to live with being uncomfortable.

I'm going to end off by saying that I don't think you are trying to be mean or hateful to POC. But in all of this you are making yourselves the victims and are trying to minimize the experiences (and these experiences are real. That is a fact) of POC. You are telling them that they just need to get over it. That their experiences must be the exact same as yours. And that is not Scriptural. And that is not loving.

So please, when you start to feel defensive, pray. Ask God to raise up compassion and empathy in you. Ask Him to help you acknowledge the areas where you have been privileged, and ask Him to help show you how you can use your privilege to help others. Ask Him to open your eyes to see the hurt and the pain being done to your Black and Indigenous brothers and sisters, and ask Him to also give you a willingness to see what is going on. We aren't the victims here, guys. And we need to stop acting like we are.

Love,
Jess

Post #54: Checking Privilege and Loving Others

How does one begin to even address everything that has happened in the last week and a bit? How does one address all the hurt caused by systemic racism? How do I, as a white women, help without making this all about me? Without drowning out the voices of people of colour, who are the ones who need to be heard and listened to?

This morning was a bit of a breaking point for me. I found myself in tears, crying out to God, asking Him what I can do and how I can help. I can't be silent when I see racism and prejudice being supported. But I also don't want to make this about me.

I borrowed a book from a co-worker called So you want to talk about race by Ijeoma Oluo. I'm only a third of the way through it, but I already feel like I am learning so much. She has a chapter called "Why am I always being told to 'check my privilege.'"

As a teacher, I have delved into issues of racism and prejudice in several of my classes. We've talked about privilege. And I have had students blow off what I am saying, thinking that calling me a "liberal" or "too sensitive" is justification to not listen to me (interestingly enough, none of them actually knew what political leaning I was. They just assumed that because I said that we should care about people, I must be a liberal... insert shrug). I had classes that would be dismissed while other students, students of colour, would stay behind to talk to me about what had just happened. Would share their experiences. Would share that their experiences were often invalidated in other classes by these students too. And I had many classes where the door would close and I would put my head on my desk and cry. Cry because I didn't understand why Christian kids in a Christian school couldn't understand that we need to care for others. Couldn't understand that their experience wasn't the same experience of every other person in the world.

I'm going to share a chunk of what Oluo says in this chapter.

"When someone asks you to 'check your privilege' they are asking you to pause and consider how the advantages you've had in life are contributing to your opinions and actions, and how the lack of disadvantages in certain areas is keeping you from fully understanding the struggles others are facing and may in fact be contributing to those struggles...

You may be right in saying 'but it's not my privilege that is hurting someone, it's their lack of privilege. Don't blame me, blame the people telling them that what they have isn't as good as what I have.' And in a way, that is true, but know this, a privilege has to come with somebody else's disadvantage... As a light-skinned black woman, I'm viewed by many in society as more intelligent and less threatening than darker-skinned black people. This is a privilege, because in order to be viewed as 'more intelligent' others have to be viewed as 'less intelligent'...

Sit down and think about the advantages you've had in life. Have you always had good mental health? Did you grow up middle class? Are you white? Are you male? Are you nondisabled? Are you neuro-typical? Are you a documented citizen of the country you live in? Did you grow up in a stable home environment? Do you have stable housing? Do you have reliable transportation? Are you cisgender? Are you straight? Are you thin, tall, or conventionally attractive?...

You may well want to list your disadvantages as well. This is not the time for that, so please resist the urge. It is natural to feel like focusing on your advantages invalidates your disadvantages and your struggles in life, but that is not what will happen. You can be both privileged in some areas of life, and underprivileged in others. Both can be true at once and can impact your life at the same time...

Once you've written down a nice long list of privilege, start thinking about how this privilege might have influenced not only your status in society, but your experience with and understanding of the world at large. How might your privilege have impacted your ideas on racism, on education, on the environment? Then start seeking out work on these subjects by people who don't have your same privilege, and listen when those people are speaking. Being privileged doesn't mean that you are always wrong and people without privilege are always right--it means that there is a good chance you are missing a few very important pieces of the puzzle" (pages 63-66).

As I prayed and asked God how I could help, He reminded me of this section. And told me to check my privilege. So here is my list.

I:

-have always had good mental health

-grew up middle class

-am white

-am nondisabled

-am neurotypical

-am a documented, Canadian citizen

-grew up in a stable home environment

-have stable housing

-have reliable transportation

-am cisgender

-am straight

-have blond hair and blue eyes

-have two university degrees

-was able to pay off my student loans

-have a stable job doing what I love

-am married

-have two kids

The list could go on, but that is the start of it. I have privilege. I am privileged. And I don't want to sit by and be silent. I can't be silent.

Oluo also mentions in her book that as we try to understand and step out, we will make mistakes. I did that just this morning. I was angry, hurt, and frustrated by what someone had commented, and I replied in a snarky way. An unhelpful way. So I deleted my comment and apologized. But I also knew I couldn't just say nothing. Because I also believe that that is wrong. Saul (who later became Paul in Scripture), may not have actually stoned the Christians, but he did stand by and watch and hold the coats of those doing the stoning.

Matthew 25:34-45 says the following:

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invited you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers or sisters of mine, you did for me.'

Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'

They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'

He will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me."

And so I am going to continue to ask God to show me how I can help those who do not have the same privileges I have. Because my privilege comes at the expense and the disadvantage of other people.  We are also doing what we can to teach our children about these issues. I have spent the last week researching and starting to accumulate books about about race, about empathy, and about speaking up. We have been reading I am Human by Susan Verde, Say Something by Peter Reynolds, and Sulwe by Lupita Nyong'o. I have another children's book on order that deals with residential schools in Canada (I am not a Number by Jenny Kay Dupuis). I will finish reading So you want to talk about race, and once it arrives in the mail will also read I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing Brown. 

I will make lots of mistakes that I will have to apologize for. But I am going to keep learning and I am going to keep fighting. Because God has not called me to be silent and to be a bystander, but has called me feed and clothe and invite in those who need it. I will continue to try to draw attention to those who are perpetuating the systemic racism that is a part of our society. I am going to do everything in my power to teach and show my children what it means to be empathetic and to see with God's eyes and love with God's heart.

Father, make me Your hands and Your feet.

Post #53: Grief, Tears, and Forsythia

When I brought out my laptop to start this post, the late evening sky was what I focused on as the computer booted up. We are into April now, so the sun was still in the sky, but it had the golden hue unique to late evening. I love that time. I love watching as everything becomes bathed in that light shortly before the sun disappears beneath the horizon.

We went for a walk this afternoon. I went for a walk or run every day this week, but didn't notice any of the little green buds on all the trees until today. We walked past one forsythia plant, and Jordan and I both just breathed in the beauty of those yellow blooms. I can't begin to describe what it did to see that new life.

This has been an interesting week. It has now been four weeks since I came into physical contact with anyone other than a delivery person or my husband in kids. That's four weeks of isolation. As an introvert who is on mat leave, my day-to-day life didn't change too much. But it changed enough that this last week was a hard one. Anson is 2.5 and is in a huge boundary-testing phase right now. Totally normal. But also totally exhausting. Gwen just cut another tooth, but it has been a month of very little sleep for me as we waited for that tooth to make its appearance. I found myself grieving my plans and dreams for the summer. No walking to the playground that is about 300m away from our house for after dinner play. No going to pick out flowers for planters. They are such simple things. But they were the things I have been dreaming about all winter and now spring.

We had some gorgeous days this week. And on those days, the kids and I just spent our time outside.

I thank God for a backyard, because I don't know what I would have done if we still lived in our old place.

But that doesn't change that this week was hard. That I felt like I had just enough strength to deal with the day-to-day, but not capacity to deal with anything else. I feel bad when I think of the number of times my children saw me break down and cry because I was so tired. Because I felt like a failure. Because I felt alone. Yesterday morning, as I sat playing with my kids, I had to fight wave after wave of loneliness. Of grief. Of sadness.

That isn't to say that there haven't been bright moments. Gwen has learned to wave and loves to mimic. When I put Anson to bed at night, he has started to rub my back and to sing to me the lullabies I have sung to him (only he swaps out the word "baby" for the word "Mama"). And God has still shown Himself so present. On March 30 I picked up my daily devotional (Tim Keller's The Songs of Jesus where he works through the book of Psalms over the course of a year). On that day I read Psalm 42:6-11:

6 My soul is downcast within me;
    therefore I will remember you
from the land of the Jordan,
    the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
7 Deep calls to deep
    in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
    have swept over me.

8 By day the Lord directs his love,
    at night his song is with me—
    a prayer to the God of my life.

9 I say to God my Rock,
    “Why have you forgotten me?
Why must I go about mourning,
    oppressed by the enemy?”
10 My bones suffer mortal agony
    as my foes taunt me,
saying to me all day long,
    “Where is your God?”

11 Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God.

When Keller does his comments on this, he talks about the phrase "I will yet praise him." About how this isn't "a mere prediction of change but an active exercise" (89). Then he went on to say, "When we are discouraged, we listen to the fearful speculations of our hearts. 'What if this happens?' 'Maybe it's because of that!' Here instead we see the psalmist not merely listening to his troubled heart but addressing it, taking his soul in hand, saying, 'Remember this, O soul!' He reminds his heart of the loving things God has done... [and] also tells tells his heart that God is working within the troubles" (89).

Two days later, my Facebook memories involved a quotation from George Macdonald:

"As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy. Cometh white-robed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide the doors she may not enter. Almost we linger with Sorrow for very love."

It was like God was preparing me for the week to come. Like He was reminding me that what is going on right now is awful. It sucks. Life is scary and uncertain, and we don't know how to deal with it. But that doesn't mean He is absent. As He reminded me of the connection between sorrow and joy and love, I realized that this weekend is Easter. Was ever there a better picture of true darkness and sorrow conquered by true Love?

Tomorrow we celebrate Jesus' resurrection, the fact that He didn't stay dead. We celebrate the hope of the Gospel.

Today, in the midst of my tears and despondency, God gave me forsythia. He reminded me of hope.

Post #52: Dark Towers and Twinkling Stars

“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tower high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach" (J.R.R. Tolkein).

As I read this, my heart goes out to Sam. Frodo has been taken by orcs after Sam thought he was dead. He felt completely alone and like an utter failure. Nothing on their trip to Mordor had gone according to plan, and now he, Sam, the gardener, had to find a way to rescue Frodo. Everything felt hopeless until he saw that one, twinkling star. The start that reminded him light is always out of reach of the shadow.

If you had told me just over two weeks ago that not only would a pandemic be declared, but that my province would declare a state of emergency and that my only physical interactions would be with my husband, my 2.5 year old, and my 9 month old, I don't know that I would have believed you.

Initially, life didn't change all that much. I'm an introvert. Jordan is an introvert. We are fairly used to sticking close to home. Besides, socializing with two young kids doesn't look the way socializing used to look! But I have not gone to a store or out in my car for over two weeks now. My kids have only seen their parents for the last two weeks. And at the start that was okay. We kept to our routine (minus Jordan working from home for a bit), and life continued on. Then the routine fell away (thank you, eight month sleep regression combined with teething), Anson started really pushing boundaries to see what he could get away with, and sleep remained elusive for me. Yesterday, we returned to our routine. As we went for our morning walk, Anson pointed to every person he saw, remarking excitedly, "Mama, PEOPLE!" as if "people" was a mythological creature he had only read about in bedtime stories (#socialdistancingwin).

In the last two weeks, I have felt myself alternate between feeling like life is still pretty normal, to feeling overwhelmed with anxiety. I don't know how long this will last. I don't know what the implications of this are going to be on my family. I miss friends. I miss being able to hope in the stroller and walk to the store. I miss church. I'm frustrated that because of an unseen water problem in our basement we have to gut what was our finished basement, and my husband has to do it entirely on his own. And I'm scared. I'm scared because my sister is a nurse in a small community that already has a confirmed case of COVID-19. I'm scared because my parents and in-laws are in that age bracket that makes them more susceptible. I'm scared because my husband is out their working and potentially getting sick too.

At the peak of my anxiety, my Facebook memories brought up the above Tolkein quotations. And I was reminded that this is a dark time. The "Shadow" seems so strong right now. But there is a Light that the darkness and shadow can't touch. God has a way of using literature to get my attention and speak to me, whether it is Little Women or The Lord of the Rings.

On one of our walks I decided to introduce Anson to a bit more about God. We talked about God as Creator. He spent the rest of our walk pointing out everything he saw and telling me that God made it. When we got home, he sat Gwen down and explained to her that God made her, and him, and Nana and Opa, and Pake and Beppe.

This week Jordan had to return to work. On nights when he works late and I do bedtime alone, I will usually put Gwen to sleep first. Then Anson curls up in our bed and we read several books. After that I will put a movie on for us to watch part of (due to the aforementioned basement gut our TV is now in our bedroom). So tonight we were cuddled up watching Frozen 2. Instantly he picked up on the fact that the mother sings a song to the two princesses before they go to sleep. Anson connected that to the fact that Jordan and I sing to him before he goes to sleep every night too.

I suppose my point in writing this is to say that despite how hopeless things can see, God keeps revealing things to me that speak of hope. I've seen people come together to deliver meals to a couple having a new baby. I've seen people checking in with others to make sure they are all doing okay. I've witnessed people having to make hard choices in order to take care of those around them. And as Anson reminded me today at bedtime that "God is outside and in my heart, and Gwennie's heart, and mama and dada's heart," I was reminded that God is omnipresent. That He is everywhere. That He sees everything. And that even though I have no idea why He allows some of things that happen to happen, I know that He is still good.

And so, despite dark towers and shadows, I am reminded of that Twinkling Star, that Light, that cannot be reached by them.

Post #51: "Me here, Wennie. Me here"

Something interesting happened this mat leave. I rediscovered things that bring me joy. Things that help me express myself. Things that help me process. For example, I love to bake. I have baked more in the eight months since Gwen was born, than I had in the three or four years before her birth. It helps that Anson thinks baking is the greatest thing in the world.

The other thing I have started doing again is writing. I have written the odd blog post in the last few years, but that is it. I used to keep a regular blog, but I also wrote for fun. My computer always had a few novels that I was planning or working on (but of course never finishing... because where is the fun in that!). But in the last couple months I have found myself writing again. I have started blogging. I also started working on a story that I promised myself I would write over ten years ago.

Writing is one of those things that helps me feel whole. God often uses it to help me process emotions and experiences. It is also a way of being vulnerable. I'm the person who can count on one hand (and probably one finger), the times I would let someone read my essays in university. As much as I knew that feedback and constructive criticism were good for me and my development, my insecurity held me back. I often encourage my students to take feedback and use my life as a cautionary tale.

What is interesting is that I wasn't always insecure about my writing. When I was in high school I can remember using up all of my school paper to write stories. A friend would always come to find my at lunch or after school to see if I had written more. In elementary school I can remember writing a story about my classmates and reading it out to the class before the first bell rang.

Somewhere along the line I stopped sharing my writing. I became convinced it wasn't good enough. I stopped blogging regularly (partly because of a lack of time, and partly because every time I write a post I ask myself what the point is in sharing it. Why would anyone care what I have to say?)

When I first started writing this post, I had no intention of sharing what is written above. That wasn't my purpose. And then I felt like I should. And then the whole time I was writing I was asking God what the point is, because I couldn't see how it connected to what is written next. Bear with me, because I think God is using this to help give me some clarity (which is typically how He does things).

My favourite part when Gwen wakes up from her nap is the way Anson wants to be involved. Gwen will start crying for me, and the moment Anson hears her, he will look at me and say, "Wennie cries, Mama. Me help Wennie." So then we will head up to her room together, he will open her door, run to her crib, and say, "Me here, Wennie. Me here." In fact, any time Gwen is upset (including the times he causes her tears), he is quick to reassure her that he is there for her. His words are often accompanied by a back rub, a hug, or a kiss. I wish I could fully show you how much Anson loves his sister, and how much she loves him. Gwen's face lights up when Anson enters the room. The two of them love to giggle with each other. Anson loves to talk in a high pitched voice and pretend it is Gwen's voice. He loves to give her hugs and kisses good night. He is desperate for her to be able to play with him. Gwen watches him and you can tell she just wants to be able to do all the things that he does.

But it isn't just with Gwen that I see this side of Anson. This morning I was crying while getting ready for the day as I thought about the content of this post. I went to help Anson pull his pants up after he had gone to the washroom, and he looked at me and said, "What wrong, Mama? You cry?" So I told him I was sad but that it was okay. And then I watched as his face fell with sadness because I was sad. If I'm sad or hurt, Anson wants to kiss it better. He stops what he is doing because he wants to make sure I'm okay.

He is such a sweetheart, and my heart daily feels like it is going to burst with love for him and Gwen.

But Anson is obviously not perfect. He is a two year old who lacks impulse control (as most two year olds do). He is also a physical little boy. When Anson feels his big emotions, he deals with them physically. So when he is excited, angry, frustrated, happy, etc, he will hit/push/slap. He has been doing great with this at home or in small groups with people he is familiar with, but when he gets overwhelmed or overstimulated it is really hard to remind him of the strategies we are working on at home.

Again, this is pretty normal stuff. He is two.

But it is also really hard stuff to deal with. And sometimes it is really hard trying to figure out whether I put him into social situations that could lead to more hitting. On the one hand, I want him to get used to people, because the more comfortable he is, the less he hits. On the other hand, I don't want to set him up to fail.

Every time I get invited to something, I start to panic a bit. Because I love my sweet, sweet boy, and I see the way he brings toys to kids at daycare, or to his sister, when they are sad. I see how he stops everything to sing to Gwen when she cries, because he knows that being sung to makes him feel better. I see all this good in him. But I am so scared of sharing him with others and of them rejecting him or thinking he is "bad." And I know I shouldn't feel this way because I know none of my friends think that. I know my friends, especially those with kids, know how hard this parenting thing is, and they know that Anson is not "bad." But I'm still scared they will find fault with him. I'm scared he will have an off day (because he has had those before) and that all people will get to see is the lack of impulse control.

My writing and my kids are both gifts that God has given to me. And they are both pieces of my heart (to varying degrees). And I'm scared of sharing both with the world, because I'm horrified the world will think them "bad." Because if these reflections of my heart are bad, what does that say about me?

I don't have an answer.

The last time I kept a blog regularly was when I wrote "Annals of a Christian Single." It was my way of processing what it is like to be a Christian single. It led to me being incredibly vulnerable about where I was at in life, but it also was a time when God showed me who I am in Him. By sharing that journey with others, God connected me to other people around the world who had that shared experience, and we were able to encourage each other. To challenge each other. Maybe He is telling me it is time to be vulnerable about where I am at now.

But vulnerability is hard. I live in fear of me and my loved ones being rejected.

But I guess that is where I have to remember Who made me. Who is always present with me. And in those times of fear, rest in the knowledge that Jesus is saying (to quote Anson), "Me here, Jesse. Me here."