Becoming a Mother

Twenty-two years ago today, I became a mother. In one way, my “gestation” was only five weeks. In another way, it was nine and a half long years.

Even though, we had no legal rights at that time, our pediatrician had us scrub up while she went down to the OR. We waited for the sound of the squeaky wheels we had heard as babies were taken from the nursery to their mothers. We were on pins and needles as we listened, wanting to see “our” baby rolled by us into the nursery. Suddenly the doctor rounded the corner carrying a bundle in her arms. She walked right into the room, up to me, saying, “He’s beautiful, Mommy,” and placed Andrew in my arms.

What joy Jeff and I knew that night! I carried him into the nursery. Jeff gave him his first bath. Andrew wouldn’t close his eyes. Even when the nurse put the eye drops in, he blinked his eyes open. He was ready to take a look at this new world of his.

Through an “entrustment,” we were allowed to take Andrew home when he was only 24 hours old. That night, Jeff played the violin for our baby boy. We sang to him. We loved him. That baby boy is now over 6 feet tall and listens to his own music, but we still love him, and give thanks for him.

Psalm 131.2:

But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.

Family

Family can be defined as persons with genetic or adoptive ties. Family can also be defined as persons with close, chosen relationships. Thirdly, family can be defined by our relationships within the church. I am blessed to have my family defined by all three.

I can remember so many years when my relationships with my family of genetic origin tended to be fraught with anxiety. I know that I am different in many ways from my family of origin. My parents and my brother were, by nature, far more detail oriented than I am. It wasn’t until my late twenties that I could begin to really accept that my differences were truly okay, that I wasn’t crazy as I had often thought because I was so different.

This year I have finally begun to experience a greater freedom for me within my family. I do not need to fit within some limited mold to be acceptable; and I know that it was more that I was trying to be acceptable to them than that they wanted me to fit in a mold. Partly, this freedom comes simply from growing older and becoming more comfortable within my own skin. Part of it comes from a greater awareness of how each of us has been shaped by how we grew up.

Tonight, I know that to be able to laugh, and cry, and laugh again in the midst of family is a tremendous gift.

Pictures and Memories

Sunday night, Andrew and a friend were over. They and Max and I sat talking with each other. We started looking at photo albums of when the boys were both little—from their births on for a few years. What a joy it was to see all those all pictures and touch the memories they brought back. We told stories of those days. I was reminded how important Ocracoke has been in our family—going year after year with our boys growing older.

I loved seeing the pictures of Jeff with the boys, of the smiles and laughter they shared between them. It can be hard to get past more recent memories which can color older ones in a way in our minds. While life when the boys were small was not a simple walk in the park, it was important to me to be carried past these last several years and remember how much love and life there was. It was also good for them to see reminders of their dad’s relationship with them.

This coming Sunday would have been our 34^th wedding anniversary. We waited twelve long years for Andrew, our first born, and eighteen for Maxwell. During those years of waiting and longing, the verses below were important for Jeff. I share them in the spirit of memories of love and hope.

Psalm 127:3-5

Sons are indeed a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the sons of one’s youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them.

Psalm 113.9:

He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the Lord!

Finding My Own Rhythm

Finding my own rhythm has been an interesting process over the past year, and it is not really complete by any means. When a part of a couple, it was appropriate to make adjustments or modifications in my pace. The best image I have of that is of walking closely side by side with Jeff. If we each walked truly at our own gait, each one’s arms swinging with our own rhythm, we would tend to bump into each other. It was far more comfortable to match our walk to the other.

This happens not only in walking style, but also in diurnal/nocturnal rhythms, in entertaining patterns, in sharing household chores, and so many other areas. After many years, it can then be hard in some places to know what is my own natural style or rhythm and what was Jeff’s.

During our time on Ocracoke last week, Max and I lived by our own schedule. While not an entirely new revelation, the differences were interesting. When there with Jeff, we lived on a different timetable. Part of that was developed from the years we camped with no electricity, when we rose with the sun. Part of it came also from matching my pace to Jeff’s. We tended to get up and going early, arriving at the beach shortly after eight o’clock. We left the beach by eleven, washing up before lunch, spending the afternoon reading and walking around town. This year, Max and I didn’t make it to the beach before eleven any day. Sometimes it was afternoon before we made it. We stayed up later and woke somewhat later.

The revelation for me in all this is to learn what my own rhythm is, and to reflect on how do I walk and live by it. Then the next reflection for me is how does that pattern mesh with God’s heartbeat. Do I stubbornly keep to my own gait and style or begin to pattern my pace and life to walk in tandem with Christ? What does that look like? What difference does it make in my life?

Matthew 11:29-30

Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Patch of Blue

Tonight, as I sat inside because it was too hot and humid still out on the deck, I could see the sky over the houses and between the trees. The sun was working its way down over the horizon. I could only see the light, not the orb itself. Most of the sky I could see looked somewhat grayish yellow, but at the lower western edge it looked as though some true blue was showing. As I watched it over the next several minutes, I could indeed see more blue reveal itself even while the light of the sun was fading.

This struck me as a metaphor for my life right now. I am preparing to head to our beloved Ocracoke Island with Max just hours after he gets back from the mission trip. While I know Ocracoke nearly as well as I know the patch of sky looking out my back window, it still is a slowly approaching mystery. What will it be like this time, the first time of going without Jeff since 1978? Will the patch of blue sky reveal more of itself at the edge of the horizon?

The yellow tinge in the sky felt a bit ominous, just like my sense of uncertainty of what the future holds. Then that blue patch took hold and my spirits lifted. There will be joy and hope that reveal themselves bit by bit.

Thank you, God, for a lesson in hope tonight.

Romans 8:24-25

For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.