being ok with the new us

fancy free - one week before finding out about C

Sidebar: I had been drafting something for lifeispleasing for the two-month mark of parenthood - a few little eye-openers about babies. But, of course, "something" distracted me and I never got around to posting it. However, my friend Lauren, whose baby girl Georgia was born the evening before Casper, did an incredible job summing up what I probably would have babbled on about for pages and pages. Check out her blog, Grown Up Party, here. 

It's no secret that having a baby was not part of the plan for Lucas and I at this particular stage in our lives and marriage. I always like to express this whenever I talk about having Casper only a few years into marriage. I use to be of the opinion that people who got pregnant young/early into the marriage were throwing the best years of their lives away - the DINK years. The years to dance, and travel, and have crazy nights filled with wild antics and meeting people and doing the things you'll never get to do once you finally do buy a house and have babies; the days to not be quite a grownup yet, but still getting to cash in on some sweet benefits of adulthood including enjoying a partnership with your best friend.

But now I am one of those people I secretly judged. We were only married a year when we found out about baby C. And although a part of me misses what we had during that first year, I am learning to embrace this shift in our lives and our marriage. Because while it has been a challenge and has, at times, brought out my absolute worst, being a parent has simultaneously allowed me to experience Lucas, and my life in general, in light of the kind of vulnerability only having a baby could have lead us to.

the day before we found out, we were enjoying DINK to the fullest

I've had moments in the past three months, where I'll look at Lucas from across the room after saying something nasty and short-tempered and immediately feel a pit in my stomach wondering how I let myself get to that place again. Instead of embracing him with a warm hug when he comes home from work, some days I greet him covered in dried spit-up, a messy ponytail, wearing only underwear and the same t-shirt I slept in, practically begging for him to take Casper because I am on the verge of losing my patience. While not everyday is this extreme, the days that are can really bring me, and us, down. And while we may have so much to check in with each other on to make sure that our marriage isn't taking a back seat to our baby, sometimes by the time we have a moment to chat, all we want to do is curl up in bed and pass out! I miss having so much fuel in my tank to give deserved love to a guy who works so hard everyday for our family. I miss feeling sexy and social and vibrant when there are lots of days I just feel worn down, messy, fat, and tired.

i was a little overwhelmed

But I do have to say that with all of the struggles and guilt, and stress and strain that having a baby has placed on our marriage, how incredible it's been to see our hearts, and attitude, and love for each other change for the better. There is nothing like the moments where the three of us are together - Casper being his usual weird self while Lucas and I are unable to contain our laughter and amusement with him. There is nothing like seeing Lucas come out of the bedroom after an hour of patiently bouncing an over-tired baby to sleep - pure relief and satisfaction! There's nothing like being told I'm the most beautiful woman in the world when I have bags under my eyes and haven't shaved my legs in over a week, because I know he doesn't see me with the same eyes that he use to see me with. Everything about our lives just became a little more complicated. But in the shift, has there also entered a deepness and rawness with each other like I didn't even know was possible. The hugs are different now; the cuddles are different; the I-Love-You's are different, now that we have a baby. Nothing has opened our hearts to one another, nothing makes me enjoy the simple things about our marriage, and truly nothing has made me love this man more than Casper joining our lives. I can't possibly think of a better team-building exercise that could have strengthened us as a unit more than having a baby together. We're not the same us that we were in the first few photos here, but I'm really ok with the new us.

still fancy and over the moon for each other. c, not so much.

This is still just the beginning of a journey for the new [parent-version] us. Happy (late) 2nd Anniversary to the man of my heart, the father of my son, my ride-or-die, partner in crime, perfect-puzzle-piece-of-a-match, Man. Happy one year anniversary to us on the day we found out we would be parents. Casper, thanks for coming. You have been the best surprise we didn't know we wanted and a source of inspiration now and for years to come.

what casper's first month has taught me about my self-love

Becoming a mom has exceeded my expectations for both the good and the bad. I remember nearing the end of my pregnancy and having moms caution me to "enjoy it now while you still can" and I really didn't get it. Isn't having a baby the greatest joy of life? Yes, I know it's hard but doesn't the bliss make up for the challenges? After 9 months of pregnancy I came to accept it and was prepared for a good challenge anyways. I typically would tune out these enlightening voices that would heed me warnings about how I'll never sleep again or watch a movie again or eat again.

Obviously every mom's experience is going to be so unique (and that's part of what makes this whole thing so difficult too). Along with warnings of the challenges of momming, many women also warned me about labor. I found my experience to be really different than they made it out to be - in the best way! So it's possible, then, that lots of moms really do find it a fun and adventurous challenge when their baby finally comes along. If, in the past month, you've asked me how everything is going, you've likely received my go-to answer which is that being a mom is 100x harder and more challenging than I could have ever prepared for and that, if it could somehow ease the difficulty, I would go through labor again a few more times. This is a far cry from what I expected myself to be saying during my first four weeks with Casper: sentiments like "I am totally blissed out and love being a mom" and "I love him so much I cry about it every day." Oh, yes, I am crying. But not always happy tears and because I'm bursting with love. Much more often, tears of desperation and because my hormones are bouncing from one extreme to the next.

Danaea Li photo

Typically, the feedback I receive is in reference to the lack of sleep many moms experience in the first few months: "Oh yeah, it's so exhausting -- make sure you sleep when the baby sleeps!" But for me, my struggle has less to do with the lack of sleep and more to do with the sinking feeling of losing my freedom. Nothing in this world could have possibly prepared me for how a baby would make me realize how incredibly tight I hold on to, and nurture, my love of myself. No one could have convinced me, before having Casper, the extent of which I love to love myself. If I haven't learned anything else this past month, I have certainly learned how selfish I am.

When Casper is working "according to my schedule" - i.e. when he goes for a nap and stays like that for 3 hours so I can shower, or wash the dishes, or write a blog entry, or when I take him out and he's peaceful and I can contentedly stare at the sun or catch up with a friend over coffee - when those things work out, I am like "hell yeah, I love my angel baby!" But when Casper interferes with my time and my "plans" and I can't figure him out - i.e. when he stays awake from 3 until 10 no matter how hard we try to coax him to sleep and I can't even sit down and eat a proper dinner with Lucas for an entire month - it really feels like Casper is "inconveniencing" me. I know that sounds bad. And it is. He is just a simple baby with simple needs: food, boob, me, and sleep. It doesn't feel good to admit that I sometimes look upon him like he is interrupting my world. He did nothing to deserve that emotion be felt towards him.

Danaea Li photo

So needless to say, I've had to have a major shift in my mindset. Everyday I pray for grace and pray that I may cheerfully view my day as a Casper-day where my needs may get fit-in somewhere instead of a me-day where Casper's needs get fit-in somewhere that works. I resurrect the simple, yet powerful, statement I heard everyday as a camp counsellor from our camp director, Greg: "Be Amazing Today!" Greg encouraged us staff that when we are sick or exhausted or have a bed-wetter or family drama or camp relationship drama (ha!), that it all takes a back-seat in lieu of the one magical week our campers are there to experience. His urge to us was that our physical and emotional needs as camp counsellors were to get put to the side every hour of every day so that we could give 100% Amazing to our kids. I never thought about how much that would return as the same attitude I need to have as a mom.

Today, on Caspers one-month birthday, I am so grateful. Not grateful for a perfect text-book child who runs like clock-work. Because that ain't Casper. But grateful for how my little peanut has opened my world up; for how he's taught me about this massive weakness I carry around. I always had it in me but never the opportunity to come face-to-face with it in such a real way. I'm grateful, as well, for the forgiveness I receive when I am unable to look at the task with cheerfulness in my heart. He still wants to come to me when he cries and smiles at me when I sing to him or talk to him. He is God's grace on my unworthy attitude and for that, I am eternally and altogether grateful.

casper david's debut

Throughout my pregnancy, and especially in the last few months, I was eager and interested to hear birth stories. I don't just mean the ones taken from Ina May's Guide to Childbirth of women birthing without fear; I mean all birth stories. The "scary" ones didn't really scare me the way that some people warned me they would. I think there is something so beautiful about how every person's story of how they arrived here is so different and so unique and I love listening to mothers re-live the day they met their precious babies. This past week, our first week with Casper, has been such a whirlwind and I want to make sure I remember details from the day he finally greeted us so I thought I would share in a post on a blog that doesn't really get much use anymore. It's a story of learning patience and grace and gratefulness for my body and it's one I am so encouraged by - I hope you are too. Here is my birth story for Casper David Lawrence, born Tuesday, April 28th, 2015. It's a long one cause it was a long process - you've been warned.

Saturday, April 25th, daytime:

This was a particularly difficult day for me to be overdue with Casper. It was a beautiful day outside but I was sore and tired and just needed space to mope so I wasn't enjoying it. At 10 days past my due date, there were no signs of distress in either me or Casper -- fluid levels were great, the non-stress tests showed Casper's heart activity was as it should be, and I rarely went an hour without feeling him moving and kicking away which was constant reassurance that he was still happy in there. I didn't have a great reason to be upset. But at my 41 week appointment, my cervix was still high, posterior, and closed. Additionally, at the amniotic fluid checkup I had two days later, the tech made a remark about how the baby didn't even slightly drop yet, which she claimed normally happens around 38 weeks. With each passing day with no signs, my hopes that my body was going to naturally go into labor were dwindling. I felt pulled between the wisdom from childbirth pioneers like Ina May to trust my baby and my body, and the practical advice from others that I should consider being induced for fear that my placenta will essentially shut down and stop nurturing the baby. It wasn't that I was so tired of being pregnant -- but more the idea of having to make this important decision once if I made it to the 42 week mark. Do I wait or do I induce? I certainly didn't want to put my baby at risk but I also wanted to heed the wisdom that my body will do what it needs to when the time is right. I started to feel some very mildly painful tightenings that day and spent a large part of my afternoon on the patio with my journal just asking God to bring me peace about not knowing, to forgive me for not trusting, and to help me, in these times of confusion and frustration, to continue to trust in his goodness. After all, all I truly wanted was for my baby to be safe and in my arms. That's the perfect ending to any birth story and one that dimmed the importance of the means to how we were to get there.

Saturday, evening:

Lucas and I decided to take in the final Canucks vs. Flames playoff game. We went to the nearby pub, Hyde, since we don't have cable. When we got there I went to the bathroom and to my surprise, I lost my show (click with caution - it ain't sexy), which gave me great excitement and so much hope! It didn't mean that I was in labor but it was a sign that things were moving -- and it was God's nudge to me that I needed to give up my illusion of control. I came out of the bathroom and, with tears welling in my eyes and a huge smile, I whispered to Lucas as discretely as I could the update. Because we took the prenatal course together (best thing we did!), he too knew that this could mean things were in motion. Once the Canucks pulled their goalie and the Flames scored on an empty net, I was over the game and wanted to go home especially now that I knew I might really need the rest.

Sunday, April 26th:

In the morning when we woke up, the mild contractions I was experiencing Saturday started to get a little more intense and a little more frequent. Still, we decided to go to church and go on with our day, running a few errands and spending time playing scrabble and making food with my mom who is visiting from the East Coast. Meanwhile, I was still experiencing the mellow tightenings and beginning to need to breathe through them a little more thoughtfully. I didn't want to get too excited so, at the time, I didn't admit that I was in early labor but looking back, I totally was. By dinner, the contractions had really slowed down, almost completely stopping altogether. I thought to myself "must have been false labor" but by bed time, they were in full force, and I was only sleeping between them waking every 8-12 minutes to breathe through these powerful tightenings. Labor really rarely is not how it is in the movies! Lucas would occasionally wake up from my achings and ask me if I needed anything. I didn't. I just was excited this was moving along. I told him to text his boss that he wouldn't be able to come to work on Monday.

Monday, April 27th, daytime:

This day was similar to Sunday just with slightly more intense contractions and things picking up a bit more. By mid-day, it was more difficult to continue conversations or walk through them. We decided to go for a late-afternoon stroll down in Olympic Village. Lucas packed some snacks and we walked around -- me stopping every few minutes to ride out the contraction. It was funny to be in labor in public but I didn't care. It was fun. In between contractions we entertained light conversation and joking around and thanking God. Things had been remaining the same for about 4 hours so I called Renee from Acumamas to see if I should get her to come over for a home visit to give me some points to get things moving. Her advice surprised me: she advised us to go home, have a bath and a small glass of wine and pop some Tylenol to try and slow things down to get some rest. Her suspicion and gut feeling was that labor was going to go full speed ahead by the time it started to get darker outside (apparently that's a thing?!). I was hesitant for fear of disrupting the process, but trusted her advice. I came home and spent 45 minutes in the tub to get contractions 15 minutes apart and Lucas and I laid down in bed, me with the TENS machine attached to my back, and slept between contractions for about 2 hours.

Monday, 8pm:

When we woke up, we decided to get things moving doing all the things they say-- lunges, stairs, sex (like you needed to know that), and an interesting series of poses called the Miles Circuit which is great to get the baby in the correct position. By the time we were done, I was undeniably in labor! My contractions were becoming more intense and closer together.

Monday, 9:30:

Lucas made a snack -- my favorite munchies like crackers and cheese and cut up apple and carrots and hummus. We watched some of episode 2 of Netflix's Chefs Table and Lucas was in charge of pausing it when I was having a contraction - I was at the point where I couldn't handle the stimulation! In between them, I was as happy and chatty as ever. I definitely was noticing the waves of contractions and how they intensified and then mellowed out -- they would get more intense for about 3-5 contractions and then taper off in intensity as my body was responding to the pain with its built-in endorphins. The body is such an amazing thing. Lucas kept asking how I was doing, and I kept responding with, "you can handle anything for one minute" which was wisdom I reaped from many Bar Method classes (and also Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt who says you can do anything for 10 seconds... ha!). No matter how intense a contraction was, after it was over, it was the best feeling ever. And even during the contraction, it was only truly unbearable right in the middle as it was peaking which was maybe all of 15 seconds of it.

Monday, 11pm:

I could no longer watch Netflix and was trying to stay active and moving around at this point. Anything sitting or lying down was horrible. Lucas suggested we call the doula as he was running out of tricks for me.

Monday, 11:30pm:

Marie, the doula, came over and it was a game-changer! Throughout each contraction, she continued to apply pressure on my low back/tailbone area, she set up a great little seating position on the birthing ball with my upper body drooping over a huge stack of pillows on a chair, and started getting me to breathe lower into my abdomen with low-toned noises. I had hoped I wouldn't sound like a cow mooing during labor, but that's exactly what I sounded like and it totally helped and I totally did not care. Lucas went to rest for a few hours as Marie helped me through the new stage of labor. She massaged my whole body and in that few hours, I was so grateful we decided to hire an RMT Doula. What a massive blessing! Lucas says that before Marie arrived, it sounded like I was enduring the contractions, and after he woke up from his nap, that I was conquering them.

Tuesday, April 28th, 2:45am:

Marie had been writing down my contraction times and durations, and we finally decided to call Cora, the midwife. The time had come. I reported to Cora (my actual hero) all about the past few hours and she said she would be over in a bit. I woke up Lucas to tell him the midwife was on her way. When she arrived, she observed me through a few contractions, had a listen to the heart beat, and took my blood pressure. We decided to go into the bedroom so she could examine my cervix. I was nervous this would be a bad report - that my cervix would still be pretty closed. However, at this point in time, I really  began to trust the process and whatever decisions my team would be helping me make. I was so relieved when she reported that if we wanted to make our way to the hospital we could -- I was 4-5 cm and, as she said, in the beginning of active labor. Marie geared us up for the ride by helping to make sure I would be comfortable in the truck. She sat in the back with me and kept applying pressure every time I would have a contraction. I only had to endure about 3 or 4 in the truck - thank goodness. It was horrible. Lucas dropped Marie and I off at the entrance and went to go park the truck. I was registering myself in at the desk as Cora tried to finagle us a room with a tub. I had told her earlier that I was interested in water birth although I hadn't fully decided that would be my route yet. I met my nurse, Alyssa, who lead us to, as I like to refer to it, the honeymoon suite of BC Women's & Children's. It was so big with a shower and a tub with both sides open. It was so beautiful. The nurses and staff kept commenting that I didn't seem like I was in labor due to my calm and chatty disposition. It made me feel powerful and at peace.

Tuesday, 4am:

my mom helping me through my transition

We filled up the tub and I got in it to labor for a bit as Lucas put on the new Sufjan Stevens album and the the doula dimmed the lighting in the room -- it was honestly so peaceful. The team just kind of sat around and let me do my thing and Cora even took a lunch break. I had a little massage spikey ball which I would squeeze between my palms during contractions. Lucas also sat beside the tub and I squeezed his hand lots. The warm water slowed things down so by the time the water had gotten cold I got out and we decided to do some walking around the unit to pick up the pace. Alyssa gave us the grand tour -- probably her attempt to distract me. It was around this time my mom showed up and I was so happy to see her! It wasn't a part of the "plan" to have her there for the labor but it just worked. Marie showed my mom how to apply back pressure to me so she was able to help me through a few contractions. It was such an experience to have my mom there since she's never experienced labor herself. Around the same time mom showed up, I decided to do something wonderful -- happy gas! During contractions, I would just inhale and exhale. They warned me that some people feel dizzy or nauseated from the gas, but I felt neither. The small trance it put me into, along with Marie and my mom's pressure applied to my low back, made my transition so smooth and manageable. It was exactly what I needed. At this point, Lights acoustic album was playing.

Tuesday, 6am:

After a particularly difficult contraction, I asked Cora at what point do we know when it's time to push and she responded that she would examine my cervix in about an hour to see where I am at. I had one more contraction, and knew in my heart that an hour was too far away -- I asked if it would be possible to check now. Lucas, my mom, and Marie all left the room. I continued to inhale the happy gas as Cora examined my cervix and I was vaguely listening to her and Alyssa nonchalantly chatting about my cervix and the progress of the baby's descent. She reported to me that my cervix was gone -- it was time to push. As I reached for the gas, Alyssa pulled it from my hand and broke the terrible news to me that I wasn't allowed any more gas. It was go time.

Tuesday, 6:30am:

Lucas came back in and mom and Marie stayed outside. I only wanted a few people there for the pushing. I changed into my nighty I brought so I could push without having everything exposed and in the open. Lucas and I were hugging and I was crying and telling him that I was afraid. I was! I had no conception of getting this far and hadn't really gone there in my mind yet. I tried the squat bar on the bed for a little while and I remember my first contraction when I was instructed to push, I had no idea what I was doing! My pushes were so weak and I didn't know how to bear down yet. Being as I'm a pretty private person, I wasn't really feeling the squat bar as I felt too exposed. Yes -- things like that actually crossed my mind at this point! Ha! They told me to try the toilet (ok TMI for some people but it's apparently a great place for many women in labor as the feelings can be... similar to what you normally do on there. You get the idea.) It was here that my water finally broke (hooray! And no mess to clean up!) but I didn't like being on the toilet either. I knew I wouldn't be delivering the baby there and I wanted to get comfortable wherever I would be finally pushing out the baby. I also felt the ring of fire here and remembered a few times hearing that water birth can really help ease the burning sensation on your perineum. I told the team that I wanted to do a water birth. Lucas was instructed to run the water and I headed back into the tub.

Tuesday, 7am:

I was in the tub alone for a bit pushing kind of on all fours when Cora asked me if I still wanted Lucas to come into the tub with me. I forgot I had even mentioned it to her. I looked at him and saw the pure terror in his eyes at the idea but I knew that with him, I would be so much stronger. I knew also that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for both of us to experience something so insane together. I said yes and he put on a brave face along with his swim shorts. We sat with him behind me, my back to his chest, and I pulled against every push on the backs of his thighs -- it really felt like we were doing it together and I praise him now for his tremendous effort even though he
wasn't really doing all that much. It was here that I began to truly doubt my body -- can I do this? Can this baby actually come through me? During contractions, I needed the constant cheering of the midwife to really motivate me to use all my strength to push. And as I recovered between contractions, the nurse, who was a new one at this point named Cara, my midwife, and Lucas just kept telling me what a phenomenal job I was doing. It was gold to my ears. It was everything I needed to hear and more. I trusted and ate up every word Cora spoke at this point as she said "this is going to feel really intense and it's very normal -- everything is going beautifully and you're doing such an amazing job!" I started to trust in my body and in the circumstances. This is when my mind really left my body and I truly let my body take over. Nothing matters anymore -- not how ugly your push face is, not how your husband has never seen your lady parts like this before, not how loud you are. Casper's heart rate was being continually monitored and stayed at at steady 140bpm the entire time. The nurse kept saying "your baby is doing so well and is so happy!" Cora asked me to reach down and touch the baby's head as I pushed so that I could sense the feedback of him slowly poking out with each push and then sucking back in after. It was weird for me! I can't say I loved it but it did make me smile when she told me Casper had hair and I could feel it. I made a joke that his fuzzy head will make up for his dad's receding hairline.

Tuesday, 8am:

I was started to feel impatient -- I wanted to know the baby was crowning or something so I could feel close to the end but I was afraid it might still be far away. Because the length of time between contractions was getting longer, Cora asked Lucas to do nipple stimulation on me and he agreed to it. It sounds weird but it really helped move things along! I could feel my perineum moving outwards as the baby descended. Cora told me that because my perineum was particularly strong and thick, that it wasn't stretching as easily as it normally would be. I actually requested an episiotomy (I was in a hurry to meet him at this point!) and luckily, my midwife knew that I did not truly want one and kind of deflected my request. She said that the baby coming down and then back up was helping with the stretching and that it would be fine. I knew that meant I was probably going to tear, and just hopefully it wouldn't be too bad. With Casper's head crowning, holding on to the backs of my own legs now, I exclaimed "I don't think I can do this" and they kept reassuring me I could and I would. Lucas even had the nerve to say "this is the only way" which I didn't want to think -- I wanted to think there could have been some way out. But I knew he was right. I could hardly wait for the next contraction to push my baby out so I wouldn't have this burning feeling any longer and I could finally hold my son!

Tuesday, 8:28am:

With the next contraction, I pushed out Casper's head and with one final breath and push at the very tail end of it, his body. The feeling of the baby coming out is so incredible -- he almost shot out like a cannon.

the face of pure relief

Cora lifted Caspers slippery little body out of the water as Lucas and I scootched ourselves upright in the tub as she placed him on my chest. He was plush and soft and lovely and, as he cried and coughed up water, I couldn't do anything but stroke and kiss Casper and thank God in complete awe and wonder. He cried for about 15 seconds and then looked up at Lucas and I as if to question if we were the ones he was looking for. Everything was right.

My birth experience with Casper ended up being beyond my expectation and imagination. I can say with whole-hearted honesty, that it was not painful the way I thought it would be. It was purposeful and powerful and, yes, it was intense, but it was intense in such a different way than, for example, the way peeing is now intense (ouch! Yes I tore in two places as suspected). It was supernatural really. I can truly say I've never looked at my body with such respect, love, and appreciation. A big part of my story was learning to trust -- trust myself, my gut feelings, my body, and God.

Even though it was slow to respond and kept me guessing, my body did pull through in the end. And I had the longest early labor ever but I credit that to how well I was able to cope with the pain near the end. I am so beyond blessed for my story of how Casper got here. Our birth stories are uniquely ours, and they are so special.

I hope you share this story with anyone who has gone a week or more passed their due date and feels discouraged. A story like this one on that Saturday morning would have gone a long way in making me feel confident and assured so I hope it gives someone else a similar sense of positivity!

winning

something bizarre happened the other day; something that had me stop dead in my obnoxious, unnecessarily busy tracks. i'd like to share.

lucas and i moved apartments two days ago. we worked a full and normal monday day, came home, boxed a few last things, and headed a few km's northeast for our new, 13th and main street vancouver, home. the night of the unloading, after all of our friends minions left, we only had enough steam to unfold a few blankets, set up our bed in some manner, and fall asleep. so the next morning, naturally, we woke up to a massive pile of what use to be, and hopefully will be again, our "life" sitting somewhere between the bathroom, hallway, kitchen and livingroom. lucas volunteered to go to, what will now be, our neighborhood cafe, 49th parallel, to get us some tea and coffee.

as we are heading out, i'm doing my usual routine of running around turning off what seems like every light in the apartment (of course, while still managing to give lucas the why don't you ever turn the lights off? glares). i close the door and start to lock the bolt in with our new key.

did i turn off my flat iron? yes, but i should unplug it.
[i run into the bedroom to unplug it. lucas is just ignoring me somewhere in the hallway i think.]

again, i go to leave, this time completely locking the bolt, walking a few steps down the hall and immediately stopping and turning around.

i need to check everything.

i have to give a side-bar note here: i am not the kind of person that weirdly obsesses about forgetting to do things after i leave the house and stresses about it all day until i find out it's okay. yes, i check things over and am cautious, but what i did next was out of character for me.

i unlocked the bolt of our door and headed straight for the stove in our new kitchen. we hadn't used the stove, but something felt off.
atop the stove sits a roll of papertowel and a pile of reusable grocery bags that lucas must have thrown there just before to make room for something. i quickly remove everything from the top of the stove to check that the burners are turned off and, to my complete disturbance, one of the back burner knobs had accidentally been turned on. as i leaned in to turn it off, i felt the intense and very real heat rising from the burner. i instantly got a pit in my stomach.

as i quadrupole made sure everything else was okay, it struck me what could have just happened, but didn't.
i suddenly felt like i won the lottery -- like i was just given something that i shouldn't have been given.
in my mind, i just went from having one of the worst-days-of-my-life to having a typical moving day of unpacking a bunch of things we own into an apartment that we rent. i was so thankful that day for whatever illogical discernment god gave me to check that everything was okay.

what i realized that day, as the reality sunk in of how close our lives came to being a bit more of a mess than we even could have imagined, is that we really don't realize how many times we win the lottery. this day, it happened to be obvious. we happened to be aware of what god had just kept us from. but we don't always know.

i often fail to recognize this hedge of protection around me. sometimes the hedge comes in the nothingness -- like stoplights, forgetting your phone, and stopping to get gas; and once in a while, it will be completely unrecognizable in face of adversity. what this incident made me realize is that we don't know when or how god is weaving an even bigger plan into the little list of ones we make every day (that, yes, do feel important so much of the time!)

that day, amidst the chaos of the move, we got an email from a friend of ours whose wife just survived through a double mastectomy surgery the morning before:

"we felt such peace this morning on the way to the hospital as god has truly shown us what it means to be joyful in all circumstances. [she] has also been an amazing patient and I’m so proud of her. god is totally carrying her as she gives herself up to his control."

and here's where i realize that even if i hadn't gone back to check the stove, that the control still isn't in my hands and nor should it be. i am so thankful for the people in my life who lead me by example of what it means to trust the process -- not complain about their circumstance, not try and pretend like everything is okay, and not blindly adopt the notion that god isn't specifically holding them in that moment just as he was holding me in the moment that our apartment building didn't burn down; just as he was holding our dear friend as she underwent that surgery.

what it comes down to is knowing that ultimately, the lottery doesn't always look how we think it will look.

most of the time, it's hard.

it's hard to trust and know that my plans aren't always the best plans. but i take these reminders, and i hold on to them so tightly. i keep them in my pocket as best as i can just for those days and those moments to come that it won't feel like i'm winning the lottery.

rediscovering the meaning

i have to start somewhere.

writing, to any degree and in any form, is like a muscle that, once it stops being used, it loses it's strength. it has the potential to get back into shape, but the hard part is moving when it feels so weak. you remember how rewarding it can be when it's being used all the time, but the vague memory doesn't inspire you enough to get through that awkward and uncertain period where you're unsure you'll ever feel as strong as you use to feel. so you just leave it, like an uncharted terrain. untapped. unopened. unused...

along the way -- somewhere between dropping out of school for two years indefinitely, falling in love, getting married, finding employment at one of my favorite operations in the city of vancouver (the bar method), and realizing that i don't want to be a teacher, i found myself with less meaning. not that my life stopped having meaning, but more that i simply seemed to have lost the attitude to see it. somewhere in the midst of "settling down" with a life-partner and semi-permanent job, i adopted the "day-in-day-out" attitude towards life rather than seeing the fun, never-ending awaiting adventure and potential all around me. that, indirectly, gave me this sense that i have nothing to write about. 

and it feels strange to attribute my lack of creative juices, or my lack of proclivity to create, to things that are such blessings -- a consistent schedule, marriage, + a job i love. but when i reflect on a past entry, i remember that i am affectionately addicted to newness. in the midst of finding things that make me feel secure and fulfilled, i lost my ability to see the world as a colorful spectrum of feelings, ideas, and thoughts. because that's what blogging was for me -- my insights about the everyday. nothing revolutionizing but, to me, those humble observations were what made me understand; what made me feel alive.

writing has been a therapist to me. it's just a symbol, or a manifestation, of what my heart already knows. when i let the words come out, and i see them and read them back to myself, i gain perspective and understanding. allowing others to take part in it with me (hence a public blog as opposed to a private journal), i feel like i walk with them in my acumen, and that's therapeutic to me as well.

the best way for me to re-approach something that use to come as a second nature is to intentionally try and find the meaning, the beauty, and god, in those things that have become seemingly ordinary to my soul. it doesn't mean i have to lead a more full life with explosions, concerts, and confetti (although that does sound like a fun day), but just that i have to ask god, and allow him, to open my eyes to see things through that lens that gives me back my passion for the day.

so i need to begin, again. i need to give myself permission to try. even if the results aren't groundbreaking at first, i desire to regain my muscle, not just to write, but more than that, to see life and others as more breath-taking and lovely than how they often appear at first glance.

jim collins

"What is it that you're passionate about?"

As much as I love this question in theory, the reality of having it posed to me is nothing short of unnerving. Because when push comes to shove, I am not sure how to answer it. I feel like I'm suppose to have an answer and, if I'm honest, at this point I don't.

This season is an altogether new one for me. For the past 6 years I've been an on-and-off-but-mostly-on student. A student is someone who pays a whole bunch of money, sometimes borrowed monies from the government, to become educated. By most of the world's standards, it's a luxury. But becoming educated is, when you think about it, a service to the individual - hence it's colossal price tag. Yes, we do have to work hard to remain enrolled, but others are working just as hard to run the system and provide you with something that you've paid for. It's like bar method classes: I spend [too much] money on my monthly membership to the bar method and they facilitate and help me develop in my fitness, but when I go, I ultimately am the one that has to put the work in to strengthen and tone.

For the first time in a long time forever, I now am going to earn money. For two stinkin' years. This is a completely foreign concept to me. I mean I've had tons of jobs but they've always been part time, seasonal, and/or just way too much fun to really consider it working (i.e. camp). I am in this shift of mindset where I am not only accountable to myself but now I am reporting to others around me on a Monday to Friday, 9-5 basis.

When you're a student you can leave your papers to the last minute. You can cram for your exams, skip classes, or show up to your classes in body only (guilty) leaving your mind somewhere far, far away. Ultimately, however, you alone pay the consequences for however you chose, and to whatever extent you chose, to be lazy. Almost everyone experiences this in their first year of University - you get out what you put in. And it's you that suffers the consequences of slacking off or being unprepared. In a job, it's nothing like this. Your lack of enthusiasm for your work, and any kind of slacking, regardless of what it is, will hurt others around you and/or the business that your name is attached to.

I have a confession to make. This isn't easy but it's important that I tell you - I think I've spent the majority of my life cutting corners. I don't know when it started or how I became this way, but I think I'm good at it. If cutting corners was a sport, I would have the gold metal. I am good at finding short cuts and putting as little effort as possible to achieve results that are satisfactory. I think everyone likes this to a degree, but I think I've been way too good at it. I feel like much of my actual success in life, and anything I've achieved with flying colors, has happened as a result of being in the right place at the right time and God just being way too wonderful to me. I am beyond thankful for it, but it's left me a little confused about how the world, and particularly our industrialized society, really works.

I had an interesting conversation with a co-worker one time.

She's like, " ...one day I realized that winning people is good but that you won't make it in life, and you won't be sustained, if you know how to win people without putting in the hard work and being good at things too. You're a good people-person, and I am too. But sometimes... you have to actually do stuff you're good at, stuff you don't want to do, and work hard"

Maybe I somehow brain-washed myself into thinking that the people-skills would carry me through. But she is right.

The things is, though, that I can't just do those things (working hard, and doing stuff you don't want to do, etc) for the sake of a pay check. And I also definitely can't do it out of fear of failing the people around me or my boss or just plain looking bad. Those two motivators are not really motivators at all. And if they prosper as primary motivators in the work place, the world will become filled with a bunch of ugly people who are unhappy and crappy. So how do I avoid becoming that person? How do I love what I do but also do it diligently, with effort, with care and consideration for myself and those around me, and remain sane in the process? I honestly don't think that any of those need to be compromised. After all, this is kinda it - we only have one shot.

What I've come to realize over the course of this hectic summer is that I need to be motivated to do what I do to keep my rent paid and food on the table. And the motivation needs to come from a pure and organic love for what I'm doing. Whether I am going to be saving lives or selling stretchy pants, I need to genuinely care about it. This isn't true for everyone but it certainly is true for me.

Do something you're good at and something you're going to be passionate about. Life is way too short to spend 40 hours of your time a week on anything less than that. It seems elementary and kind of over-generalized but this reality has been dawning on me like one of those eureka!'s that happen while I'm sleeping. It's simple but important. It's going to determine if you're living or just killing time.

noise

I can sleep through snoring.
Not only can I sleep through snoring but I can fall asleep to snoring. I might even go as far as saying that it actually puts me to sleep.

I don't really know what it is but it seems like any kind of steadiness can make even the harshest sounds or images transient and peaceful. In the same way, I think that even the most thrilling or exciting things can potentially become dull in the perception of them. If you go to a hockey game where it seems like the puck is just kind of hanging around the middle of the ice for a while and then all of a sudden there's a crazy breakaway, you'll pay attention no matter what it was that you were playing on your phone before. All of a sudden, the crowds stand up and there is this sense of excitement in the anticipation of what's happening.

I love that.

I'm such a sucker for things that pop like a pop of color in an otherwise bleakly hued room, or a stream of rays through a break in the clouds, or a moment in a song where there's only voices. Sometimes those pops are so much more satisfying than a stream of greatness. Too much of a good thing can sometimes be numbing.

In a similar sense, I'm a sucker for newness. I love moving into a new room, getting new clothes or makeup (or toothbrushes... best), and new music in my iPod. But that extends into stuff that gets more serious - new friendships, churches, community, relationships, jobs, geographical location. The old gets, well... old. One of my greatest regrets of who I am is that thing in me that makes my perception of precious things bland because they are no longer new. I use to think it was boredom but I've recently decided it's not really boredom. I need to stop saying that. I'm not bored of my friends or my relationships or my jobs just because they are maybe less "new" than they were. I think it's just that they have such a steadiness to them that I fail to recognize their beauty. This is especially true when my initial impression of them was a heart-stopping, agenda-changing, do-a-180 (not a 360) kind of impression. I get so high and I thrive too much off of that highness rather than stopping and taking a hot minute to realize the beauty of what's around me.

It's not boredom - it's white noise. It's that I fail to remember the beauty that first found me so fond. I am, by nature, a person that thrives off of excitement. So I don't think that has to be a bad thing. It only becomes bad when I fail to remind myself how exciting it all really is and to bring myself back to that place that gave me those butterflies. I think it's a choice. It's a discipline.

White-noise doesn't have to have such a negative connotation in my life. White-noise can mean that I am at peace. If I chose to view it well, I can pick away at the new things that come into my life amidst a backdrop of artistry and a sustained surrounding of matured and aged blessings. It's a choice of reminding.


Talking today at church about having ears to hear, I realized that for me, it's a matter of tuning in. It's the difference between looking for the new as a way of replacing the awesome that's before me, instead of appreciating the new as it comes while finding that contentment is really about taking note of the environment. The noise is there, and you can hear it, but you might just not really be listening that closely. I've been finding that when I do, I don't need to find new and that I can recognize it as novelty. I think it's possible to have both a sense of novelty in my life while embracing a continual and sustained experience of peace that goes beyond the mountain-top-experiences.

steadfastness

Moments of thoughtfulness always seem to allude back to a poem I wrote a few years ago. It's not super typical of me to write poetry but this one time I had so much in my fragile heart, and it just came out in the form of a poem. It's a little fascinating how much weight it still seems to carry in the thesis weaved in and throughout my incredibly average 20-some-year-old life.

i come and then i go
in and out of phases
in and out of stages
of plays and and circus cages
one time to be loved
and sometimes just paraded

It's that word, "phases." Is it normal to look back upon the past four years of your life and see about a dozen different people? Each person has different goals, different values, different style, different passions. I would even go so far as to say different way of talking, walking, or laughing. A friend of mine named Kevin introduced the word "steadfastness" into my life a few months ago when I met him. It's not like I had never heard the word or wasn't familiar with what it meant. But he used it on such a personal level. He talked about steadfastness in reference to how our relationship to God should look based on his ideal example -- his love is steadfast so we should be steadfast in our obedience to his will. His love doesn't shift and is entirely independent from anything else. His love, and his mercy, are catalysts.

(cat·a·lyst   [kat-l-ist]

noun1.Chemistry . a substance that causes or accelerates a chemical reaction without itself being affected.2.something that causes activity between two or more persons or forces without itself being affected.)

My quest for steadfastness is not as steadfast as I wish it was. Sometimes I hardly acknowledge the fact that most of my young adult life is a series of chapters, each one with a completely different character. It shocks me to look at some of those characters because some feel so far removed from who I feel I am right now.

I'm not talking about change and growth and developing as a person. I'm all for it. I think there can be great steadfastness through that refining of character over time. People change. That's not what I'm referring to. My "phases" are embarrassingly a result of running back and forth between a passion for the approval of man and a passion for giving my heart over to that which is greater.

I think steadfastness happens in part with an awareness that one is much more worth pursuing than the other. I don't know how or why some people are better at it than others. I don't think it's easy for anyone. But some day-dreaming whimsical fanciful people like me have a harder time staying grounded. It's so easy to get caught up in fairy-tales and what-ifs and think-it-would-be-better-for-myself-and-others-if-I-was-more-XYZ's.

I wish I could say with full confidence, "it has been and continues to be the same thing that gets me out of bed every morning -- that which is steadfast and unceasing in love!"

But I think Funk hit the nail on the head yesterday when he reminded us that this will be a struggle - that the struggle isn't magically removed in some formulaic response to Jesus but that it will, perhaps, be a difficult battle that you face every day.

Knowing that is comfort in that I recognize no one is struggle-free. And differentiating between the temptation and the practice is probably an important first step.

Listen to the message that inspired me here (sermon on Homosexuality).  

in a market dimly lit

I wrote a little song for you
with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme
to repeat what you already knew
as the stones thrown at your window tapped in syncopation
you kept a distance out of fear you'd break
but what's good a single windchime, hanging quite all alone?
the music our collisions would make
is a sound that turns the road-that-leads-us-back-home
into Home.