sharing the love

family va-stay-cation

We spent a whole week at my parents’ house, with almost all of my siblings and all of our offspring. Twenty-five of us, give or take. Sleeping bags and suitcases, baseball gloves and crocs, plastic cups and favorite books — in every corner. Laughing and shouting and screen doors slamming. Coffee maker always running. Kickball or baseball constantly being played. Meals being prepped and planned and consumed. Bedtime stories and prayer by candlelight. From 5:40am till the last adult hit the sack each night, there was activity — because with that many excited people, there’s action even in the being.

Can you believe that 11 children, tired and high on the good life, can enjoy one another for a whole week with barely a squabble? That 14 adults can enjoy those children, and one another, for a whole week? That grandparents, who are “supposed” to be relishing “their” space, would be beyond thrilled to let their home be invaded, their time and energy demanded, their every moment drained? That single siblings would spend their one week of summer vacation in settling baseball disputes, painting toddler fingernails, changing diapers so their mama-sisters can have a break, carrying babies, making sandwiches, sharing beds with little people whose little feet kick all night long?

I come away and think, This. This is pro-life. This is pro-Kingdom. This is pro-God. This is the joy of lives that have said a thousand times at a thousand junctures, You increase, I’ll decrease.

And I see on my children’s faces that their little hearts are cups overflowing with the ministry of love.

Most of us, heading out along a bike path.

Brothers, happy and full.

Mama does not buy carbonated treats, but Nana. Nana does.

William shares his appreciation at the big joint party.

How days begin.

Early morning entertainment.

Pretending to be Almanzo.

Most of us at the Almanzo Wilder Farm.

Blueberries!

Summer memories worth savoring. Family moments that build. Blessed kids.

ramblings

Tonight, my feet are sore. They protest when I require they carry 40 extra pounds around all day.

Ryan has been trying to juggle many things this summer, including our slow but steady bathroom reno. This week, floors are oiled. Tonight, a toilet is installed. Tomorrow, the sink arrives.

We took a walk after dinner this evening. Well, more like a romp through our fields. The mosquitos finally drove us back to our neatly mowed lawn, but watching boys and toddler girl run willy-nilly, laughing and yelling, was worth a few [dozen] bites.

I’m feeling the squeeze to be ready for a new baby — not just the birth, but the life that comes after, which in this case includes birthdays and school year beginnings. I’m trying to stick to my list of what is actually important, since hormones inspire me to do random and crazy overhauls.

I’m also realizing that the squeeze I feel needs to be harnessed and used to bless my family, rather than be allowed to take over and steal joy, peace, and time. We will do our best to pull together and get some things organized. But in the meantime, time does not stand still. My freckled boy is about to turn 7. Seven! And William is going to be 5 right after that, leaving “little boy” status behind. And Beatrice has grown so tall, talks so much, and is so happily independent that I have to go out of my way to snuggle her for a few minutes here and there. Their lives are being lived, and each day is an opportunity to sow Kingdom seed.

I’m thinking lots about being a wise woman who builds her house, and of being a pillar, sculpted in palace style. Strength. Stability. Shelter. Even in the ebb and tide of ninth-month hormones, I am called to be those things. And if I daily choose to abide in the life-giving Vine, the grace and power to fulfill that calling will be there.

I’m also thinking lots about sleep. Which is what I will now indulge in — and my aching feet will thank me!

from our field

what I find on my phone

childbirth + creation theology

Spending some time in thought, reading, and review as I prepare for a coming baby. Meditating on a loving and wise Creator is the most comforting, strengthening, exciting thought there is as I approach labor and delivery. So, a repost from the archives. (Thanks, Mama.)

*****

“Perhaps our children will grow up familiar with birth and knowing it to be a positive, fulfilling process, but for most of us that discovery, and a corresponding effort of deconditioning, must occur when we become pregnant or are contemplating having a child.” (Rahima Baldwin, Special Delivery)

I read that line last week as I flipped through what I still think is one of my top picks for birthing books. I couldn’t help but think of my mother, who shaped my entire concept of pregnancy, birthing, and babies. She was the one who put forth the effort of being reconditioned, and as a result, I was the child who grew up familiar with birth, and thinking of it as hard, yes, but hardly negative.

One of my mom’s life messages, whether she’s ever set out to preach it or not, is, “What is God’s design?” She’s a true Creationist. What I mean is, the decisions she makes day in and day out reflect her firm belief that God made our bodies, and that His design is good. Pertaining to childbirth, this means that she actually believes God made a woman’s body to nurture and sustain a baby for nine months, and then to deliver that baby.

(As an aside, Ina May Gaskin writes that jokes comparing childbirth to forcing a golf ball through one’s nostril sort of upset her, especially when told to a nervous first-time mother. That’s simply not a fair comparison, because while our nostrils are not intended to fit around a golf ball, our bodies are intended to deliver full-grown, healthy babies. I thought that was a brilliant point!)

This, then, is the idea that I was raised with. Mom didn’t spout negativity about labor and delivery as the date approached, although she would occasionally admit to moments of panic! Rather, we saw her dutifully stretching, walking until the last day, eating well, and generally approaching delivery with determination and preparation.

My midwife commented to me last week on how well I’m moving about still, and how many women, by week 37, are incredibly awkward and stiff. Huh, I replied. Well, I guess I just grew up watching my mother, and she never slowed down a bit, and so perhaps that’s my idea of how to handle late pregnancy?

Yes, I’ll give credit to my mother for that, too.

In fact, more and more I realize how much effect Mom had on the subtleties of my attitude towards birth. I am so, so thankful. So thankful. There has been no deconditioning for me to do. I simply reaffirm the thoughts and ideas that are already well planted and watered by a courageous, faith-filled mother.

I write all this largely to communicate what a gift we give our children (and especially daughters!) when we tackle the issue of fear in childbirth. Yes, I can’t overstate what a gift I esteem this to be.

–from the archives, October 2008