learning the ways of rest

I was deceived. For years I was under this misunderstanding of Grace.

Scratch that. I didn't know about Grace. Really, I hadn't heard of it.

For years I judged women. Admittedly, I still do.
     Mostly, I judge myself.

So when the Physician's Assistant asked me four weeks before my due date how I was feeling, and I told her the truth (because I've learned its importance), I wasn't quite ready for what she offered me.

I had a plan to be out of work on a set date and even that plan was a generous helping of rest I hadn't ever considered nearly 11-years ago when I was last pregnant and down to the wire, so to speak. Back then, I worked until Noon on the day of my scheduled induction . . . two-weeks after my due date. Yep. I sure did.

Everything had been going so well and I truly didn't even consider an end date for work except unless something happened that would require being taken out of work, or actually being in labor.

This time, I mostly had the same viewpoint; except, I thought about how difficult it is to go to work each day and wonder if it'll be any day, and I thought about my nearly 11-year-old Boy-Man and how I'd really like some time together before we become a family of four. So, I planned to take a "vacation" starting the week preceding my due date and just continue a stay-cation until the delivery, at which time maternity leave would begin.

Knowing our "plans" can get sidelined, I was prepared for the possibility of potentially getting taken out of work earlier than expected, or of something going quirky that would derail all of my highfalutin plans. So, I kept my ideas loose-ish.

What I hadn't considered was being offered to be taken out of work "to rest," and it not necessarily being because anything is wrong. 

I told my PA how exhausted I am . . . how the baby is "so low" . . . how I'm incredibly uncomfortable . . . and of the regular-ish (Braxton-Hicks) contractions.

She reminded me of the magnitude of pregnancy and encouraged me to consider resting even more than I'd so diligently and deliberately focused on (and was) doing.

     But, it just seems so silly . . .
     Women have babies all the time . . .
     There's not really a compelling reason . . . 

     What will people think? 

My perception of pregnancy had deceived me from reality.

I thought mean things like:

     Women who didn't enjoy their pregnancy weren't appreciative. 
     Women who complained about the discomfort of pregnancy are weak. 
     Rest is for the weak ones.

Yeah, I was a judgy one -- tight-fisted, insensitive, irrational, and incredibly intense!

I'm not sure I ever considered all that pregnancy requires of a woman's body, especially in the last month of pregnancy. I'm not sure I ever considered kindness, either.

So here I am with nearly two-weeks until this baby's due date . . . with a tween-age Boy-Man who is so happy to have his Momma home . . .

     And I'm still learning the importance of rest . . .
          I'm still learning the ways of Grace.

You can preach truth at me all the livelong day to loosen my grip and rest, and I'll nod my head in agreement that I get it. I write about it. I preach about it.

But growing is a process, and it requires my patience.

Even though we know truth it doesn't mean our "muscle memory" automatically reprograms. 

Though I am willing and aching for a life with less fear-based living that is the reason for my tight-constricted way of living, I'm definitely a work in progress and still growing. 

     I'm continuing to chase hope for my "muscles" to further develop . . .
          that I will live less clenched and rule-based.
   
     I'm learning to be patient in and with the process.

Maybe this whole experience of letting go and saying "yes" to the opportunity for rest, offered by one sensitive, understanding, and wise Physician's Assistant was one of those moments that will bring me ever further into living the kind of life I believe I was created to live.

I was hardwired to be a hard-worker, a "go-getter," and (at least slightly) Type A. This is a good thing. It helps me get things done and accomplish goals. Yet, it isn't all of me.

About my concern of what people might think?

I'm hoping that like my Physician's Assistant ultimately did, others might look into my eyes and with honesty say:

     "I get it. I so get it. And, I'm with you."

Because, as much as we all know loosening our grip is important, and we want to grab our friend's by the shoulders and shake them until they get it, I have to believe we're all a work in progress . . . we all struggle to fully rest.

And one of my biggest realizations?

    There is no shame for the difficulty in ever more fully learning this truth.

It was a couple of friends who stood in the gap for me, holding space for my continued growth. They walked alongside me in my struggle and didn't judge me or make me feel inadequate.

These few friends didn't try to fix me. They didn't tell me to get over it and command me to "simply" loosen my grip.

These few simply held space for me by opening their hearts, offering unconditional support, and let go of judgment. These friends honor the necessary part of the process.

As one dear friend prayed for me, I also pray, for us all:

"That the paths you are so prone to go down -- the ones of production, the ones of appearance, the ones of showing yourself worthy -- that the rigidness of those routes would soften, and that what spills out the edges of that would find new ground and new ways to make paths . . . for newness of life to grow . . . and a new strength to come from giving over to the work of God."

learning to receive

It feels easier to keep all the feelings to myself.

Stuffing my thoughts in my journal or reserving them for the book that I might never actually finish or publish seems like the more comfortable thing to do. It's less risky of being perceived as prideful or lookatmeish. Posting on Facebook or on my blog is so forward and I imagine a big red arrow flashing: Look at Me!

Yet, I think there's something that needs to be said.

I know I'm a hot mess and that I can be overly dramatic, overly sensitive, and overly self-conscious. I can tend to make much ado about nothing and worry over imagined things versus real things. In my attempt to not make messes, I create bigger ones. Still, I know that I am not alone.

Here we are, nearly 11 years since our first son was born, and we're expecting another. The guy at the furniture store yesterday asked us point blank why we would do such a thing. "Why start all over again?" I joke with people about it and eye roll, claiming that this came as a surprise when it's something that we actually hoped for. We actually chose not to have our children close in age.

I've waited for so many years to see this dream come true of having two children. Around the time our son was two years old I began asking when we could try for another and for seven years I continued to ask that question, begging and cajoling and trying to be good-enough.

Eventually, I learned what surrender is about and made the hard choice to let it go. I stopped asking and started considering that maybe having two children wouldn't be a part of our story. I started to be okay with our life as it is.

Without realizing it, even though I was experiencing contentment, a twinge of bitterness took root in my heart. I so much imagined our family as being just the three of us that I actually closed off my heart to having another, so bitter about the waiting and the faith-living.

I wish that I could say that I was willing for anything since I said those words so many times, yet the truth is that I really hadn't arrived at that place of willingness. Sure, there were moments when I was more willing and it felt as though I was genuinely open to whatever plan God had for us. And sure, there was a lot of progress that was made in my walled-up heart that allowed me to consider that perhaps my dreams weren't His dreams. Still, I didn't arrive in the ways I wish I did.

When we found out that we were expecting my dream of a second child, I reeled back as if the thought were a hot stove that I couldn't touch or I would get burned. It took me several months of living anxious to realize that I had been living as if I was swimming in a pool and suddenly gasped for air, panic-stricken.

I was so aware of my fear that we would lose this baby, or that maybe it wasn't about the baby and there was something that I needed to learn in the process and losing the baby would be a necessary part of my story. I momentarily forgot about the vision I had two years prior that our kids would be exactly 10 years apart and how I was actually excited to be an older mother with the experience of having a different kind of story.

There were so many people who I shared our news with so early and I wanted to limit their happiness for us. I didn't want to face them if we lost this joy. I feared pity and misunderstanding because no one fully knew the journey I had lived and even those who stood on the periphery of our story had limitations to their connection with me.

I did a pretty good job at erecting boundaries that were more reflective of brick walls designed to keep me safe. I have kept people at an arms distance away to reduce any risk of hurt or disappointment. I imagine that maybe people don't really care that much and they're just being nice. I hear people say they're so busy all the time and I feel like I'm a nuisance or an inconvenience when I try to get together with them. At the same time, I don't make accommodations for people a lot of the time and let "busy" be my excuse to dodge relationships.

I want people to know that I am happy to see them and be around them, though I don't really want them to get too close. I'm not sure what my actions actually communicate and a part of me is really too afraid to know the truth. I wish I wasn't this way, yet it scares the bejeebers out of me to even think of being any different. It's just so much easier in a lot of ways to keep up this charade, though I know that it really isn't.

When friends ask if anyone is throwing us a shower for this new baby a part of me is delighted at their kindness, while the other part of me wants to shirk into my shell and say that I don't need that, I can do it on my own thankyouverymuch . . . besides, who has baby showers for the second child ( . . . even if it is 11 years later . . . )?

I hear myself mumble to myself, "I'm an adult now and capable of buying my own baby gear." I hear my own self defending my life, prideful that I am doing things "right" now and that I don't need anyone.

I hear these words and I remember how I want this time to be different. I want to enjoy and notice and soak up the moments. I want to receive any help and any happiness anyone might have to offer. It won't be perfect and I am careful not to romanticize this experience, but I so much want to receive all of it -- as it is -- instead of trying to do everything right all the time.

When our first son was born I didn't make any accommodations for how my life would change. I didn't make adjustments at work to peel back even a little bit. I focused on work and how-to-be-a-good-mother with such an intense laser focus. I don't remember actually feeling anything, I was so head-down driven to do and be all things. I had a lot of growing up to do, for sure.

Now, there is a different way of living that my journey has led me to receive. I am more willing to accept my weaknesses and my strengths as they are. I am less prone to try-hard to be all things and more apt to enjoy the moments. Even though I still have so much more to go in my learning to live a life that is reflective of rest, I enjoy so much more about life than I ever have before.

The wife of a very good friend of ours has offered to throw me a shower for this baby and I responded to her with, "Who would even come? . . . They're all so busy . . . " I think about how I've shut them all out anyway, and wonder who would even want to come. I feel silly and awkward and embarrassed.

My heart knows that the years in between my first son and this pregnancy isn't about the baby, just as I know that a baby shower isn't about the gifts or even the people. I'm learning to live open, to loose my wants and dreams and all my comfort-strappings. I'm learning that though I don't "need" the people, maybe there is a gift in being with them and even for them in being with me.

I recently realized that I am not as introverted as I once classified myself as being. I discovered that being around people actually gives me energy. Even watching people interact with each other is enough for me. I need people. It is fear of doing life wrong, or of being perceived as too much that has kept me back and alone.

Why don't I slide open my glass door and sit among the people who I really want to be with? Why don't I invite them in? Why do I continue to make it appear that I am too busy for them when really all I do is sit on my couch and think about how I need people?

It feels easier to just watch the world from inside behind the comfort of my own windows. It seems easier than risking any rejection or worrying how they might really feel or what they might really think. But the truth is that it isn't. And I finally know it.

I can hardly even remember all the people I'm "friends" with who live near me. I don't even know who my people are because it's the local, in real life people who I've been most ashamed to be me around and who I dodge and duck and cover to hide from. A part of me wants to post on Facebook, "Who would come?" Names start raveling into my thoughts: Jen, Erin, Lauren, Molly, Joan, Trish, Erica, Mari, Debbie, Kristen, Theresa . . . Would they come? And then I think about the people I work with and how I too often categorize them as only my 8:30-4:30 people . . .

Boy-Man tells me to say "Yes!" if anyone wants to throw us a party. As scary as it is, I think maybe his bold confident acceptance of kindness is what it means to be strong. Maybe it's time to open the sashes and doors and to step out in big, brave courage without smiling and waving in genuine happiness only to quickly put my head down in fear. It's time to celebrate relationships and to risk what is real.

Who is with me? Who can remind me that I am not alone while reaching for my hand and receive the gift of relationship?

give

They're teaching me, these two men in my life.

About caring for each other well. And about paying attention.

I'm listening to them. Watching.

Words exchange and I notice their tone.

I hear similarities. See love, acceptance.

They are like the same. And I'm in awe.

I am learning to give my heart here, in the Now.

To teaching and learning, forgiving and growing.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

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a meaningful *gift*

As a parent I want to give my son what he wants and what he needs.  Give.  Without him doing anything to earn or deserve it.

Sometimes, I need to teach and sometimes learning is the ultimate gift.

The boy needed a new bicycle.  His first-one-ever has become outgrown and for his safety he needs something that fits him better.

We could have just bought him one.  And we intended to.  Until a different kind of thought came to my groom's mind: maybe the boy-man should contribute.

It was a thought that was prompted by a comment my mother made the evening prior.  "Do you have money for {a new bike}?"

That question settled on my groom's heart and he wrestled with whether to give freely, or give a lesson.  He called me and we discussed his thinking.  His good thinking.  Together we decided what my groom had already discussed with the boy-man - he would contribute.  And so we paid for half and he paid the other half.

I think back to the wondering in my heart that morning, as I wrestled with whether to give the boy-man his allowance earlier than I planned - before he raised a significant amount to *spend* in a meaningful way.

Because I know the boy-man doesn't know the value of money yet, and he doesn't know what to buy with it, I intended to help him control his urge to buy some-thing he doesn't even want or need.  And yet, I could sense his desire to buy with his own money - his excitement for having earned the opportunity to spend.

God heard that wonder in my heart and He received it as a prayer.  I looked to Him for guidance.  He provided an opportunity to teach - a lesson in *spending* on something important and meaningful.

Sometimes we have to step back and not give so freely in the ways we usually do.

Sometimes the giving needs to happen in the withholding.  In the learning. 

My Father gives me just what I need - an opportunity to do *spend my time - {my life}* in a meaningful way.  To teach.  And to *see* His purpose in parenting.

Thank you, Lord, for knowing what we *need* more than we do.  

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Unwrapped *Gifts* of {Grace}...

...blueberry pancakes to celebrate the first day of Spring...

...how an empty house reminds me of the empty space my grandparents lives once filled...

...the boy-child's excitement for a field trip...

...a welcoming porch with places to sit and relax...

...how the piano ignites feelings of calm and peace...

...a difficult conversation laden with grace...

...my own mother's warm embrace...