The messiness of marriage and parenthood

Valentine's Day brought with it cards, cake, candy, and tulips. It also brought declarations of love from my four-year-old and my own thankfulness for all of the morning coffees (and accompanying snack) that Matthijs has brought me on all these days I've worked from home during the pandemic. 

Even as I am deeply thankful for my marriage and parenthood, I also recognize that parenthood is hard. So is marriage. I laughed aloud at the following description that Stephanie Phillips wrote about her own relationship:

"My pronouncements of [my future husband's] perfection stretched far and wide, or at least to my meager blog audience, who were treated to glowing stories about his strength of character and witty repartee. The way I saw it, he had saved me from (shudder) a life of singleness as one of New York City’s resident Cat Ladies.

Then we got married, and had kids, and now those cats don’t sound so bad."

In a season when we've spent a bit too much time together and I sometimes desperately just want time alone, those words resonate me. 

Yet, I'm also thankful that not only do I still have the cat (who follows me around the house, acting as my personal heater in my cold basement office), but I have a family who patiently allows me space to struggle through the challenges of being human and grace for me as I learn better how to love them and extend them the same grace they extend me. 

Phillips describes her own coming to terms with the messy reality of marriage in the following way: 

"Some readers (and reviewers) — most, if you read the comments section of that review — would be more comfortable with the fairy-tale version of marriage that we believed in when we were kids; the one I unwittingly expected when my own knight showed up to rescue me from spinsterhood. But at some point (usually around the first time one of you farts, or during a sleepless night full of infant screams and threats of murder), the wheels do come off, which is to say that you actually begin to see each other. All of each other. This is when grace enters the picture, because sticking around becomes a choice when both of your flaws show in the marked relief of everyday light. Which feels reminiscent of another kind of love I know.

“Sometimes you fear possibility itself: the possibility of growing into something more expansive and generous than you are now, growing into a shape that might look ugly from the outside but feels beautiful from the inside,” writes Havrilesky, who is describing marital love but could be documenting my own interaction with God’s grace over the years."

For more of Phillips' words about marriage in response to Havrilesky's recent memoir, follow this link.

Presumed covid

While pandemic life has always been a bit uncertain, it feels like we've reached a new level in our house this week. Anyone living in Ontario with covid symptoms this last week (and trying to figure out the new PCR testing regulations) can probably relate to our family's conversations: so I think the little has covid? so we should probably isolate, right? should we use one of our last rapid tests on her (and if so, swab throat or nose)?

We can't actually get a PCR test for her. We do have 2 rapid tests left - and used one to get a negative result on Sunday (when we first heard her cough and we wanted to be safe in leaving the house), but is it worth trying again? 

The same document tells us that if you're not eligible for testing, then "if you have any of the symptoms listed below, the individual is presumed to have COVID-19 infection and is advised to self-isolate." And yes, the little has had a few symptoms: a nasty cough, some chills, a runny nose, extra fatigue, and even some shortness of breath a few days ago. Even if it's not covid, whatever she has is unpleasant and shouldn't be passed on to others. (Matthijs and I thankfully haven't gotten what she has). 

As for how much it matters - well, there are now new regulations for isolation: "If the individual is fully vaccinated OR is a child under the age of 12 years old, they should self-isolate for at least 5 days from symptom onset AND until their symptoms have been improving for 24 hours, whichever is longer in duration." Unfortunately, we didn't realize we all should have started isolating sooner - because we're still adjusting to the new rules - but tomorrow will be day 5. On top of that, our one housemate is mostly managing the inconvenience of staying out of contact with us (and the other has yet to return), and the little is slowly getting better. She's well enough now to enjoy being sick and so she fake coughs every time we ask her if she's getting better - so that she can avoid school and stay in her pyjamas all day. 

So I presume everything is okay and we're doing the best we can with the information we have - but I think I'd still like to know. Perhaps because I have a lingering sense of getting covid as being connected to some moral failure (even though I know that's wrong). Or perhaps simply because I'm tired of trying to make the best decisions when I don't feel like I know enough.

Strength for the ordinary

As we face another January that is shaped by a pandemic and pivoting, my prayer is that I would be able to trust that God would give us enough strength and hope in all of it - and that I might see the joys of the world around me, even if it's only the proud exclamations of my child's colouring of a Paw Patrol character (or a lunch picnic in her bedroom). 

A poem by Lisa Rieck about Mary's response to the angel's news, posted at InterVarsity's Well, resonated with me - about the challenges of living into what we are being asked to do. I can be filled with adrenaline for a new challenge, but it's a lot harder to actually follow through with a project and to keep my heart open to hope and love.

The following is an excerpt:

"In that moment, 

our holiness soars to its feet, ready to 

greet whatever epic task was just passed to us.

 

It’s the next moments that matter...

 

when no one knows what to say to a girl who

claims her seeming disgrace is actually 

good news of grace for the world.

 

I hope then that I will still 

be the Lord’s servant, opening 

my hands to welcome, like a 

womb, the Word that is being fulfilled." 

Lisa Rieck 

I encourage you to read the full poem here.

Chaos until Thanksgiving

Every job has its seasons of chaos and calm. With campus ministry, summer is usually a time of calm, while September is chaos. The pandemic has only increased the chaos for us, as we've been figuring out how to gather safely in-person. 

One of my campus ministry colleagues would argue that things should shift around Thanksgiving. Before then, our lives and ministry could be chaos. We should expect to be busy with organizing and meeting. With the beginning of the year, we should expect extra hours and extra chaos. But it should always be something temporary. Experience had taught us that (Canadian) Thanksgiving was a reasonable date to shift away from the mindset that overwork is normal. Instead, we should be paying attention to re-creating sustainable rhythms and to rest enough. by doing that, we are more able to be present for those coming to us, to be able to imagine and wonder what God might be asking for us, and to have the energy to deal with the inevitable (and temporary) crises that will still come up. 

I'm so thankful we've reached Thanksgiving. I'm ready for more sustainable rhythms and more wondering.

Sharing my work with my family

Several weeks ago, I helped host a breakfast in honour of our re-starting Wine Before Breakfast in person again. I got up early, packed up my things, and left Lydia behind with Matthijs.  

The next week we hosted our Wine Before Breakfast service online. I got up early and started to go downstairs. Lydia heard me, demanded to know where I was going, and insisted on coming with me. She was not going to be left out again! The next week was a repeat of the same.  

The following week we met in person. We weren't sure what to expect, and once again Lydia was left behind. She was not impressed. We promised her that if she woke up early enough, she could come with me this week. 

Matthijs and I woke up this morning, got ready, and were seated at breakfast, when I heard footsteps in the hallway upstairs. The footsteps went into our room to see if we were there, and then started running to go downstairs. When Lydia was at the top of the stairs, I told her: you made it! After getting her ready, Lydia and I left only a bit late (thankfully I have a fantastic team who can handle that). 

Lydia got to put out the bulletins and then gladly claimed the children's corner at Church of the Redeemer. She let me know that she'd join the rest of us when the singing started. She spent the service moving between the children's corner, dancing some, and hanging out with Matthijs or me (including when I was leading). And she got to have communion with us - Jesus' bread, as we call it. And then it was off to school.

My daughter loves being included in what we do. But today I think I delighted even more than she did with her and Matthijs being present. While she has had brief glimpses of my work through joining us briefly via Zoom, it has only been in the last month or so that she and Matthijs have gotten to participate in a Wine Before Breakfast service or meet 'my people' at our graduate group. 

As Matthijs has been such a supporter of what I do, it has been strange for him to be so distant. I am thankful that this is changing and for the images I am given of these changes: Lydia's solemn face in taking communion, as well as her joining us in singing Taize music. 

a day of small joys

Saturday we slept in and spent the day doing small things, good things that needed doing, but nothing overly urgent.

Matthijs and Lydia working at the kitchen table.

Matthijs fixed my bike tire, and Lydia got a new bike bell. I did the laundry and reviewed a mass email for work before sending it out. We now have clean bathrooms.   

I went to my local library for children's books, my corner fruit store for grape tomatoes, and the local grocery store for bread. We made potato salad and fruit salad (from the mangoes and bananas we'd also picked up - and taught the little that tomatoes don't belong in a fruit salad). We had good conversation at dinner (again).

In a season that continues to be challenging, days filled with small joys are a gift. I'm thankful that we've had more such days this past month, and for how God is using them to restore my soul.

Admiring Pandaland, which I'd bumped into while walking the neighbourhood.

Learning to live with myself - and accepting grace

Last week Friday I managed to get my email inbox down to 13 emails, which seems like a success. It's been months since my inbox has been so low, what with the chaos of starting a new job, moving, and the general challenges of life during a pandemic. Getting my inbox down to a manageable level gives me the sense of control over my life. Yet, the control was a bit of an illusion, as I'd been using my inbox as a good excuse to not work on writing my sermon. 

When I was in college, my house was always cleanest around exam time. By doing something else good, I could make myself feel better about not doing what I actually should be doing. One would hope, twenty years later, that I should be beyond that. In reality, I've simply shifted around what needs doing and the 'good' thing that I can do to avoid that.

I feel like learning to come to terms with ourselves - all of our quirks and needs, talents and skills - is something that we continue to struggle with, even as we grow older and hopefully wiser. This past week this struggle came out when faced with the daunting task of wrestling with a text and wondering what the Spirit would have me say. Is working through my email a good thing, something I can do to get an illusion of control, a sense of accomplishment, or even some tiredness so that I no longer fight to avoid doing what I really ought to be doing? Yes. no. maybe. It all depends on the day. 

As I get older, I can recognize that I can either choose to be frequently frustrated with who I am and how I act, or I can choose God's grace. 

Grace to accept who I am and my difficulties to stay on task. 

Grace to accept how much I like being in control and feeling productive (and that this is ultimately an illusion). 

Grace to see what I do as sin and name it as such - so that I can stop trying to fix myself on my own but accept my need for the Spirit to show up and work in and despite me. 

As I learn to accept myself and accept grace in the middle of that, it also allows me to rejoice more easily in the good that comes out of who I am, including my tendency to procrastination. Like being thankful for getting through emails I was behind on (and thanks, too, that the sermon did get done). And I can be delighted by how the Spirit shows up in surprising ways, like how I read last week's reflection from First CRC when I was trying to figure out how I was going to be present at our ministry's silent retreat while also being present for my small daughter. The email showed me a way that I could be creative and delight in both the nature surrounding my new house and in my daughter's joy in doing an art project with me. The results, including the joyful daughter, are in the picture below.