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First off, since i did say that i would “let you know” how my resolve to go to bed earlier turned out, i will do that. I’ll start with the good news: Saturday night i went to bed around 11:15, and slept in until 8:30. Amazing. For the rest of the news, well i did actually turn off the light before midnight on at least two occassions. Unfortunately every night in the week involved both kids waking me up at least once per night for… restroom-related reasons. Not pleasant for anyone. And sort of negated those few pre-midnight minutes of attempted sleep.
Onward, now
Let me tell you, I find myself saying the dumbest things. I mean, really. The problem is that I say things that absolutely sense to me (that’s probably true for everyone, right?). Only afterward do i realize that the person/people i am talking to are giving me funny looks for a real reason. Something did not make it correctly from the speaker’s mouth to the hearer’s ears.
Example A: This was a few years ago, i don’t think it would happen now. I was at school, meeting with a professor i had not seen in a whole semester. She was probably 8.5 months pregnant. Me: Oh, wow, look at you! She: uh, yes. Me: I mean, you are like, twice the size you were before!
I do not think she took this as the compliment i intended. It was clear to me that i was noting how very svelte a person must be for a mere 7ish pound soon-to-be-born babe to make them appear doubled in size. Oh, the very memory of those words escaping my lips hurts.
Example B: Hanging out with friends Saturday night, I made some comment containing the words, “Oh yes, i am just slow.” And then noticed they were just looking at me, a little bit of concern in their eyes. I got it: They surmised i was calling my mental abilities into question!
No, no, friends, i am indeed a smart cookie. I mean, a totally normal cookie, at least. But lets face it: i am always the slowest one to finish dinner. I take forever to try to make a list. I like to call myself thorough when it comes to tasks, and it takes a long time to be thorough. I can get anything done, but the time has to be right! And between Brian (who is, you may have noticed, generally quick and efficient) and me, it’s clear that one of us is the faster and one the slower. We know where we stand. I maintain that many wonderful cultures have fine traditions of not rushing through life, and we could use more of that around here!
And the problem again: I knew what i meant, and it really did make sense. To some extent, we all have our own language based on connotations, abbreviations, nick-names and idioms, etc. We adapt to what we know of each other, and everything’s fine until something is lost in translation. Oh dear. How on earth friendships and marriages are maintained amidst those continually occurring accidental incidents does baffle me.
And in closing, the “final fling” of the childless weekend was a breakfast date this morning. There was W.B. French Toast. It was greasy and glorious.
Note: Have you ever used the phrase “in closing” other than in a school-related report? Until now, i had not. Strangely satisfying.
We’ve been singing a song in our church services lately called “Lift High.” The song is all about “when broken people call His name,” and “when sinners all exalt the Son.” The chorus contains the words “all rise, exalt the Son.” I listened to the song and thought of how hopeful that no matter how painful the circumstance that causes brokenness, it’s never too far for Him to lift us. What a beautifully simple picture of God’s redemptive plan this is. Call on His name, and rise from your brokenness to embrace His Life.
I listened more, and was thinking about some of what i wrote about here about being humbled before God. There was a question in the Bible study book i’ve been working through with my small group, “What will it take for you to humble yourself under God’s mighty hand?” Somehow as we read this together it felt like a threat. We immediately thought “what awful thing will have to happen to you to for you to give up control to God?,” even though we know that’s not how God works. My tendency has often been to try to make myself humble so that God will not make something bad happen to me to make me humble. (Note– that is bad theology. He is just, but God is no power-monger– he doesn’t need to be.) And this is the thought process we revealed in fearing to answer the question.
A few days after that question and conversation, in the middle of a Sunday-morning service were these words: “If you are not humble before God, then you are not really before God.” And there is the simple truth. What will it take for me to humble myself under God’s mighty hand? Seeing Him.
And to be able to rise and exalt Him does not require being beaten or broken. (Of course, we are able in any circumstance to come before Him, but we need not fearfully expect awful things. That is a lack of trust in God’s love for us and His plan). To rise in praise requires reverently bowing before Him; being humbled by the Glory of our Great God.
Yesterday, in the car, Stella was screaming because we make her buckle up in her car seat. You’d think at some point she’d just accept it. But one could never accuse her of lacking perseverance.
Brian: Stella, you’re being impossible.
Stella: (through big, dramatic tears) I am not a pasta! Dad, i am NOT a pasta!
So, all my talk of discipline, wisdom and the like, and i realized i have spent this entire week indulging in another of my long-term bad habits: staying up too late. Maybe you are familiar with this problem. It’s okay if you can sleep in late, or are good on too little sleep. However, i cannot, i am not, and two of the more obvious conditions of my life are supposed to preclude even the possibility of staying up too late. 1) Having small children, and 2) Being a pregnant lady. People who fall into either of these categories are, I hear, supposed to go to bed around 8.
I’m doing good if I go to bed in the P.M.s (before midnight, that is). I had sort of dropped that goal from my radar, since i was doing pretty well with it. Then this week, not a day has finished before I’ve seen midnight come and go. I mean, i could be in bed, but i’m not sleeping yet. I’m doing something far more productive. Like Facebooking, or pretend-shopping on Etsy, or pretend-decorating over at ApartmentTherapy. Or writing right here. Maybe reading a book. But not sleeping. When i saw 1:15 roll around the other night, i thought “what is wrong with me?” I know i’m going to feel like badness in six hours when i am woken by a toddler yelling to be released from his crib or jumping on my face.
My problem has always been two-fold. 1) I am just not tired. (I was, probably, for a while around 7 or 8, but then that wore off. And now i’m so awake.) 2) I dread really trying to go to bed, and just laying there waiting to fall asleep. You know how awful that feels? As i typed this, Brian, who was reading right there over on his side of the bed, turned off the light, rolled over, and within minutes (maybe just seconds) was asleep. I have to keep kicking him just a little bit to stop the snoring.
I’m jealous of that ability, also i don’t understand it. And i just don’t want to waste my time trying to fall asleep (oh, it’s a terrible thing!). You know how many more things there are to do when you are lying awake than there were before you tried to go to bed– suddenly i’ll remember so many really important things. Then i try to forget them for now in such a way that will allow me to re-remember tomorrow when the task actually needs to be done… I would rather read until my eyelids are burning and then quick turn out the light and hope i drift right on away.
Things have gotten better over time: there was a period during which my normal bedtime was 4 or 5 A.M. That’s wasn’t a very productive time in my life. There was a lot of skipping class in those days. Not to mention that for some of that time i was living in the dorms. With a roommate. Who probably cursed me nightly as i watched tv or IM’d my friends from home or downloaded tunes on Napster into the wee hours.
Someone who may or may not be asleep just next to me mentioned that maybe I should try to be a little more on top of the sleep thing. He thinks it might be better if i were to be a little more, um, proactive about the morning time. (This includes, i think, not staggering down the stairs all hungover-like, and also having coherent conversations and thoughts and such). You know, for the kids. I say, whoa, lets take this one step at a time.
So, yes, I resolve, once again, to go to bed in the P.M. hours like a normal, responsible grown-up person. I’ll let you know how it goes.
It wasn’t much more than a year ago that i realized that maybe i should continue making forward progress. I mean, a pure-hearted Bojangles lunch isn’t going to kill me, but neither will it bring my body the best nourishment. This was around the time Oliver was beginning to eat “people food,” and i was noticing how instinctively cautious i was about feeding him. Why even corrupt his tiny body with anything that would not help him grow? In contrast, my own eating was a blessedly careless affair, being that i’d happily dine on whatever was the quickest and closest when i had finished feeding both kids and just be done with it.
And i was noticing that sometimes a day would go by without my eating any vegetables or whole foods, which is problematic since those are really what the body runs best on. I had trouble thinking objectively about this. Season 1 was full of so many food rules that the only way my freedom seemed possible was to simply discard them all. The strict diets and expectations that had helped me set myself up for failure and despair during my toughest times were discarded; i’d adopted rules of moderation, enjoyment. These are great principles, things my life badly needed. But what was missing? Discipline, wisdom. Ah, yes, “all things are permissible, but not all things are profitable.”
I did some research, and got started on what seemed to be a sensible straight and narrow path. And did exceedingly well for about 5 days. Near perfect, in fact. Even when i “messed up,” i did not go nuts and console myself with donuts or whatever. I felt good. But the new problem was this: this new way required me to take back my old preoccupation with food– planning, plotting, preparing, analyzing. Oh, and it cost a lot more too. I did not discard the wisdom of eating in a way that’s healthy for my body, but decided to adopt a more disciplined approach without all the rules. The aim being to consistently grow more mindful, more wise, and to enjoy each meal more. And basically, to lower my standards: perfection is not a realistic goal, and it only brings frustration.
So the problem now is that, like oh so many things in life, i’m required to be intentional. There is a balance i do not want to tip either way– neither to the side that begs for rules, berates my imperfections and requires my legalism, nor the completely careless side that wants to flaunt freedom, ignore growth and think only in the moment. And isn’t this the way so many struggles end up? With tension, with the need to pay attention, to trust the Spirit in us for discernment in our moments: with struggle.
I have grown so accustomed to shifting size (having not actually stayed the same size for more than a few months at a time over the past 4 years of babies) that i’m not too bothered by that for now; i’ve accepted that there are actually more important things than how I think I look. And that more is accomplished without worrying about that part. And i’ve gotten used to the shifting demands of the babe-in-belly taking over my ideas about what i’ll eat each day (this week, Peaches-and-cream instant oatmeal. Could be worse).
But i still struggle, and i suspect i may always struggle, to live centered in the place where i am not dominated by food in either the foolish way or the prideful way. And like some of my other “favorite” battles (pride, selfishness, discipline, purpose, are a few), the key is in listening to my Maker and making the right choice each time: resting securely in the position i already have (that’s victory, yall!) in Christ, and stewarding the resources, the time, the relationships, the body i have here.
Why am i telling you all this? Many people have struggled through much worse; lets be honest– my food addiction is not that bad, right? I wasn’t fat, i wasn’t skinny (or starving), my health wasn’t exactly at high risk. But i’m compelled to write because i do not believe any one “issue” stands alone; these behaviors are just symptoms of the heart’s condition. Also, in the life of one who follows Christ, no issue is to be dealt with alone. My writing now is not so much my own felt need for healing as that of neutralizing the shame of the once-shameful, training myself to live life “in the light”; reminding the “old self” that it is powerless because of my life in Christ.
I often forget what a victory it is that i can tell you i am now far from that first season; it’s so easy to forget that from which we were lifted. But things did change, eventually. I did address the issue as best i knew with some friends, and then with Brian. When we were engaged, i felt he needed to know what i was dealing with. I also remained naively confident that at dawn of our wedding day, the day i was magically going to become all i’d ever hoped, the problem would melt away. (I was actually hoping it would resolve sooner, so that i’d be able to magically lose the 5ish pounds many women want to lose before their wedding. No such luck).
He was supportive, but couldn’t really understand or fix me like i hoped. And in the months after our marriage, it became clear that major life transitions can actually drive us back to our comfy bad “habits,” rather than bringing rescue. I could tell you about the embarrassing times he caught me hiding food or stuffing my face, but i really don’t want to; those obviously were not good moments. And much as he wanted to help me through it, the attempts really made me feel like a loser. I didn’t want him to see that side, didn’t want to be that vulnerable (i know- even with my husband!) or to need help.
I do not in any way suggest this as a cure for your issues, but for me, it was having a baby that finally changed things. As hyper-aware of my eating as i was before getting pregnant, it is amazing that it wasn’t until Stella was several months old that i realized i’d become free: i suddenly noticed that food didn’t occupy my thoughts, stuffing my feelings via stuffing food wasn’t even part of my life.
When I’d found out i was pregnant, i was so terrified, so excited, and felt to unprepared. And so i finally stopped looking at my problem all day, every day, and turned my attentions elsewhere– there was something bigger going on! A reason to stop being so consumed with myself; to care about something else instead. I had no idea how much self-focus it had taken to maintain my habits until the day i noticed they’d been broken.
And once Stella was born, there was far too much to take care of to worry about myself like i had. In many ways, i gained exactly what i’d wanted in regard to food: i ate whatever was there when i was hungry, and didn’t think about eating again till my stomach growled. Here was Season 2– a utilitarian period marked by great freedom. If i had eight cookies for breakfast because that’s what i had in the kitchen, and when i ate them i was hungry and when i stopped eating i was just exactly full, then it was victory! Or if i was out and about, and realized i needed food, i’d just drive through fast food, and get a meal. No ordering tons of food because fast food is illegal and if you mess up, you may as well just go for it and pay later. Nope, i’d just eat the food, have energy again, move on.
Of course, there were times i’d overeat, but my heart knew the difference– a thoughtless moment rather than a planned period of isolating myself with my favorite comfort. And i still maintain the ability, the tendency, to seek fulfillment in the most mind-numbing sources (have i mentioned my love of sitcom re-runs?); always a search for easy comfort to avoid deeper things that require some hard heart-work. I was so happy with my freedom that for a couple years, i didn’t even think that there might be room for more growth.
I was listening the other day to a sermon i’d missed while traveling. It was a lot about what we feed our hearts, and that choosing the right things– living God’s ways– requires filling our hearts and minds with His Word, knowing Him, abiding there. How it’s so easy to feed our souls with unGodliness that it’s often undetected.
To me, it was a little funny, funny in the way that sometimes sad things make us laugh because of discomfort. I was thinking of how embarrassingly literal that conflict has been for me: feeding my body, feeding my soul. The struggle i want to ignore because it has largely disappeared from my daily life but also because it’s one of my very ugliest and most tenacious. But it’s not all gone, i hope and pray someday it will be; i also believe that sins die most quickly when brought into the light. I think it will take a few posts to get through, so buckle up, friends, and let me share some of my dirt.
There was a time i was so consumed with my need to consume to the point of obsession: food, eating, not eating. This part, the first part, was the longest and the worst; six years or so, down and up; feeling fat, feeling skinny; feeling guiltily, dreadfully disgusting or completely elated and free. Embarrassed that i could not just eat food when hungry, like a normal person; that i would knowingly do something that would make me feel awful. Not even knowing that this is so common that if i’d had the nerve to talk to a friend about it, it would not be so shocking and horrifying as i imagined.
Counseling pointed toward ED-NOS; eating disordered, not otherwise specified. Not an eating disorder as in the big ones, but an obsession with the idea of what i was going to stuff myself with, the plan of preparing, the numbness of the act itself, the shame of having given in again, the process of ridding my body through a few extra miles run, a few extra pills popped, a few days of nothing but veggies consumed (or veggie-filled days and junk-filled nights). Not a normal relationship with food; not a normal relationship with myself, my Creator, or anyone else.
How could i have growth with the Lord when each day’s prayer is that of imploring Him to save me from myself, or shamefully rambling about my failures? Reruns of my favorite sins; guilt bringing back that helpless feeling that sent me searching for comfort, for fulfillment from somewhere, anywhere; eating was simply the way i knew best. Each return to the habit bringing with it a new awareness of my every flaw, and then renewed commitment to making myself better, being stronger. Therefore each repeated binge, an even greater failure than the last– i had sworn to never do this again! And there i was, half bag of chips, pint of ice cream, a piece of toast, a sleeve of crackers from the box, still alone and empty as could be.
Remembering this period of my life i see how the secrecy with which i attempted to battle my demon only created more isolation. I feared being laughed at, having someone say they had no idea what i was talking about. I wanted to get it all together first, then be vulnerable with people when it would be easier. I wondered how it was possible for another woman to have the relationship to food that i craved: eat when you are hungry, stop when you aren’t hungry anymore. Furthermore, the idea of seeing my physical self without thinking just of what i wish, wish, wish were different. Yet around me, it seemed no one else felt like i did; everyone else looked better, seemed not to be weighed by the secret shame i felt.
And maybe i appeared the same way. In fact, i probably did. You would have thought me aloof or shy, or in the best-case scenario, just a little quiet. It is likely you would not have known that my silence, my difficulty looking people in the eye and knowing how to behave normally, was because i was sure everyone could see my faults as clearly as i could, and could see nothing else.
It has become apparent that there are more differences between boys and girls than i suspected.
When Brian and i got married, i realized things were different on the brain level. There was a little bit of culture shock those first few months. As a girl who grew up with two sisters, i could not imagine living with a boy (other than my Dad, who i think had grown used to and tolerant of an estrogenized environment), to be that big a deal. Until it happened. Our months of dating and engagement should have given me plenty of opportunity to see that i had some, um…. unrealistic expectations of our approaching marriage.
Amazingly though, it was a surprise to me that once we were married, he did not have any interest in things like watching “The Wedding Planner” (an at-least weekly ritual with my roomies before i got married) or “Notting Hill” together while eating ice cream right from the carton and giggling together about, you know, whatever. And then bringing my new husband clothing shopping and realizing that to him, shopping consists of walking in, picking the desired item in the correct size (without trying it on, which was an unnecessary waste of time), paying and then leaving. That’s it! And i think that he wanted me to adopt this approach too! I’m not even a big shopper type, but something in my female DNA simply cannot allow shopping for clothes to be that simple. You get the drift– it’s in those little differences.
Well, i will just say that having a son has compounded my confoundment about the male mind. I know that it’s not strictly along gender lines, there is a good dose of temperament and personality in there, but i look at Oliver and i swear he just has a natural desire for destruction.
Examples culled from today alone: Eats as much breakfast as he’s interested in, throws the rest on the floor and shakes his sippy-cup, in the manner one shakes a salt-shaker, until his tray is a puddle of milk mottled with banana bits and cheerio crumbs. I re-hang the curtain rods and curtains he tore down yesterday (the way the hooks are i can pop them up back easily enough.) I go to retrieve clean laundry for folding, and forty-five seconds later, return to see he’s scaled Stella’s bed to reach the curtains, pulled the curtains and the rod down, and is using the curtain rod to bang on the walls, furniture, etc., while yelling and gesturing triumphantly, like a tiny tribal chief after battle. He sees me do laundry, climbs in the basket and throws all the just-folded pieces into a heap on the floor. Then he rocks back and forth until the basket tips over (i think he’s trying to make it go somewhere), hits his head on the wall that’s right there, and comes crying to me to fix it. We go for a walk, and he’s tired of sitting in the stroller. So he reaches over to pull Stella’s hair, you know, venting his frustration, and chuckles when he pulls out a handful. Is this normal?
Now, i know that soon enough impulse control will be learned (i know that because i’m going to be teaching him!) and i think that some of it is normal part of learning about the world. But as for now, he’s climbing all the furniture, trying to learn how to use up all that creative, physical, explorer energy, and i do not know how to help him!
My puzzlement now is how to shepherd someone i do not understand. What is it that drives him to climb the changing table? To unplug and try to re-plug any electrical cord he gets his hands on? To want to rummage through the trash can and play with the toilet brush? What brings the apparently insatiable desire to throw, kick and hit things? To try repeatedly to get away with finding Brian’s skateboard so he can take it out for a ride? Is this, indeed, “what little boys are made of?” These are things that Stella, though she’s a very active girl, just does not do. She collects things, she sorts and pretends and runs and jumps and asks “How was your day?”
I know my mind is more on these things with the thought of baby brother on the way. I recall the stories I’ve heard of Brian’s childhood with two brothers. Oh, the stories! Being locked in the bathroom to fight it out ’till they could get along. Actual fist-fights, not just the yelling and name-calling of my childhood. Skateboarding or biking down steep hills for fun. Dumping one another in trash cans. I just don’t get it.
Rest assured, i’m not interested in bashing the differences between men and women. I really like guys. In fact, that’s the very reason i’m in this state today (my husband, that is… yes, you get it). Men, really, are great. Very good, those differences. But honestly, i have never spent so much time with a boy as with Oliver, and even at this sometimes challenging little boy level where he is, it’s quite a lot of fun quite a lot of the time. Then i’ll be rocking him before nap time, and he snuggles onto my shoulder and hums along as i sing to him, and then he rears back, head-butts me and cracks up. And i think, what is going on in that brain of yours, kid? Because i know it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.
i had to confess to my small group this morning that i have been a brat this week. self-absorbed, whiny, wanting more. Maybe you read my post from yesterday and you already noticed. (yikes!) Struggling to find the balance of contentment, not anxiousness, in a place where i have a heart-desire for something but it is not quite time yet (this would be our future house). Struggling to remain purposeful in the midst of the everyday (this is an ongoing thing, maybe you experience it too).
I had a good time in the word yesterday and the scriptures i was pointed to reminded me of the normalcy of these situations. Everyone has trials, and it’s not easy to follow in the way of Christ, nor should it be.
“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.” 1 Peter 5.6-10
I had a vision not too long ago of our house (future house) and a new baby. This was right before we found out there was a new baby coming. It was not a visual vision, like a picture, but a sort of heart vision. In just a moment i recognized an aspect of what that house will feel like, and what this baby will bring into our family, as if I’d seen both of them before. In my heart, it felt like nostalgia for the future.
In spite of my hopes and how legitimate they may or may not be; In the trial that is not a really big deal, but requires daily dying to my never-ending list of wants and wishes (which so easily alienate me from my God, and dig me deeper into my own selfishness), i know that “under the mighty hand of God,” i want to remain.
This weekend we trekked across the state and back home again in exactly 60 hours. About 11 hours in the car, and with minimal objections from our rowdy passengers (the kids, that is). Whew. We bought a new album for the occasion, which is exciting. We were glad to be getting out of town for a bit.
The purpose of the trip was to watch my sister Steph perform her senior percussion recital. She rocked it, of course, because that’s what she does: assorted percussion i’ve never heard of (all manner of tin cans and shakey things, and something about a ‘lion’s roar’, i think,) in addition to a tabla-inspired piece for snare drum, a major timpani concerto, and two amazing numbers with her steel pan ensemble. Everyone was impressed and very proud. Sister Court, who is a fabulous hostess, made everyone dinner and banana bread for breakfast, and we had a big old family sleepover. After the rest of the fam departed we had a great time strolling all over Boone.
Our little family came back by way of Charlotte, spending Saturday night and a very relaxing Sunday there with my parents. We got to hang out with some of our favorite ‘nabes’ (former neighbors), drink coffee around the table (oh i cannot wait to have a table of our own at which to sit and talk! and eat too) and chat, go on walks and run errands with no babes in tow, watch cable tv and eat asian food. Doesn’t that sound relaxing? It was.
Re-entry is often difficult, for Stells in particular. I think the switch from normal life to meeting new people and seeing more family, extra attention and stimulation along with laxer rules and bedtimes (and then back again) is all so exciting that it takes a day or two recovery. And then i start to get testy, too, repeatedly thinking things like “is she three or 13? because, i swear…” and that’s the extent of the thought. But i mean the mood swings yall would not believe. Without fail, i try to prepare myself for what i know is coming, but after the ordeal of getting the girl dressed (because on these particular days everything is too tight, too waggy, too stinky, etc. and elicits screamed objections) it gets old. And i can overlook a bad mood, but we have got to get out of the house, for one thing because the cupboard is bare, and another, it is helpful for everyone’s moods on these days. And getting out means that everyone has to be dressed. Even those who are dead set against it.
So we made it out, and i’m wanting to call friends i haven’t seen in days and generally catch up on the world. The bad news is that since the first of the year we have been on a very limited cell phone plan in order to save money (who doesn’t want to save money? and with the future new house in mind), which sounds like a good idea. However, the result is that if i go over my alotted 15 minutes one day, i have to conserve for the next few, because as we learned the hard way, if we go over for the month it ain’t pretty. And it also does not help the money-saving wise-spending cause! Oh, and the result of that is me feeling isolated from my social community, which i think everyone would agree is a horrible condition to be in (or feel that one is in).
So, back to my often-pondered question about circumstances affecting my feelings, moods, purpose… i am all for wisdom in stewarding our income. I mean, really really for it. But at the expense of connecting with friends? And i am all for teaching my children in the moment and working through hard times together, but on these days when the hits just keep on coming, and i just want to look away rather than reach down and teach and shepherd my tired, confused little one, Lord help me.
I mentioned not long ago i’m trying to be a bit more concise, and here i’ve got plenty of words and barely scratched the surface! Left with lots to think about, lots to share. Also, left with a bit of time while babes are napping, which it’s obvious i need to use for getting grounded in the Word.
So ‘nough about me, how was your weekend?
