two thousand twenty-two

2022. Simultaneously one of the best and most difficult years of my life, and I haven’t written about most of it. 

I began last year by giving birth a boy who is now a year old. I still can’t master the compulsion to check while he’s sleeping to make sure he’s still breathing. I love being his mother. My year ended with two separate miscarriages and my body that had started feeling like a home again, feels foreign and lonely. I feel, somehow, like less of a mother than I am.

Tan and I have grown as a team. We’re learning how to support each other through the mundane. We function in crisis mode so well, but we’ve found that the little daily struggles are the battles where we fumble and often fail to have each other’s back. Love grows where and when we water it so we’re becoming better gardeners.

The future, our future, of ministry feels so far away. I struggle daily to press on toward the goal. A little voice that started as a whisper is getting louder in my head, “What if all your efforts are in vain? What if you never make it? What if you fail?” Some days I don’t have anything to say to the voice because everything feels in vain. Some days I can tell that voice that failure is not an option; when our lives are set in motion by the love of God wherever we end up can be called success.

 

In this year ahead, this impending future, I hope to live every day set in motion by the love of God. 

four months old

the first game we played 

you stood on my stomach. 

your toes curled beneath you 

to root yourself in place. 

drool dripped from your chin 

to my chest and you squealed 

in delight as I brought you 

to my face to kiss you, slobber and all. 

so you stood, rooted to my belly. 

you smiled and squealed 

again and again 

and I felt I could play that game forever. 

as long as you smiled. 

as long as squealed. 

as long as you wanted. 

as long as you would.

gracefully pt. 2

 i have been writing a new collection of poetry. the last time i committed to that, it was as a gift to my parents before i got married.  this time it is for my son.

becoming a mother is no joke. social media shouts at expectant mothers to prepare for mental and emotional struggles from day one, to expect anxiety, depression, exhaustion, discouragement, overwhelming doubt, and more. while these feelings and experience are medically proven to be common among post-partum women, i found myself so engorged with information that i was unable to process it or what was happening in my own brain and body. something was wrong in that picture.

i am learning. 

motherhood, no matter what social media says, is not about me.  it is not about my feelings, my need to be needed, or my insecurity. this journey is about the maturation of my son's soul, and i will miss it if i listen to the voices that tell me it's about my fulfillment. he needs support and tools for a life beyond me.

yet, no matter how deeply i grasp that truth, i will always have thoughts, feelings, and insecurities. i am human and i deeply feel my own emotions as well as those of the people around me. so what do i do with that? right now, i am writing a collection of poetry.

i think the sun is rising. i think i am learning to breathe a little more deeply. i think i am learning grace in every sense of the word. i think we are coming around the corner.

palm sunday

 Zechariah told Israel 

how their Messiah would come

riding in on

the foal of a donkey;

saving His people 

in conquering glory --

two mountain top moments,

millennia apart.

But Israel was so ready

for glory

they missed their Messiah

even as they sang hosanna

and cut branches for His way.

He taught them.

He cried over them.

He cleaned their temple.

He told them glory was coming.

He told them He would die first.

But Israel was so ready

for glory

they cut themselves off from

their hosannas and

their Messiah and 

they cried crucify --

two mountain top moments,

barely a week apart.

Imagine

the true vine

bringing out all the stops,

knowing they'd cut themselves off.

Imagine

his life hanging 

in the balance

when Israel tossed 

the balance out.

Imagine

knowing Israel's choice

before they made it.

Imagine

crying over them anyway.

Imagine.

Realize we're still

waiting for glory.

Imagine.

And remember 

our King.

upon commencement

we are moving in less than a month. it will be my seventh move in eight years, my second with Tanner and our first with Arlo. how do we clean, pack, drive, unpack, settle in, etc. with a baby? thousands, maybe millions, of people have done it. it's possible for sure, but we've never done it before. how do we know we're doing it right?

updating our friends and family has not gotten easier for me since Arlo's birth. the days seem to pass in a twilight zone and I am lost in a flurry of paperwork, study, and preparation for the future. this morning I was encouraged by an elderly Brazilian missionary. he said, "the only thing you cannot do is give up...for the work God has ahead of you. it is not the work you will do that will count, but the work God does through you that will last for eternity." I share that because this flurry is blurring my vision. I'm struggling to see what I have to do and what will just be, does that make sense?

like, God is working through me, yes, but if I never fill out the paperwork that needs to be filled out, will we ever get where we need to go? probably not. so what are my responsibilities and where does God say, "no matter what you do, Vivian, I have ordained this to take place"?

that's where we are right now. 

moving forward and waiting for answers.

things i am afraid of

 i am afraid that my son will stop breathing while i am asleep.

i am afraid that he sleeps too much.

i am afraid that he doesn't eat enough.

i am afraid that i don't engage his developing mind while he is awake.

i am afraid of the future:

will i know what he needs to grow well?

will i allow him to do dangerous things carefully?

i'm not just afraid of things with my son;

i am afraid of slacking.

i am afraid of myself.

and i know that all of my cares and fears and worries should be cast on Christ. i know these burdens aren’t necessary for me to carry alone, yet they’re all twisted and tangled up in my mind and they’re hard to sort from the thoughts that are helpful.

we’ve survived for six weeks, but survival isn’t the goal. we want to thrive. so i’m praying, Lord, let us thrive.

gracefully

 i've written before about how i don't think i'm doing this pregnancy thing very gracefully.  in the beginning i thought, "maybe i'm like Mary. maybe i just need to treasure all of this in my heart." but i haven't done a very good job of treasuring these months either.

there are just so many places i've been allowed to value way more than i should without anyone noticing until now.  without myself noticing. without recognizing.

like, i don't resent my son for making my thighs bigger than they've ever been, do i?  if there is resentment, it's aimed at myself for not exercising enough or eating healthily enough during pregnancy. but what would enough of those things have looked like? couldn't my body have changed anyway?  isn't that the natural order of life for some women? i shouldn't be crippled by the fear that i might never fit into my favorite pair of jeans again, but i am.

or how about the way i want Tanner to need me. i want him to value me for all the ways i make his life better. do i then resent myself anew because all i've been able to do for the past nine months is ask for his help?

 and so i avoid social media and connecting with people i love because i feel toxic. i wouldn't want to spend time with me or hear me talk about my struggles for months on end.  i barely know how to express them in this short post sent into the void.  how do i share this with the people who care, but probably can't help?

and where have i left room for God in this?  how much control over health, wellness, success, survival, etc. do i think i have? apparently way more than i actually do. as my friend Lindsay says, "Jesus, help."

help me be at peace with the way things are.

help me place value where You place it.

help me grow, hopefully, gracefully.