A Grieving Doula on Christmas Eve

It’s Christmas Eve and as a doula I cant stop thinking about Mary. Imagine her nearly due with her first baby and still journeying from her hometown to Bethlehem. She is with a man who she is supposed to marry and yet pregnant with the Son of God. From most historical accounts, Mary is still a teenager. Regardless of age though, she is about to be a new mom – a mom to the baby that will save the world. Here she is on Christmas Eve on a donkey, barely eating a thing, entering a strange city with no midwife, family, or friends to be seen.

Contractions begin and Mary knows her baby is coming soon. All they can find is a small barn behind an inn. Another contraction rolls in reminding Mary of the need to make her space ready to greet her son. For those moments I imagine she’s forgotten that her son will save the world. This is just her son. Her baby is that inside her contracting uterus, longing to make his way earth side. If I were there beside her, I’d encourage her that she is close, that she can do this and that she’ll be holding her baby soon. I don’t know what Joseph said to her that night but if he stayed by her side as she worked through her labor, I imagine he’d be the kind of man to say just those encouraging things.

As the night moves along, so does Mary’s labor. Jesus is coming soon. With each contraction, he makes his way down and Mary knows she does not have long. Joseph moves some hay to make Mary a softer place to birth. The animals are all quiet. They are the ones holding the space for Mary giving her the peace she needs to calm her fears as Jesus is crowing. Mary finds the strength within her to give into the pressure and welcome her firstborn. Joseph removes his outer garments and finds a soft inner layer that he can cover the baby on Mary’s exhausted chest. He’s here – Mary’s baby, Joseph’s first son, God in human form.

As I think of Mary this Christmas Eve, my heart is heavy for her. She and her fiancé travel a long distance to give birth in a stable without any assistance. She contracts minutes after minutes, suffering through pain for a child she yet to understands how much she will love and yet how much his love for her and us all will change the world. I wish I could have been with her to give her water, to support her back, to reassure her that it will all be ok. But, somehow I believe Mary must have known that it would be ok. When Mary learned of Jesus’s conception she pondered it in her heart, rejoicing and praising the Lord. I have to believe she felt that same assurance as she welcomed her baby boy into the world. Maybe she and Joseph were able to remember that Angel that told them to not be afraid of what would happen and to trust in what God had for them.

My heart is heavy this Christmas eve. I miss those who have gone before me and wonder when this laboring of grief will end. Christmas eve this year feels like a somber laboring of my emotions that I hope will be birthed into joy tomorrow. Today at lunch the song, “Where are you Christmas?” came on the radio. I was eating pizza at my in laws with my kids and extended family. And, right then, like a contraction you can’t control, it hit me. Grief. It folds you over like the stomach pain of a uterus clamping down and makes you stop. I can’t eat. I can’t drink. I can feel my face turning red and eyes watering up.

Usually I can take a deep breath and get it together but not today. The pain was too strong. It is that part in labor where you don’t’ care what sounds you make or what clothes you still do or don’t have on because you aren’t in control anymore.  Grief is like that. It enters your space with strong intensity and allows no warning for appropriate preparation. And, as I was weeping in the bathroom and practicing deep breathing techniques, there was her face. I thought of Mary again. Mary, grieving what her body was going through and the circumstances of her moment. Yet, she pushes through her pain and fear to greet her baby – the greatest joy she and the world would experience. How encouraging?! How beautiful?! She labored her way through the darkness of the night to bring us the Light of the World. I think of the way she had to rely on the truth of who she knew God to be and trust in the words of the angels. May I do the same. When the grief greets me with unexpected pain and exhausting power, I hope I will continue to remember Mary and the woman God chose to bring forth his son – the hope of tomorrow. My hope for tomorrow. 

Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling

Recently this fall, I found out I was expecting baby #5 and it flooded me with a myriad of emotions. Many of them joyous but unfortunately some of them are not as precious. Earlier tonight as I heard one of my favorite songs on the radio, Softly and Tenderly Jesus is Calling, I thought why come? Why come be a part of this hard and awful place. Just go be with your Heavenly Father. Certainly, not with your mother who is weeping at the kitchen counter waiting for the water to boil mac and cheese because I'm too nauseous to cook anything else and to grieved not to. Seriously, I really thought you'd be better off if I could meet you later after I set my eyes on our creator. What am I wishing for? What kind of mother am I? A crazy one, obviously. 

Here tonight I brushed my teeth and agonized over the fact that I didn't keep my own promise- be done having children by 30. Get them in school by 36. Then, finally I can stop feeling exhausted, frazzled, overweight, emotional, did I mention exhausted for a season in my life. Well, that's not going to happen. 

I saw you on that ultrasound screen- you with your fluttering little heartbeat and rounded head and feet. I saw you in me. You're living in me. I get to hold you now. And, while my present circumstances may try to tell me that having you will make my life harder, I can't thank God enough for the time I get to mother you. You will call my name so many times that I will probably scream but there is nothing so tender as that first "ma-ma" is uttered. I can't wait to hear that. I can't wait to hear your first cry, your first word, your first everything. You may be joining us at the end of our parenting journey but I can't wait to whisper to you "I'm so glad you've come." 

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,

Calling for you and for me;

See, on the portals He’s waiting and watching,

Watching for you and for me.

Refrain:

Come home, come home,

You who are weary, come home;

Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,

Calling, O sinner, come home!

Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading,

Pleading for you and for me?

Why should we linger and heed not His mercies,

Mercies for you and for me?

Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,

Passing from you and from me;

Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming,

Coming for you and for me.

Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised,

Promised for you and for me!

Though we have sinned, He has mercy and pardon,

Pardon for you and for me.

Whoever You Are

Written Tuesday morning September 20, 2016

I felt like someone was missing from our family. Was it the loss of babies or the family members that have gone before me in this last year? I'm not sure. But laying in bed one night I told Jeremiah of this picture in my head. The brunette bundle of a baby girl who we would call Haddie, short for Hadassah. He beamed with joy. I teared up thinking of her face. I had thought before of her brown hair and sweet skin before but put her image away. I thought I had lost her already. I remembered her again when my dad died and I thought he must be holding her tiny hands walking through a field of flowers. She may be one of the babies I'll meet one day in glory or she may be the one God has for us. I wanted to know.

But having more children? It's terrifying since I currently feel as if I'm failing the ones I have, am fighting exhaustion every day, and fear the darkness that usually looms postpartum. Why enter that? Why chance the fate of healthy children, a potential organized future life, and time to myself? Well, because the love I have for my children, even at my worst moment, is stronger than anything I've ever felt. And to think that there is someone out there still to love that fiercely is not something I could pass up.

Whoever you are, or maybe there is more than one of you, I love you so deeply already. Our life may not be perfectly smooth or  without challenges but it will be wholly submerged in deep affection and constant love.

Daddoc's Shoes

Mills is wild, high energy and mischievous. But, he is simultaneously the most tender-hearted, cuddly, and genuinely kind child in my bunch. He finally fit into these shoes of Callaway's (previously Penn's)and he was thrilled because he calls these "Daddoc shoes" and he sure loved Daddoc. As I put Mills down for nap, he showed me a pile of things he was stashing away in his bottom drawer. I asked what they were for? He said "They are for Daddoc. I'm going to give them to him when I go to the beach." I know death is confusing to littles and I'm afraid Mills thinks my dad is still at the beach (the last place we were with him). But, if you knew my dad, I guess part of him will always be at the beach along with a piece of my heart.

Hurry and Wait

“On every level of life, from housework to heights of prayer, in all judgment and efforts to get things done, hurry and impatience are sure marks of the amateur.”― Evelyn Underhill

Hurray and impatience mark so many moments of my day so when I read this quote, I was discouraged. It’s official. I’m an amateur. Darn. I thought with four kids I could have at least moved up a ladder rung in the ranks. Nope. Within the first 30 minutes of the day, so many tiny tasks have already happened. Brush teeth, make coffee, cook breakfast, pour a glass of milk, change diapers, find socks, pack lunch. Oh, I hope I brushed my teeth. Hurry, get your shoes on. Hurray, go to the bathroom. Hurray, get into the car.

"Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait" my mom would say often on our last trip to Disney when Henry just couldn't understand why we would rush to get to a ride at a certain time and then stand in line. He was a smart kid even at 3. "That's just what you do here. You hurry up and wait." But I realized then and continue to see how much of life is like that. I'm moving quickly with lots of little tasks yet working for things to change that require incredible patience.

But what the hurrying doesn’t show is the juxtaposition of the snail speed patience of change that occurs during all those hurried days. The stubborn toddler to the obedient preschooler, the changed eating habits of a tired mama and deepening relationships with my spouse. A small deposit here, a decision there. They lead to something. They each take me somewhere.

In the hurried moment, I want what's easiest. I want the twins to not fight in the grocery store. I want to eat pizza and ice cream. I want to grow my business. If I'm hurrying through life to get to the result of my hurrying, will I be content with the outcome? So, instead of hurrying, I have tried to reduce my tasks, focus my time and be patient with change. But, somehow I still feel like an amateur. I spill my coffee on my jeans carrying out three bags to the car but arrive at preschool only to realize that I forgot the one bag I needed. I try to shower, put away laundry, and prep dinner all in the 30 minutes between lunch and nap time only to find Mills destroying the pantry. Does reducing responsibility really increase patience? No, I just don't think so. At least not for me. 

But, I can change the condition of my heart. My circumstances right now are overwhelming. Little people with a lot of needs consume my day. I'm drawn back to a familiar scripture: "Be still and know that I am God." My body can be going in lots of directions but my heart can be still. I can be still and know that God is revealing himself to my family. I can know that those small decisions to not give in to the toddlers whining will pay off. I can teach and train my children, resist foods that will not offer lasting comfort, and invest in relationships and a business that will grow. It may be slow. It may be painfully slow. And I probably won't be able to see the change as I'm herding my crew to the car running late for my gym class with unbrushed hair only to forget my water bottle. 

Those moments of haste don't prove my amateur status. In fact, it's thinking that those things do matter that makes me an amateur. Realizing my worth is not in how put together I am for gym class but how faithful I am to God that determines my position. And the more i plan and try to control my hurried life, the more I realize my position before Him should be bent in prayer. That's when my heart is still and I am confident of His care when "the days are long but the years are short." May my heart be still and know Gods deep care for me and my family. 

I came across this prayer from https://heathercking.org/2016/02/17/prayers-for-families/ and found it helpful. 

"Lord, may our homes be havens of peace. The world around us can be stressful and high-pressured. We may be surrounded by conflict, battles, and oppression outside this home, but we pray that inside these walls, You will bring peace. Help us to rest in You. Help us communicate with grace, offer love and support, and speak in love. Even in the stressful rush of the mornings as we head out the door to school, work, church and other activities, may we breathe deeply and choose peace, gentleness, and kindness with one another."

Scripture Verses:
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid (John 14:27 NIV).

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33 NIV).

The List and The Light

Dinner is put away. Kids are in bed. I meet my husband at the sofa to talk expectations. Yes, I’d really rather go watch the next episode of “The Mysteries of Laura” on Netflix. But, this has to happen. Earlier that day, I was a crying, emotional mess, exactly what my husband loves to hear on the other end of his office phone in the middle of the day when he can do nothing about it. I’m not losing weight, the kids need more of me, the house needs to be cleaner, the laundry is overflowing, I want to be there for my friends, doula client due dates are approaching, and the aching exhaustion of prolonged grief sweeps over it all. Make a list he says. Make a list of every expectation that you think is on you. Whether the expectation is from him or me, I was to write it down and we were going to talk through which one of those expectations were created in my own head, agreed upon as a couple, or unspoken but true. So, we sat down and I pulled out my list. We read over them, all 17 of them that I actually believed were expectations that I could meet on a weekly, sometimes daily basis.

The hope of the conversation was to eliminate a few, make adjustments to allow for the more important ones to get pushed to the top of the list, or talk through how to help meet ones that I was struggling with. We read them again. What can we eliminate? Well, none of them. I don’t want to eliminate any of them. I want to hit my full capacity on each of these expectations. No, I’m not being sarcastic. I’m being honest. Although in reality, and especially seen through my moments of crying, frazzled, middle-of-the-day calls to my husband’s office, they just cannot all be met. But, why can’t I let some of them go? Why do I think it necessary to be as physically fit as I was 3 years ago, to cook homemade meals all day, be available to my children when they need me, discipline and love them, make space for friends, building a career albeit part time doula work and sharing about healthy living, spending time with Jeremiah, all the while, not spending a lot of money, keeping up with our home, and our children. Whew. I’m tired just re-typing that.

But, what I realized from reading my list again is not that I feel some outside pressure from friends or social media. I’ve been there trying to live up to society’s standards for me. I’m over it. Maybe it was arriving in the 30’s age category. Maybe it’s realizing that I don’t want to be what I see in the world on the cover of magazines, unless of course it’s Princess Kate. It is the pressure I feel from within. I want to preform at high capacity and do each area of my life well, right now. I am not willing to extend the grace to myself that I do to other people. I hold the tension tightly fighting between being available for my family and pursuing helping other families care for theirs. I hold the tension tightly to be present with my children or to make space for me to rest, write, or recharge. I told the tension to keep our house clean and tidy while trying to relax and “let it go.” The inner struggle is within me. I am the one building up the to-do list as something that must all happen to feel accomplished, deserving of love, or successful.

The reality is, though, there wasn’t an item on the list that I was actually meeting the expectation in its entirety. If it were a bar graph, the heights would be all over the place with the % of expectation met. To me, that’s infuriating, frustrating, and depressing. I want it to be 100%. But, I don’t have 5 sister wives so I better start realizing that running on full capacity in every area of my life is not only unattainable but miserable. I am relying on my own strength to care for myself, my family and my friends. It’s impossible and I want it to stop. I was to rest in the fact that my lack of fulfillment in the expectation is exactly where God wants me to be. He wants my heart to be turned towards serving Him because I love those He has entrusted me with.  I must rely on Him, not me, to accomplish anything. My failure to complete laundry by Wednesday night does not reflect poorly on my unrealistic expectation to get all of our laundry done in a day and half but instead reveals my humanness. It reveals the beauty of God’s provision in my life to have so many children with so many clothes to care for. Instead of sulking, I should be shouting thanks to God. May God open my eyes to his expectations for me. May he help me understand that the only real way to complete any task is with his help and his provision. May my weakness cause me to praise Him.

I was reminded of this truth in 2 Corinthians. Paul explains to the people of the church at Corinth the wonderful power of Jesus that is living in us. Paul says that as humans, we are but mere jars of clay, and that Jesus choses to live in us. By our weaknesses, or cracks, we are able to show the glory of God, not our glory, to others.

6 For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,”[a] made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. 7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8 We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10 We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11 For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. 12 So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

13 It is written: “I believed; therefore I have spoken.”[b] Since we have that same spirit of[c] faith, we also believe and therefore speak, 14 because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you to himself. 15 All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

16 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17 For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

The Funeral Dress, Again

I pulled it out of the closet again. The black dress. Well, it is really black and white. I didn’t even have to look for my slip because only three weeks ago, I hung up the dress with the slip. The same tights, wool lined for these cold winter days, were bundled in small ball in my drawer. And I did invest in closed toe shoes since my July funeral wardrobe has needed a seasonal revamp. But, here I was dressing for a funeral again. This makes 5 funerals in 6 months. The way the dress fell on my body when I slipped it over my head made my mind swirl to the last time I wore it helping a friend say goodbye to her adult son.

Like that funeral, this one required a long drive in the car. But, the difference this Sunday was that I was alone driving towards my favorite place, the beach, in my favorite state, NC; the beach and the state that forced me to think of my dad. He would have told me that I looked beautiful in my dress and made a joke about how my mom would probably be making chicken tetrazini, her funeral dish. We are from the south. We are Baptist. Someone dies and we bring food, then hug, tightly.

I was headed to a Baptist church this past Sunday as well. My best friend’s grandmother had taken her last breath days before and was ready to go home. She wanted to see her husband again, meet Princess Diana, and thank God for the wonderful life she had lived. She told my friend and I not to be sad, for she was ready. She and her family were probably ready for it too. The weeks leading up to her death, they knew it was coming but then somehow in that instant, when the last breath is gasped, it just doesn’t matter that they were ready or that we were prepared. She is gone. And, a house of her things remains: memories, pictures, stories, royal English history trinkets, a four poster bed from the Civil War, and a farm that once thrived on the flat eastern north Carolina land.

Mrs. Cora Leigh was loved and I was honored to be there to honor her beautiful life and the amazing family she raised. But, the drive to be with my friend, the funeral songs sung from the Baptist hymnal, and the emptiness reminded me of the dad I miss so much. He didn’t tell me that he was ready and he couldn’t wait to see someone in Heaven. He did have 97 years to fill his home with plates of the royal family or pictures of great grandchildren. No, we had no warning. I had no warning. No expectation. No thought to ever cross my mind that I would lose him so soon.

The drive to Moyock, NC made me relive the drive to Henderson, NC the day my mom told me about my dad. The staring out the window, the streamline of tears down my face, and the nauseating feeling in my stomach all returned. I had to focus though, I was driving, not a mere passenger as I was that July morning. This isn’t about him. This isn’t about me. I kept telling myself. This is about my friend and her dear grandmother she lost. I would tell myself those same things as I went to the other funerals. It wasn’t my child I was burying. It wasn’t my mother I was losing. It wasn’t my brother or my grandmother.

But, no matter what I told myself, this funeral and as I suspect, every funeral from here on out will be about reliving my own grief, my own pain, and my own connection with those who have lost ones that they love. And, I have to remind myself of truth. I don’t know why my dad went to be with the Lord when he did. I don’t know why my friend’s daughter didn’t live to see her 1^st birthday. I don’t know what they Lord has in store. But I do know that He is with me and He will help me.

For I am the Lord your God

    who takes hold of your right hand

and says to you, Do not fear;

    I will help you. – Isaiah 41:13

Someone once told me that if we had a chance to know the future, good or bad, it would probably be best not to know it. For if we did, we may not enjoy what we could know today, that today is a gift and no matter what lies ahead, we have a mighty God that will see us through. So, today as my tears still flow, I picture the beautiful ocean I saw this Sunday with the waves crashing along the shore. I am thankful for every wave of God’s mercy that washes over me when the grief feels too heavy or when the memory of the beach with my father is too much to bear. God is here. He is holding my right hand. I will not fear.