Pausing Time

I am expecting the birth of my little girl sometime in the next few days, and am officially beginning maternity leave.  That means that this will be my last blog post for the next few months. I will return to seeing clients and blogging regularly in mid-August. 

I have no idea what the next few days, weeks, and months will look like.  I don’t know precisely when this little girl will choose to make her debut.  I have no idea what it will be like to be the mother of two young children or how our family will make the transition from a family of three to a family of four.  In my hands I currently hold a great deal of excitement and quite a bit of fear as well.  But there are a few things that I do know about the next days, weeks, and months.  I know that there will be some really hard moments.  I know there will be some tears of exhaustion and frustration.  I know that there will be some indescribably beautiful moments.  I know there will be some tears of joy and love and gratitude.  And, I know that these next weeks are going to absolutely fly by.  Before I know it, I will be sitting here again, writing a new blog from a new season of life.

I have no idea what the next weeks and months hold for you, but I can guess that many of the things that are true for the season that lies ahead of me are true for the season that lies ahead of you.  Most likely the next days, weeks, and months will hold hard moments and beautiful moments, feelings of sadness and fear and feelings of joy and gratitude.  And most likely, the next weeks are going to absolutely fly by.

Some good friends of our have observed that this is almost always true of summer.  The days start getting longer, the temperatures start getting warmer, and suddenly time speeds up.  It’s Memorial Day, and then before you know it, it’s the Fourth of July.  Then suddenly the kids are preparing to go back to school, the nights have a chill to them, and fall is on its way.  While I would like to hold my friends personally responsible for this phenomenon, since they first verbalized its existence to me, I have actually noticed that this is largely true for life.  It goes by so fast.  At times there are days that literally seem to last forever, and even weeks that drag by.  But the seasons and the years fly past.

And I don’t want to miss it.  I do not want to look back and ask myself where the time went.  I want to know exactly how I spent my days and weeks and months.  I want to know the story that I lived out.  I want to remember the characters and the plot twists and the details.  I want to remember the events the shaped my life, to hold tight and savor the beautiful moments, to appreciate the growth-producing effects of the hard and painful ones.

I don’t think that happens without effort.  Unless we are intentional, we will miss this life that we are living.  I am certainly still in the process of learning how to do this, and probably will be engaged in this process my whole life.  The first thing I have learned is the importance of intentionally.  We have to keep our eyes open and put effort into remembering.  We cannot allow ourselves the excuses of poor memories or busy days. 

I have found that keeping art around somehow helps me intentionally take note of life.  Reading, listening to music, and enjoying the artistic creations of others in some way opens my eyes to beauty and helps me hold to the moments.  Plus, that art can become a marker for those moments.  There is a pop song that my son is completely infatuated with.  Whenever he hears it he stops what he is doing, smiles, and dances like a crazy man.  I love it.  And whether or not I agree that the song is art, for the rest of my life, that song will conjure up beautiful images of a joyful toddler bouncing, spinning, and dancing around the room with total abandon.

I have noticed that whenever something significant happened in the Old Testament, the people would either give a new name to the place where it occurred or they would build an altar there.  When Jacob wrestled with God in Genesis 32, he named the place Peniel, which means “face of God,” because in that spot he saw God face to face (Gen. 32:30).  We may not rename rooms in our house or literally build stone altars, but we can create special markers.  We can write things down in family histories, baby books, or personal journals.  We can take pictures.   We can take videos.  We can buy gifts or mementos.  A wedding ring is not just a ring.  It is a marker of a wedding, a marriage, and all of the moments tied up into the relationship between husband and wife.  That small circle can point to all of those moments, big and small, that make a marriage.  We can create markers of special moments to help us remember and hold tight.

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, we can live our lives with witnesses.  When we share the details of our lives with other people, we invite them to join us in marking our lives.  Every time we tell a story we strengthen the power of its memory.  This is true for big moments and small ones.  When my son was just a few months old, I had the news on while we were getting ready for the day.  The Vice President was giving a speech, and I told him “That’s the Vice President.  His name is Joe Biden.”  I have no idea why, but he cracked up.  In fact, for several days, every time I said, “Joe Biden,” my very tiny son would laugh and laugh.  He was just beginning to laugh and that was one of the most precious sounds I have ever heard. I don’t ever want to forget the silly, random things that first made him laugh.  So I told my friends and family.  I am writing it here.  And each time I share that moment, there are more witnesses to this small but meaningful moment in my life and my son’s life.

I can only imagine what this next season holds for you.  I hope that it holds much laughter, joy, and beauty.  And, I hope that you are able to briefly pause time and grab hold of some small moments to keep and treasure.  I hope that when you look back at this season of life, you are able to remember the days, remember the story you lived, and remember what mattered.

In Comparison

I don’t garden.  At all.  Not flowers, not vegetables, not berries, not anything.  Every attempt I have made at gardening inevitably leads to the death of a living thing.  I have quite successfully kept a child and dog alive, so I’m not too worried, but still.  I don’t garden.

I don’t sing well.  No one will ever ask me to join a choir or help lead worship at church.  My two year old seems okay with my version of “Twinkle twinkle little star,” but beyond that most people seem to prefer I keep my singing to myself.  I do not sing well.

And this is just the beginning of the list.  I could write multiple entries about things that I don’t do or don’t do well.  Some of these things are things I could learn to do if I needed to, but I lack any kind of natural aptitude or curiosity for them.  I believe gardening falls under this category.  Other things I just lack the natural talent for.  I wholeheartedly believe that voice lessons could help me out some, but I would never, ever score a record contract.  I’m just not a good singer.

I’ve been thinking even more about our tendency to compare ourselves to others and how much pain and heartache it causes us.  Last week I wrote about how we compare ourselves to other’s ability to handle life’s obstacles and trials.  I think many of us also spend a great deal of time comparing our gifts and abilities to the talents and strengths of others.

There are amazingly gifted people out there.  There are people who can cook delicious gourmet meals on a nightly basis.  There are people who can do really complicated math in their heads.  There are people who can create beautiful works of art.  There are people who can learn to speak foreign languages with very little effort.  There are amazingly gifted people out there, and it is tempting to look at them and their gifts and wonder why we are so lacking.

It is so easy to compare ourselves to others and find ourselves lacking.  Maybe you do this on a big scale, looking at star athletes, Grammy-winning singers, or successful politicians, and wondering what in the world you are doing with your life.  Or maybe you compare on a smaller scale, looking at the other moms in your neighborhood and wondering why your spaghetti sauce comes out of a can and you can’t do such cute crafts.

I believe that by giving into the temptation to compare, we lose.  And not only do we as individuals lose something, but our friends, families, and communities lose as well.  Because the truth is that we all have gifts.  Some of them are shiny and sparkly and obvious, like having a beautiful singing voice.  Other gifts are quieter and more subtle, like the ability to patiently and creatively engage a 2 year old for hours on end.  But both gifts are needed in our world, and if we compare our gifts and diminish their worth, we may hold back that gift.  And then everyone will lose.

We all have unique gifts that we were given.  We all have priorities that we choose to live by.  We all have struggles and obstacles that we have to overcome.  Somewhere these gifts, priorities, and struggles intersect and that is where we live out our days.  This intersection will change with the various seasons of life.  We can never fully know someone else’s gifts, priorities, struggles, and life season, so comparing is a useless, harmful game.  Giving in to the temptation to compare can lead us to withdraw the gifts that we have been given and diminish the worth of what we have to offer.

It’s not easy to stop comparing.  One way to begin this process is to think about what you do have to offer.  My friend Katie can make absolutely amazing chocolate chip cookies.  We are talking really, really unbelievably good cookies.  In one season of her life, she very effectively used this gift to bless, encourage, and cheer up many people.  Katie also has a beautiful singing voice, the ability to captivate the hearts and minds of the students she teaches, and numerous other gifts.  But how much would the world have missed if she hadn’t baked all those cookies?  One way to stop comparing is to think about what you do have to offer the world, and boldly and confidently step forward.  You may quickly find that you are so busy delighting in this work that you are not distracted by comparisons.

On the flip side, there is also a great deal of freedom acknowledging what you don’t do, or don’t do well.  Hence, my public announcement that I don’t garden or sing.  Perhaps in some season of life something will change.  Maybe I’ll decide I want to learn how to garden.  But, for now, there is great freedom in knowing who I am and who I am not, accepting it, and moving forward without comparison.

The Rest of the Story

I am 9 months pregnant with my second child, and it seems time to make a public confession.  I find pregnancy very difficult.  Through two pregnancies I have been very sick for the first 18-20 weeks, throwing up multiple times a day, every day.  The last trimesters involve physical discomfort, back pain, swelling, rashes, and other unpleasantries.  That leaves me about 8 weeks in the middle where I feel pretty good.  It seems like some great treason to admit this, like I am somehow betraying motherhood and my unborn child by this confession.

The truth is that I fiercely love my unborn daughter.  I love feeling her move and I cannot wait to meet her.  I had every reason to believe this pregnancy would be as uncomfortable as the first, and seeing the two pink lines on the pregnancy test was still one of the greatest moments of my life.  It is worth it, and I am tremendously blessed to carry this new life into the world.  And still, pregnancy is difficult for me.  It seems every other pregnant woman I see bops along happily and radiantly, somehow appearing more healthy and alive than ever.  Other pregnant women look so cute and make it seem effortless, but to my body it feels like a tremendous amount of work.  And it seems that seeing those other women manage maternity with so much grace only adds to my misery.

But not long ago a wise friend pointed out that most people probably don’t know that I am feeling miserable.  To others, it may appear that pregnancy is effortless and easy for me too.  Most do not know the rest of my story, just like I don’t know the rest of their story.  We only see glimpses of each other’s lives, and we do not know what happens in the quiet, private moments.

Many of us are constantly comparing ourselves to others.  We imagine that other people manage to keep their homes spotless at all times, respond patiently to their children, and handle stressful meetings with great calm and wisdom.  We see families at church, all clean and smiling, and we assume that this is how they live all of their lives.  We talk to friends and hear about their days, but do not hear about the fears and doubts that we ourselves are plagued with.  So we assume that it is just us, that everyone else has it all together and there is something fundamentally wrong with us.

But this is simply not true.  In my job I have the honor of hearing people’s stories, and not just the clean and smiling parts.  I hear about the fears, the struggles, the dark days, the hard times.  I hear what is behind the public presentation, and I know that the truth is that everyone struggles with something.  Everyone has areas of weakness and pain.  Everyone has hard seasons.  Everyone.

The problem is that we forget this, and because we think it’s just us, our pride keeps us locked inside ourselves.  We do not want to share our struggle because we think we’re the only one who is struggling.  Our suffering is compounded because we feel alone in it, alone with our pain, our fear, our insecurity.  Part of feeling alone is feeling like we “should” be able to manage.  If everyone else can handle the stress of life, I should be able to handle the stress of life.  And because I am not managing easily, there must be something wrong with me.  Instantly we have added a deep sense of shame to whatever struggle we are facing.

Please remember that you are not the only one.  We all struggle.  We all have weaknesses.  You, me, and every single person you ever encounter.  Being human means having limitations.  Life can be very, very hard.  And somehow, this brokenness and these limitations can draw us together in a powerful way.  It can be through our struggles and through our hard times that relationships are strengthened and deepened.  And, even more significantly, it can be through our struggles and hard times that we learn to turn to the Healer of All Wounds, the One who strengthens the weak and gives hope to the brokenhearted.

Not long ago I was with a group of women, and one friend shared a struggle that she felt very deeply and intensely.  One by one each person in the group admitted they too shared a similar struggle, that they had either been there or were there presently.  It was a powerful moment, as we let the curtains be pulled back and shared hidden parts of our stories with one another.  We looked to the Lord together. We encouraged one another and reminded each other that we are not alone.  And, we found comfort and grace by reminding each other of the rest of the story.