Hebrews 12: 1-3 Take Jesus’ Cue: Run the Race with Glory on the Brain

Hebrews 12: 1-3 Take Jesus’ Cue:  Run the Race with Glory on the Brain

Today is our final sermon on mental health- and we’re wrapping up our series with a positive and encouraging look at the way Jesus’s own perseverance offers us hope that we too can run our race with glory on the brain.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.”

This Lenten journey together has been weighty. So good, but also heavy, because mental illness is no joke. In fact, what we know from research is that for the most part, our mental health issues—whatever they may be—won’t completely disappear, ever. We can manage symptoms, we can develop coping skills, we can find relief in sharing our journey with others, and we can treat brain chemistry imbalances with meds. But for the most part, mental illness remains in our lives whether we like it or not. So the final question we’ll consider today is this: what will sustain our wellbeing through the highs and lows of our mental health journeys?

Here’s the short answer: exercise. Is that what you thought I was going to say? I selected this metaphor of Paul’s about running the race of life, because our mental, physical, and spiritual wellbeing is all tied up together. And when we run the race of life, particularly with mental illness at our heels, we need to be prepared. We need to exercise our bodies, minds, and spirits. It works like preventative medicine: Getting ahead of our mental illness before it knocks us off our game. The world of therapy around mental illness and substance abuse uses language like preventative factors verses risk factors in our lives. Biology matters, yes, but if we have more preventative factors in our lives, we’ll fare better than if we have more risk factors. Like a spectrum of health, some risk factors are unavoidable, but the good news is this: we can all do something to enhance the preventative factors in our lives. And we do so by using Jesus’ example of perseverance despite the difficult circumstances he inherits in life.

I want to start with physical exercise. Plenty of research has occurred on the impact of physical exercise on mental health. It’s intriguing to me- in part because this is one of my personal “preventative factors” for anxiety and depression. When I begin to sense my anxiety levels rising (for example, when conversations between my beloved husband and I become a little less rational)…I go for a run, or do jumping jacks, or something. And 30 minutes later, the situation doesn’t seem so dire after all. One study mentions, “Aerobic exercises, including jogging, swimming, cycling, walking, gardening, and dancing, have been proved to reduce anxiety and depression.” If you’d like some of the biochemical details of it all, it says, “These improvements in mood are caused by exercise-induced increase in blood circulation to the brain and by an influence on the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis; thus, on the physiologic reactivity to stress. It’s affects include the limbic system, which controls motivation and mood; the amygdala, which generates fear in response to stress; and the hippocampus, which plays an important part in memory formation as well as in mood and motivation.” That’s actually pretty amazing, right, the way our physical and mental health is so intertwined? Moral of the story, when you’re feeling down- turn on some music and dance!

Alright, now for the second part: mindfulness exercise. This one may seem a bit more intuitive when it comes to mental health, but it takes intention, persistence, and support from loved ones to really work, not to mention reducing the stigma of asking for help. Exercising the mind can take so many forms: seeing a therapist, self-initiated therapeutic practices, and meditation are just a few examples. If you recall the 2^nd week of this series, I mentioned Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. This is especially helpful for mood disorders like anxiety, depression, thoughts of suicide, etc. And the cool part of CBT is that you can practice on your own. Although I would recommend learning from a trained therapist at first, this type of mindfulness exercise is pretty accessible- now even with smartphone apps! One I’ve just learned about is MoodNotes; it allows you to track your thoughts/ feelings/ behaviors and reflect on how true to reality they may or may not be. If smartphone apps aren’t your thing, one of the simplest and most effective ways to exercise your mind is by joining a support group. An intentional, safe space for sharing your story and receiving the stories of others who “get it.” Every Thursday at 5:30pm we have a NAMI support group meet at the church- you’re welcome to come! Wouldn’t it be great if we started even more support groups like this within our congregation?

The final exercise is spiritual. Now simply by nature of your being here today, you are including a really important preventative factor for mental health into your life. So well done, you’re committed to exercising your spirit here in worship. One way you can commit personally to continue this spiritual growth is by incorporating prayer and meditation into your daily routine. If this feels hard to sustain, you’re not alone. When you get a bit off course, I’d suggest trying a simple gratitude exercise. Take a few moments each day to pray in this way: “Thank you God for….” It’s amazing what gratitude can do for our wellbeing.

Exercise (of the physical, mental, or spiritual variety) is not a magic cure-all. It does, however, hold promise for sustaining our perseverance on this race of life. When we grow weary of our exercise routines, when it feels as if risk factors are outweighing our preventative factors, remember Paul’s words: “We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.” I do not, you do not, none of us run this race alone. I hope you’ve found encouragement in hearing and sharing stories of mental illness this Lent. I know I have. And next week on Easter morning, we’ll remember together THE story that ignites our spirits into living hope for a new tomorrow. Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. So how about it? Will you commit with me to running our races together, like Jesus did, with perseverance for the sake of God’s glory? Who knows but all this exercise might just be worth it: “so we might not grow weary or lose heart” even through the ups and downs of mental illness.

Isaiah 43: 16-21 Storytelling Matters: Reconciling past pain to perceive a new vision

Today we focus on the power of story-telling with the help of the ancient prophet Isaiah. This scripture you hear today is spoken to God’s people when they feel most lost, most alone.

“Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, who brings out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing: now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches; for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.”

God’s people are exiled from their homes, their familiar places of worship, and for some, even their families. I doubt they felt like “chosen people.” This story may have occurred ages ago, but those same conditions still exist today for us- maybe especially for those struggling with mental illness. In any family or community, mental illness can become a real barrier to belonging much like the concept of exile. Whether it’s Israel’s exile long ago or our own estranged relationships today, we all need a story of redemption to cross paths with our unique stories of suffering. Walter Brueggemann gives us this perspective on the text today: "From the bottom of loss and guilt arose in Israel a series of new, imaginative poetic voices who took the loss with deep seriousness but who shrewdly reinterpreted old faith traditions to turn exilic Israel in hope toward the future."

There’s irony in one particular line from this poetic prophet. “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old.” Here’s the irony: this line is spoken after a thorough accounting of Israel’s history. A lengthy airing of dirty laundry (so to speak), a story of separation between God and God’s people that includes harsh language, deep pain, and so much anxiety. Our story as God’s people has never been neat and tidy, and it seems important to this prophet to tell the truth of those “former things.” I like this line put another way: Let’s tell the true story about what’s made you who you are today, but don’t consider this story the final word. Because God says, “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness.” There’s always a way of redemption for God’s people. Always, even when we can’t yet perceive it. Remember the past, yes, but don’t get stuck in it. How do we do this? By telling the truth of our stories AND the truth of God’s story. We need both truths to transform us.

If you’ve taken a look at the mental health resources insert, you’ll notice the book, “Blessed are the Crazy” by Rev. Sarah Griffith Lund. I want to quote you about ½ the book today, but since I can’t do that, I’m going to ask you to read it. Because she accomplishes exactly what she’s set out to do: breaking the silence about mental illness, family and church by sharing her own story. I was surprised to see one of my seminary professors Donald Capps (who taught a course called the minister and mental illness) wrote the forward to this book, and he affirms Sarah’s work by saying, “the fundamental key to the process of healing is to testify to the role that mental illness has played in our lives and thereby free ourselves from our prisons of fear, shame, and pain, and open the doors to liberated lives based on hope, healing, and love.” I can tell you this has been my experience after sharing the truth about my postpartum depression and anxiety.

Mental illness is a part of so many of our lives. And when we sweep our suffering under the rug, we disregard its significance both as a piece of who we are as broken and beautiful people, and as a potential pathway toward renewal. Sarah says, “Families and communities of faith need to be intentional and proactive about changing this culture of shame, secrecy, and stigma. Testimonies only work when there is a place to testify, a safe space to tell the truth. And healing happens when testimonies are given and received within community.”

Sarah’s own testimony reveals the truth that God CAN do a new thing in us, “make a way in the wilderness.” You see, Sarah grew up with emotional scarring from a father who suffered from untreated bi-polar. The manic episodes, psychotic delusions, and depressive mood swings resulted in decades of abusive behavior toward Sarah, her 4 siblings, and her mother. Sarah has a way of detailing her upbringing with grace and grit, and I highly recommend you read her version. I will offer a few of her final reflections: “The power of our testimonies is the power to work through, heal, and eventually transform our suffering. Telling the stories about my crazy father, bipolar brother, executed cousin, and my own spiritual visions makes room for light and air, the things of God’s spirit to enter in. Keeping these stories as secrets buried deep down in my soul gives them power to hold me captive, isolated by my own fear, shame, and pain: fear that I too, will be labeled crazy and, therefore, unlovable; shame that I am not good enough to be loved; pain because this suffering makes me feel alone in the world.”

Finding the courage to share our stories truthfully is a hard and messy emotional process. And sharing our stories is exactly what’s needed to break down the stigma that has emotionally exiled so many of us and our loved ones from a sense of real belonging. I have a challenge for you today: If your soul has been stirred by this series on mental illness, if you’ve heard something of your story in the stories of others, if you’ve been repressing the truth about your own mental illness, make a change today. Pick one safe person to share your story with. Prayerfully sit with the pain of your past, so you might discover the courage you need to share your story with just one other person.

Telling the truth of our stories is where we begin, and as a faith community we respond to our individual stories by proclaiming together the truth of God’s story. Toward the end of her book, Sarah says, “The Christian faith endures because there is power in telling truthful stories. Christianity tells the story of a broken but beautiful people and the God who loves them so much that God offers God’s own self to give the people wholeness and new life.”

You are not alone in mental illness. We are worthy of love as people who live with mental illness. We belong to God and to one another. May this truth set us free. I’ll leave you with Sarah’s closing line (which sounds awfully similar to something an ancient prophet may have told Israel back in the day): “It is my testimony that the God of love is with us, even when there’s crazy in the blood. It is my gospel truth that blessed, not cursed, are the crazy…for we will be called children of God.” Child of God, we need your story to heal us all. Amen.

Forget your Fears...You Matter!

Forget your fears, look to God, and BE RADIANT!

Mark 10:46-52

They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, "Son of David, have mercy on me!" Jesus stood still and said, "Call him here." And they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take heart; get up, he is calling you." So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man said to him, "My teacher, let me see again." Jesus said to him, "Go; your faith has made you well." Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

We don't know much of Bartimaeus' life story, a man we find sitting on the side of the road. We’re told he’s blind, something we often think of as a disability. But what others see as a shortcoming becomes his motivation to cry out for Jesus. He pushes his fears aside, paying no mind to the voices that try to silence him. Instead, he cries all the more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” because he believes in Jesus' powerful hand.

This is a man who is no stranger to suffering, and even though people tell him otherwise, he knows his voice will matter to Jesus. He's right. The courage it takes to fight the fears of being insignificant pays off, and Bartimaeus becomes radiant with healing light.

An interesting thing happened this week, as I read the lectionary texts together. It seemed to be possible, that Psalm 34, even though it was written centuries before Bartimaeus was born, might be expressing the very emotions Bartimaeus experienced on that day of healing. Listen in:

Psalm 34:1-8

I will bless God at all times; God's praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul makes its boast in God; let the humble hear and be glad. O magnify God with me, and let us exalt God's name together. I sought God, and God answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. Look to God, and be radiant; so your faces shall never be ashamed. This poor soul cried, and was heard by God, and was saved from every trouble. The angel of God encamps around those who fear God; God's angel delivers them. O taste and see that God is good; happy are those who take refuge in God.

As a minister, accompanying people on roads of grief, uncertainty, frustration, and many types of suffering sometimes gets to me. And the words of praise spoken in this Psalm seem to ring hollow at first, as if they're not taking the pain of the world seriously enough. And my own prayers, alongside those I care for who are hurting, often feel like not enough.

And then I remember that the people who wrote the Psalms also knew pain. Deep pain. In fact, it could be their quest for meaning in the midst of sorrow brought them to write these very words: I will bless God at all times.  This Psalm, ancient as it is, continues to inspire our worship as people who follow Bartimaeus' God, our God. The God we believe in and bless, even in our suffering.

“Look to him and be radiant! O taste and see that the Lord is good.”  King David is likely the author of these words, written during one of the most challenging periods of his reign. "O magnify God with me, and let us exalt God's name together!" David, like Bartimaeus, forgets his fears, looks to God, and radiates the kind of faith that changes the world.

What's keeping us from proclaiming God’s goodness in our lives? Are we afraid to say the wrong thing? Do we wonder if it'll make any difference? Are we wondering what others might think? Are we afraid that celebrating the good in our lives might offend those who are worse off? Do we worry that no matter what we say, it will never be enough?

Bartimaeus' story would never have made our scriptures had he simply waved at Jesus as he passed by. David's psalms would never have been published had he stayed a shepherd boy. Both of them conquered their fears in faith that what they had to offer the world mattered. And we would never have received their testimonies of God's goodness had they lived within the confines of their personal fears.

So I wonder today- what stories of God's goodness are hiding behind our fears?

I write poetry, and I don't often share it with others (really only if my mom asks me to). The truth is, I often fear it's not good enough. That its meaning will crumble the moment I speak it aloud. I fear the responses I receive, or the lack of any at all. And still, God places these words in my heart. I wondered this week if maybe I need to forget my fears, look to God, and let the warmth of God's love radiant through my words. So here it goes, I'll share something I wrote this week inspired by the trees and river of God's creation.

You Matter

Billions of fluttering leaves,

Each making more beautiful

The spectacle

of the trees.

When one falls into water,

I imagine its smile,

as it bobs to the rhythm

of its space.

One leaf among billions,

celebrating life given

in mercy and grace.

And if Creator Love

Can give meaning to

one golden leaf,

Ponder how much more 

you are worth

...and ever will be.

When you wonder if you

matter, if you question

your way,

look to the trees.

watch them sway.

And like the shimmering leaf 

who smiles as she falls,

Never let fear stand in

your way.

Simply radiate the joy

of God's day.

 

What story of God's goodness is waiting for your fear to fall away? "O taste and see that God is good; happy are those who take refuge in God."

never been luckier

I suppose lucky isn't the word everyone uses to describe having another hunk of skin taken off her body- but today I feel really lucky.

I feel fortunate because after my melanoma scare from 1.5 years ago, I've had access to medical professionals who keep careful track of my health, even mapping my moles to make certain any changes are caught. Preventative medicine takes such a load of mental stress off my mind, I can nearly describe the excision process as a sense of relief.

I feel particularly lucky to have access to good medical care for two reasons:

1. I know geographical proximity to appropriate and adequate health care is a privilege in this country. Not everyone has access to a dermatologist in rural areas. In fact, had this been only 2 years ago, I would find myself driving 3+ hrs for each dermatologist visit (and I have plenty). I am so privileged to have a wonderful dermatologist right here in Pierre, SD, thanks to Avera and my dermatologist's commitment to living here.

2. I know a good health insurance policy to cover the majority of costs for frequent visits and procedures is also a privilege in this country. I wish it weren't. I wish people with less privilege wouldn't die of melanoma cancer b/c they can't afford care. I hope and pray for a drastically different system one day, even as I happen to be privileged with an excellent health care plan through the United Church of Christ. I couldn't be more grateful for it.

So as I live into the brief pain and frustration of yet another excision- I won't take the privilege of it all for granted. Life is fragile, and feeling well-cared for in the midst of it all is something I desire to offer others as much as I receive myself. That’s what draws me to community centered in Christ’s compassionate ways. And it's what reminds me to value my family more than ever before.

Oh, and if you see me in the next few weeks, please don’t be offended when I don’t hug you. 😉 I promise I will when this heals.

Reflections on "here and now"...a gift of Sabbath

I've been preaching on the concept of Sabbath these past few weeks, and a personal revelation I've had out of all this is how difficult I find living "the now."

I'm really good at living "the tomorrow." Anticipating what's next, preparing for another Sunday or liturgical season, brainstorming for the future of our church and our family. But today, on a day off without an agenda, I'm taking a moment to pause, reflect, and appreciate the first 6 months of our family's life in Pierre, SD. My "now" moment in time.

Because, quite frankly, it's been amazing!

We moved into a home that has been an extreme blessing in more ways than I can count. We're right next to a great elementary school, we have wonderful neighbors, we're close to everything, and it's a new build- so NO RENOVATIONS! :) I also recognize how extremely lucky we are to have this great space, and I find the ability to host others a true joy. Our home is always open and it feels more homey than ever with guests inside.

Our new church is a perfect size for our family. A burgeoning children's and youth ministry, seriously and happily dedicated volunteers, Spirit-filled worship, engaging and critical faith formation, and a place I sincerely enjoy showing up every morning, knowing each day will bring new gifts to my life.

AJ is now closer to the ranch, and although we continue to find challenges in balancing two full-time (and often odd-hour) jobs with the immense joy and occasional frustrations of raising two little wonders, we are so lucky to be in this stage of life. We are productive, energetic, bursting with ideas, and full of love for family and community. Of course, I need a good dose of reminding about this every now and then. I think that's why I appreciate the art of writing about life.

My "now" moment must surely include talk of those two little wonders. Briggs will be 4 years-old in a month (what?!?) and is really maturing in his ability to handle emotions and his aptitude for actually helping out around the house (he insists on taking out the trash, re-filling garbage liners, and yesterday- he ground coffee for us on his own!). His sheer curiosity about...well...everything keeps us on our toes and makes us smile more often than frown. :)

Blaire is 20 months-old, and she is officially holding her own with big brother. She has this one dimple on the right side that melts your heart when she giggles. She is communicating her needs and wishes quite clearly, although rarely with words. She likes to be physically active, always playing rough and tumble games. She even giggles when big brother playfully "prods her like a bull." Must be a rancher's kid, I guess. I certainly don't let Briggs prod me!

Speaking of the ranching life- Briggs often accompanies daddy on adventures like bull shows, cow sales, events at the ranch, etc. and LOVES it. He's always telling daddy how many cattle they should load up on their "really big trailer." Last bull show, however, Briggs informed daddy that he wasn't big enough to actually help load. He's not too small for that job, exactly, he says he's "too medium." :)

With a deep breath, I take in all this goodness of my life "here and now" and want it to settle my tendencies of thinking "future." Maybe if you share with me your stories of the "here and now" we can together rest from anxiety about our tomorrows. Sabbath gifts, meet us now.

Photo cred to my dear sister Leslie!

A Belated Christmas Letter

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year to our dear friends and family,

It's been a few years since we've sent a Christmas update. Given the billion changes in our lives the past year (including new mailing address- email me at emily.munger@gmail.com if you don't have it yet!), we thought it sensible to send a Munger Highlights your way! We send this letter in hopes it might reflect the Light that shines this time of year, illuminating the shadows of life. Our light is Jesus Christ, and I give thanks for the guidance we have received in navigating the unknown darkness of 2017.

Here's a bit of our story:

·        In January I resigned my first call at Columbia UCC, my mother endured the brutality of a stem-cell transplant, and I was diagnosed with Melanoma skin cancer on my left shoulder.

·        In February I went through 2 subsequent surgeries, and spent the next few months choking back tears as I struggled to care for myself and my nursing daughter, all while lamenting my inability to offer my mother more care.

·        In March I applied for a new church call, readied our household for a potential move, and learned exactly how demanding staying home full-time with Briggs (now 3.5) & Blaire (now 1.5) truly is!

·        In April I officially received a new call to First Congregational UCC in Pierre, SD; we sold our home on Mina Lake quite quickly (thank you, Jesus & HGTV!), which left us "nomads" for a few months.

·        We spent the summer in transition. Living for awhile at the ranch, traveling to see friends and family, (and to our great relief) securing a home in Pierre.

·        In August I began my new call (love it!!), and the past few months have been a joyful whirlwind of transition (i.e. no blogging). Establishing new relationships, settling the kids into full-time day care (also love it!), and acquainting ourselves with the adorable town of Pierre, SD. Come visit us anytime, seriously!

·        Oh yes, I promise this IS an entire Munger household update! :) AJ has been occupied with a major role-transition within Eagle Pass Ranch management this year. He is grateful and pleased with all the changes taking place, and our new home makes the drive more manageable, but still busy-busy! He's also board chair for a new Bull Stud operation, ask him for more details. :)

·        Briggs is feisty, a great negotiator "how about that deal, mom?" charming, imaginative, cuddly, and sweet "I love you ALL the time." Blaire is toddling around, great at getting exactly what she wants, and melting everyone's heart with her keen smile and sparkly eyes. She especially loves big brother.

All told, we are terribly lucky to be living the lives we have, and give thanks often for the undeserved treasures we have been given. Our light of 2017 included the countless ways we felt support from friends and family, so thanks for all you mean to us. We are ready to pass along the goodness to others this Christmas and New Year!

In lieu of an actual "Christmas card photo," (Lord knows I try every year, but don't always succeed!) here's some snapshots of our Winter season:

Briggs and Blaire LOVE this nativity on their way into daycare each day.

Briggs and Daddy took up goose hunting this fall

Taking a break while checking out the Capitol Christmas trees

Blaire is growing like a flower!

Out front of the Capitol, we really do love it here in Piere

Briggs with his annual ornament from grandma

A tired but happy crew after a beautiful Christmas Eve service

Love,    Emily, AJ, Briggs, and Blaire Munger                            Dec. 2017

So let me dust off this blog’s cobwebs for a minute and tell you about an end to a significant relationship in my life.

It’s one that’s given me a great sense of fulfillment, but has also drained my every reserve of strength. I haven’t taken this relationship  for granted one second, but have occasionally found myself wanting out.

And this weekend marks the official end.

Blaire and I have ended our nursing relationship. At the age of 15 months, this little darling will be saying goodbye to momma’s milk.

And of course I’m met with a sort of emotional ambivalence. I’m SO HAPPY to be free, but I mourn the loss of our intimate connection, the feeling of natural provision, most of all- the positive effects the antibodies provide her.

So let me back up (for the sake of mommy nostalgia) and tell the whole relationship story. Blaire has been a nursing champ since day one. It hurt for 3-4 weeks, like most every mom I’ve known has affirmed, but after we settled into the routine, I could not have been more pleased. I was also exhausted, sleep-deprived, hungry all the time…but satisfied. So much so, that I thought of continuing this relationship for quite some time after we moved.

Until this happened: the day we moved from our home in Mina Lake to our temporary place at the ranch, she stopped nursing. I thought it was a strike at first and offered her my breast several times a day for over a month. After a week-long trip away, pumping all the while, I returned to see if she might change her mind and nurse. Nope. So that was that….I could now choose, keep pumping or be done.

My rational husband told me I’d more than exceeded my goal of nursing 12 months, which was true…but something about the abrupt ending did not rest well with me, so I pumped. And pumped. And pumped. I just couldn’t let this relationship go.

Fast forward to now, Blaire’s turned 15 months, she’s (slowly) adjusting to day care, is healthy and happy, and has been drinking cow’s milk like a champ for 3 months. With more than enough ministry to keep me busy, I’ve decided to stop pumping.

Which is, by the way, one of the most anti-climactic experiences ever. I just pumped these last 3 ounces, washed the pump parts, fed Blaire the bottle. And that’s it.

An end to a 15-month relationship with no fanfare or confetti.

So I share the ending with you, because for all the tears and sleepless nights it’s cost me, I wouldn’t have traded these 15 months for anything (I say now, after it’s over). J

Here’s to all the nursing mommas, the momma’s who wanted to nurse but couldn’t, the momma’s who pump like superheros, the momma-figures who find other creative ways to nurture children…All your love is not lost on me.

9 months in...9 months out...what a difference 9 months makes!

Today Blaire is 9 months old, which I suppose is only a number. But it's a significant number for any woman who's recently carried a baby for 9 months of pregnancy. It means our little one has been out of womb for as long as she was in. And I can't be the only mom who enjoys the baby more this side of the womb, can I? I've gotten 9 months with a visible, bubbly, beautiful baby to validate (and even redeem) the many days and weeks of trauma involved with carrying her within. Can I get an 'Amen!?'

Tonight as I rocked my sleepy, yet restless 9 month-old daughter (who is wearing 18-month pajamas), I teared up a bit. Normally I'm too tired and touched-out at that point of the evening to feel any kind of passion, but tonight seems like a turning point. This girl began her life outside the womb with a breathing problem...and 9 months later she is nearly completely healed. So as I nestled Blaire into my arms (which is tricky with a 23lb baby and a fresh skin cancer wound) and listened to her tender purring, I shed a few tears of utter joy.

Joy in the thought of the hardest 9 months behind us, and a successful nursing relationship in full swing.

Joy in the truth that she is my delightful daughter, to nurture and love for as long as we are both here on earth.

Joy in the bizarre contradictions inherent in mothering a baby- endless days with endless wonder; tears of frustration and tears of delight; hysteria and quiet moments alike; relief and anxiety; delight and depression; all of it an expression of love.

My life has felt a little out of balance lately (as evidenced by two months of non-blogging), but I'm taking this moment to relive the past 18 months, to appreciate the most recent 9, and to draw strength from the truth that Blaire is a precious gift who will no longer be a baby another 9 months from now, so I better cherish, cherish, cherish.

You are mine, and I am yours, baby girl. I can't wait to see what God has in store for us both!

Even sick Blaire smiles

Here's to breast milk, fruit and veggies!

One LONG Game of Ping-Pong

I woke up this morning and realized I had forgotten my mother's birthday yesterday.

Of course she is gracious and says, "I knew you'd remember at some point!" after Briggs and I called to sing Happy Belated Birthday on her voicemail. But still, I hate missing birthdays...especially my mom's. This year I'm not sure I remembered a single family birthday on time, and this bothers me a lot, actually.

So this morning, after I perch Briggs in front of "Little Einsteins" for the gazillionth time to actually catch my breath, I ask the "why?" Why do I seem to miss important events, forget to write my loved ones, and in general feel like I'm just one step behind every turn of the way? In the brief moment of respite as Blaire settles down for a nap, Briggs learns "moderato" from that clever little show, and I reheat my coffee for the 3rd time this morning, it dawns on me:

My life is one LONG game of Ping-Pong.

I LOVE ping-pong. It's exhilarating, fun, challenging, and just the right length of time for an intense amount of focus. 21 points, done.

But this ping-pong phase of life is shaping up to be a whole lot longer than 21 points. And ping-pong is only fun when I have the freedom to say, "Nah, let's take a break and play again in an hour."

So here I am, taking a break from the ping-pong madness of "just another day in the life of being a mom" to actually reflect on how taxing it truly is.

Do you feel this way too? Especially you parents juggling the normal demands of life, on top of raising 2 (or more!) children who need your attention CONSTANTLY! Well this is my life, and it's no excuse (of course) for missing my mother's birthday, but it does give me some needed perspective.

I ping from a crying baby, to a toddler who cries because he wants to be the baby.
I pong from picking up toys, to picking up my own toiletries used as toys.
I ping from meal, to dishes, to meal, to dishes, to messes on the counter and floor, walls, and more.
I pong from phone conversations of intense depth to toddler conversations of immense joy.
I ping from blow-outs to constipation, nursing to spit-up, laundry to folding and folding again.
I pong from responsibilities that remain undone to relationships that need my tending.
I ping from irrepressible love for my darlings, to irritating frustration beyond measure.
I pong from friends, to family, to neighbors, to colleagues, to church members, to friends from afar, back to that insistent toddler who wants to know he has my undying affection (and he does).

In the midst of the ping-pong tournament of a lifetime, I also feel pulled between engaging the truly significant issues going on in the world (not the least of which is world hunger)- and just trying to figure out what my own kids will eat for their next meal.

And sometimes this mentally, physically, and emotionally overloaded mom just needs to say, "I'll take a break and play again in an hour." Because ping-pong is one of the greatest games I know, but unless I'm up for the exhilaration and challenge, it isn't worthwhile at all.

So join me in pushing pause on your own game of ping-pong long enough to make someone's day (especially if it's your mom's birthday). And when we've finished that needed conversation or written that special note, we can resume the challenge of the pings and pongs life brings our way.

When I need some spiritual perspective through all this, I recall Jesus saying, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

AJ captured a pretty typical scene: me ping-ponging between work and motherhood.

My mom has cancer…so what?

I’ve been mulling over this blog post for a long time. I’ve waited to discuss my own response to my mother’s diagnosis out of respect for her personal processing and privacy. But with the “ok” from her, I’d like to share a bit about the ugly truth of cancer and the glimpses of beauty I see along the way.

Two weeks before my daughter Blaire was born, I got an awful phone call from mom. She’s been forthright with us kids since day one, and so it was with a tear-choked voice that she shared the news…cancer.

I don’t think I actually believed it at first. My mother? Cancer? Surely another test or two will prove otherwise. But with each new test, the results became glaringly obvious. Cancer. It’s a cancer called Multiple Myeloma that has slowly been eating away at my mother’s bones, causing multiple rib fractures and two sternum breaks. It was after this second sternum incident that my mom went it for additional tests (none of us truly expecting anything to come of it, other than confirming her already known Osteoporosis). But for reasons no one can explain, cancer was lurking in her blood, within her bone marrow, causing several “bone lesions” that could eventually lead to severe skeletal damage.

And so with her seventh grandchild about to be born, my mom suddenly faced a very different future than the one we’d all been imagining. On Blaire’s due date, May 31^st 2016, my mom began her cancer treatments. I don’t intend to speak on my mother’s behalf, although I will say she has been incredibly strong, articulate, brave, hopeful, and faithful throughout the past 7 months of treatments (and their nasty side-effects) and countless hours spent coordinating her own care. I do, however, intend to speak about my own development throughout this process. The “so what?” of my mom’s cancer.

In addition to my own major adjustment to being mom of two, I’ve been absorbing the reality of my mom’s cancer. So what have I learned?

First, cancer really, really sucks. It immediately sucks away time and resources, peace of mind, months of health, energy I know my mom would like to put toward her grandchildren instead of her own wellbeing. It also sucks away any illusion of a care-free retirement, any certain plans for “cousin camp” at grandmas, any amount of long-term dreaming for the future. Cancer sucks.

Second, cancer is more pervasive in our communities than I ever realized before mom got diagnosed. As a pastor, I’ve seen the devastation of cancer within families, but now I truly understand it. And because of our family’s experience, I feel more in tune with the experience of countless others facing cancer or the diagnosis of a loved one.

Third, I’ve learned more about Multiple Myeloma in the past 7 months than I ever imagined possible, and I’m even more-so drawn to the importance of finding a cure. Because for me, it determines whether or not I get to watch my children delight in the presence of their grandmother for decades to come.

Fourth and finally, I’ve learned that I have a whole lot more learning to do. And in assuming a posture of humility (which cancer inevitably evokes), I’ve begun to take less of every moment in life for granted. I’ve begun to recognize the beauty of a common goal drawing me closer than ever to my mother’s side. And I’ve learned what it means to cling to faith and prayer, not as one option in life, but as a necessity to keep on living.

The next step for my mother, after nearly 8 months of cancer treatments, will be a stem cell transplant in late January. She’ll receive an awful dose of chemo to clear her system of (ideally all) cancer, then begin rebuilding an immune system from scratch. This will no doubt be the most difficult challenge she or this family has ever faced. And so it is with a whole lot of humility, and just enough hope for the journey ahead, that we as a family ask for your prayers.

Cancer, so what? So life might be cherished and respected all the more. So families might bond together with positivity and life-giving affirmations. So we human beings might find within us the capacity for greater empathy, further awareness of the plight of others, and compassion for every single living being we encounter. So we learn to hold onto our own plans a little more lightly, and to God’s glorious promises of life-everlasting all the more.

Thank you for sharing in this journey of cancer with us. May we soon delight in news of remission!

A Blaire update- that whole trachea thing...

Signing into my blog today, I realized that my last post was my "momma bear" moment, from which came several enlightening conversations and words of encouragement. Thank you.

Today I don't want to rant, because today Blaire-girl is 5 months old, and I'd prefer to celebrate!

With the rapid passing of time (seriously, 5 months!!!), it dawned on me that I haven't given much of an update on her trachea condition. Sometimes good news sneaks up on me, as it certainly has with Blaire. The short of it is this- she's doing MUCH better! I recall a month or so back as we were nursing, my fingers entwined in hers, I thought to myself, "Wow, this is so peaceful!" And a few similar nursing sessions later, I realized that the peace I sensed was twofold: the absence of her noisy breathing, yes, but also the slow dismantling of my own anxieties over her condition. Quiet, calm, "normal" sounding baby breaths? That's my girl, Blaire, that's my girl.

She still struggles a little for breath when she's crying harder than usual...but this rarely happens because she's such a content little bundle of sleeping bliss most of the day. And for this I will give God thanks a million times over. She is truly a delight. The grins she gives her daddy, the baby giggles she gives her proud big brother, the sensation of mutual satisfaction we share as baby and nursing mom. The intrigue with which she scans a room full of folks she meets on mommy's many pastoral adventures. The goofy faces and high-pitched noises she's begun to explore for herself. These are all gifts I don't hold quite as lightly as I might have, had she been born without breathing issues.

So yes, sometimes good news sneaks up on me, and when I finally realize it, I share it with the world. Because good news, like the wonders of God's healing hands, is too wonderful to keep to myself.

So here's a Momma Bear rant...

So I'm not much for ranting. I often come across too strong, only to lessen my intensity a day or so later and wish I hadn't committed to words such strength of emotion.

But today, I intend to do exactly that. Rant. Because when an acquaintance insinuates that my three month-old daughter needs to lose weight? This Momma Bear loses her cool. (almost). With all the calmness I could muster, I patted my darling on the tummy and said, "No. THIS? This is perfect. It's JUST perfect."

That's all I said, aside from a polite little joke about hoping she doesn't acquire her dad's physique someday...(but you know what? That'd be just fine with me too! I wish I wasn't always so polite.)

Yes, this woman was clearly projecting some ill-informed personal body issues onto my daughter. It's her problem, not ours. But the sad truth that struck me like lightening yesterday, was that this has already become a pattern. My daughter has already gotten more "body comments" from strangers than my son (who's been around 2 years and 3 months longer) has ever received. In fact, I cannot cite a time when anyone seemed the least bit concerned about Briggs' pudgy adorable (age appropriate) body shape.

But Blaire? Now girl, you gotta lose some weight. You've already been in this world for over 3 months!!! You're not crawling yet? You know a good girl exercises....and on and on and on.

What makes me the most sad about this absurd situation is that the Momma Bear in me has already identified the most difficult battle I will face with Blaire. That is, teaching her to ignore (or clarify for the ignorant) all the gazillion body shaming messages that will come her way.

Do I occasionally find myself feeling shamed from all the negative female bodies messages around us? Absolutely, but I'm going to try my hardest to identify and debunk every single one of them from now on, because my daughter, my 3 month-old daughter, needs the best ally she can get. And that, my friends, is gonna be this Momma Bear.

So if you see Blaire, and you want to make an unseemly comment about how she needs to lose weight. Just don't. Ever. To any girl. Ever. Thanks.

And if you're a mom fighting this battle alongside me, I'd love to hear your game plan.

"No. THIS? This is perfect. It's JUST perfect."

What we whisper matters

The other day, as we were playing one of Briggs' new favorite games (you know, the game where you take a spare bicycle seat and swing at a tennis ball? Yeah, that one), I caught a glimpse of how much a child's language acquisition depends on what is spoken around him. As much as the words being conveyed, I'm realizing the tone of the language counts too.

And Briggs' tone is quite endearing whenever we "play catch." Regardless of the situation, no matter if the ball is dropped or not, Briggs assures us that we're doing well. "Nice catch, Daddy!" "Nice throw, Mommy!" (much like I've encouraged him as he develops his skills each step of the way). And as much as I love his words, it's his tone that impresses me. He speaks with a confident assurance that we've been trying ever-so-discreetly to instill within him.  Now I don't mean to condone the "you are more special than others" type of parenting. I'm not interested in teaching my children that. But positive affirmations? The kind that promote goodness and generosity of spirit? That matters to me. And kids learn these over a series of countless interactions with us.

So when I hear my own child chirp affirmations like that, I crack a smile and make a mental note to always be kinder with my tongue,  more thoughtful with my conversations. Because if there's one thing this parenting business has taught me, it's this: what we whisper in our homes becomes the language of the next generation.

I've been whispering in Briggs' ear for some time now: reminders that God loves him, sweet songs of nurture and care, reassurance that he is a good boy (even when he makes mistakes), and the kind of affirmations I hope one day he shares with others. Because we hope that when a child grows up knowing he is beloved, he will have the emotional capacity to treat others with generosity, care, respect, and good cheer, the same way it's been whispered into his heart, year after steadfast year.

I'm just now beginning this journey again, whispering in Blaire's little ear, "Mommy loves you, little girl, and I can't wait to show you the good in this world."

May all of us who find ourselves in the vocation of raising the next generation be mindful of what we whisper into the hearts of those who listen.