A Desire To Be Known

A few months back, I added 'freelance writer and musician' to my profile on Facebook. Having just finished writing a novel for middle-school-aged children, I felt that it would not be a lie to finally put something under the category of 'occupation'.

Then last Thursday, I erased that title from my profile because really, it was there only for my pride. I was seeking validation, to let people know that I was more than a mother-of-five. I wanted to prove that being a stay-at-home mom didn't mean giving up on dreams, fun, or personality. I wanted to be known by others.

But really, what does it mean to be known? Does putting down a word or two for an occupation mean that people know you? I have a friend who is a plumber, but he would hardly ever want to talk to you about plumbing. Ask him about the book he is reading, or  what he is learning from the Bible, or about his friends and family, or about cycling, and he will talk and talk. He is not his job. To him, the definition of 'occupation' is 'what I do during most of my waking hours on a weekday'.

On the other hand, my husband's new job was presented to him purely because of who he is. He is doing now what he would have been doing regardless of pay. There are few things in life that would stop my husband from shepherding, or making music, or doing art.

I need to grow in the confidence that I am not 'what I do during most of my waking hours'. I am not a dishwasher or a vacuum cleaner. But I should be proud of being a mom, because motherhood has shaped me as a person in many ways, and it has fulfilled some of the desires of my heart.

Simply said, you can't sum up all of me on a Facebook page. You can't know me. It sounds obvious to say that, but I'm afraid that most people subconsciously think that Facebook (and all other forms of social media) helps them know people. But unless I can write somewhere on Facebook that I am a writer/musician/artist/-wife/mother/daughter/sister/student/teacher/sinner/lover of Christ, among other things, then I'd rather not write anything at all.

An Instrument of Peace

Seigneur, faites de moi un instrument de votre paix...

I need peace. Well, I guess everyone needs peace, but what I mean is that I'm a person who needs quiet and calmness. I don't like heated discussions or conflict of any kind. Raised voices give me stress.

So what do I do when my son has a tantrum? I stress. The muscles at the base of my neck become hard as steel, and a fireball starts growing inside me until I cannot swallow it down anymore. And then, I raise my voice, and any remnant of peace remaining is burnt to a crisp by my fury.

I lament now that I didn't approach my son's tantrums more calmly when he was younger. I wanted peace, but I only perpetuated the cycle of stress. And now, it's a question of the chicken or the egg. Does my son scream because I modeled that kind of reaction? Maybe.

Yesterday, when my son didn't nap and later had a grumpy afternoon, I raised my voice. Then this morning, the first lines of St. Francis's prayer came to my mind. Here is the complete prayer, translated from its original French:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

A Single Daffodil

Every day, moments, piling one upon another, fade away like footprints in the sand. Then all of a sudden, one moment jumps to the forefront of your mind and you realize its significance, though it was many years ago.

When I was a student at UC Berkeley (oh so long ago), I would buy a bunch of daffodils, ten for a dollar, from the local florist at the time when daffodils were most abundant. The yellow cheeriness of daffodils always made me smile (to this day they are my favorite flower) and I wanted to share their cheeriness with others. With my ten daffodils in hand, I went about my day, on the look-out for friends and classmates who would benefit from a bit of floral sunshine.

On such a day, I had finished my classes with a daffodil still in hand. As I rode the bus to the BART station, I thought about giving the daffodil maybe to the bus driver or the BART train driver. I saw that my stop was approaching; I had to decide. Then I saw, sitting near the front door of the train, a grandmother and her granddaughter. They looked content and well-dressed; there was nothing about them that cried out for pity or mercy. But I knew that they were the ones to receive my final daffodil.

My heart was beating so quickly. I had no idea what the woman would say, maybe she would think I was a crazy college student and reject my gift. I had only a split second to decide what to do. The bus stopped at the BART station, and the doors opened. I hurried towards the front door, stopping long enough only to say to the woman, "This flower is for you." Then I rushed out.

When my heart had settled back to its regular rhythm, I didn't think any more of the incident. I went on with my day, my week, and my life. Then recently, more than ten years later, I remembered the bus ride, the woman and her granddaughter, the flower in my hand. What stands out to me now was the woman's response. She had grabbed my hand, had looked straight into my eyes (and the joy in her eyes was indescribable), and had said, "Thank you." But it wasn't a 'thank you' for the flower, or even for my thoughtfulness. It was a 'thank you' for being an answer to prayer. I'm certain that she had prayed for a sign, and the sign was me and my daffodil.

Remember, even the most insignificant moments are full of meaning when you listen for God's voice. I pray you have a beautiful, joyful day!

Tightrope Faith

My sister is an amazing illustrator, and I just saw her newest blog post and thought, "This is a perfect companion to my last post!"

Read about her painting and check out more of her work at vwcheung.wordpress.com.

Why I Write, part 2

After my last post, a friend wrote me a little message saying, "Thank you for your honesty." It was a very encouraging note.

Because after years of NOT being honest with others or myself, I said, "It's time." I had grown up thinking that to be a Christian meant smiling and always looking joyful.  And I thought faith was always knowing what to do, how to do it, and of course, smiling while doing it.

But the world needs to know that this is not true. And Christians who feel like they are alone in their feelings of doubt and uncertainty need to know that they are in good company. Faith is not saying through gritted teeth, "Thy will be done." Faith is not a nice suit or dress that one puts on in the morning and takes off at night. Nor is it a mask. Faith, like courage, is light in the darkness. It is more, not less, present when one is fearful.

And this is why I write, to document my tiny steps of faith, and to encourage others to walk with me, though the road is sometimes hidden, often unpaved, and always narrow.

Back to Ninevah

A year and a half ago, my friend Flo told me that one can buy ovulation tests in bulk. I was just about to place an order, when I found out that I was already pregnant.

Jump to present day. I'm starting to slowly weaning the baby, which means, my body will soon say, "You're ready for another one!" I looked into buying ovulation tests again, and would you believe it? Of all places, the Dollar Tree has some.

I was a little nervous buying ovulation tests from a dollar store, but I thought I'd give them a try. I went with a friend (telling her that I have a quick but strange errand to run) and bought five. But my friend could not understand why I was buying them.

"Are you trying to have another baby?" she asked.

"No, these will tell me when I'm ovulating, so I can avoid getting pregnant."

"I don't mean to be nosy, but why don't you just use the normal methods of birth control?"

And then, I balked.  (that's a baseball term; basically, it means I didn't go through with it). I told her that I don't like putting strange things into my body, we don't want to do anything permanent, and that methods of 'birth control' are not 100% guaranteed. I went on and on, but I couldn't say the words, "Because we want to trust God."

And I came face to face with the fact that I do not completely trust God in this area. I thought that, having thought about it, prayed about it, talked about it, and written about it, I did. But there is still fear in me that with my last ten or so years of fertility, I will have five more children. And the fear that, though I feel done after a decade of bearing and nursing children, God will say, "No, you're not." When it seems that suddenly everyone around me is getting pregnant, and then my husband tells me that he had a dream about our sixth child, I tense up and wonder and worry.

I took a pregnancy test yesterday, for peace of mind. No, I'm not pregnant. But I feel like a cheater, a faker, a cop-out, for not trusting God. I still believe with all my heart that we are doing the right thing. Now I want to believe with all my heart that He is doing the right thing.

Bean Hollow

Today was a day for adventure! I had not been to the beach in a year and four months (which for me, is a long time) because of the baby (and my fearless toddler), and so, today was the day! Taking advantage of my husband's new schedule (Fridays off), I packed up the family and headed for Bean Hollow State Beach, just south of Half Moon Bay. (And I will now try to avoid using parentheses for the rest of this post.)

Unlike the other beaches in the area, the 'sand' at this beach is made up of smooth, round pebbles, hence the name, Bean Hollow. There are also many interesting rock surfaces, and tidepools that even my three-year-old was able to manage. Among the animals discovered were crabs, sea anenomes, and sea urchins. I love that my children are now old enough to join me on these trips of discovery!

While my husband was with the older children at the tidepools, I sat and played with the baby and watched the ocean. I saw the water's nuances of blue, green, and gray, darkening to a gorgeous indigo-blue until it made a perfectly straight hem against the sky-blue sky. Seaweed tossed, turned, and tumbled with the waves, crashed onto the shore, then allowed the tide to gently pull them back in.

A few years ago, I noticed that, except for two years of my life, I have always lived near the ocean. For me, the ocean is a comfort, a place of peace and meditation. It always reminds me of God. I gaze upon the expanse of water and I am awed by the life it holds. I am overwhelmed by the mystery in its depths and the subtleties that reveal themselves over time. I remember that, as C.S. Lewis might say, "He is not a tame ocean, you know." 

And I imagine myself, tumbling in the waves, sometimes crashing on the shore, but always being pulled back in, because He never lets me go. Everyday He polishes me, until I am beautifully smooth and shiny.

Another School Year Begins

Phonics, decimals, world history, anatomy... those are actually the least of my concerns today. There are many more lessons that are not written, and cannot be taught through a workbook. Among them is teaching a three-year-old to follow directions, and a baby to fall asleep without Mom. And if those lessons can be learned, the others dealing with language arts and arithmetic will easily fall into place.

Then there is the school I attend, the ongoing school of parenting. My lessons are on patience, awareness, wisdom, and kindness. My assignments involve remembering what is most important, and giving attention to each of my children. Oh, and staying on top of my 'homework'! Sunday nights will again be lost to planning out the week, and I will have to be more diligent about getting housework done outside of school hours.

Today marks the beginning of another school year... for all of us!