When I am breastfeeding my baby there are a number of things that can potentially happen. The first is that he falls asleep while he is eating. It's pretty cute to watch actually. The second is that he gets his arm exercise in while I'm feeding and basically strokes my chest the whole time. That's fine and dandy, until he also starts working on his grip motion as well, causing his untrimmed little claw-- I mean, nails, to drive into my chest. The third thing is that out of the blue while he's totally happy having a feed, he will unlatch and release a completely spontaneous cry for seemingly no reason at all.
These reactions are why I think that, metaphorically, Babies are Us. When you think about it the mother is the God figure (I am not trying to say that mothers are God) as they provide food and comfort for babies and babies couldn't live without a mom, or mom figure caring for them. In the same way, I believe that we as humans need God to live. We can thank Him for the blessings of sustenance, both physical and spiritual. Yet, thankfulness isn't often our first response. Like my son, as a Christian I have drank greedily from God's word, focusing on its truth and finding peace and rest in it. Those are the best of times, when I don't worry about anything else in my life and I focus on simply being filled by God. As a babes stomach fills with milk, so my heart fills with truth and I am satisfied. Like I said, the best of times. Other times I am more impatient. I get distracted by action and while I drink some truth in, it's hard to be filled when I'm busy clawing at God trying to show Him I'm doing something. My attempts at action are illconcieved and end up hurting more than helping. Much like how my son may be trying to strengthen himself or interact with me as he drinks, at the cost of the skin on my chest. Finally, I will simply say no. In the midst of God's provision for me I turn around and scream in His face. "Why aren't you feeding me?" "Where are you now God?" I shout to the sky. Not realizing, that if I hadn't turned away to cry, I would still be being fed. It's difficult to see my baby spirituality exemplified for me daily. Difficult and poignant. Holding my son up to my face just to have him scream directly into it I think "How many times have I done this to God?" My heart hurts thinking of how I have sabatoged that relationship. But it also gives me hope. For every scream there's a snuggly nap, and for every tear there's a wide toothless grin that pulls a bow across your heartstrings and rings out the most beautiful note. So I arrive once more at that fantastic friend, hope. Becuase I am sure that just as I have hope in my baby to grow, God has hope in me. And if we want to extend the metaphor to diapers... Well let's just say it's good God can put up with a big stink.
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Growing up on a farm in rural Alberta , I've never been a stranger to physical labour. I was taught early on how to work hard, being sent out to root and rock pick with my two younger sisters around the age of eleven. I always felt like the energy I was expending could have been spared. After all, didn't Dad have people who could do these tasks for him? At least when I began seriously working for my dad I would get a paycheck at the end of it all. Yet I always wondered, why work? Why do hard physical labour? And (especially when rock picking) why suffering?
On Oct. 31st 2016 around 2 in the afternoon, I began to feel my first pangs of pain going into labour. Little did I know how much that feeling would intensify and how hard it would be to breathe and work through it. My labour and delivery only lasted about 14 hours, but it still felt ridiculously long; no matter how many times I was assured that, for a first time mom, it had been quick. My goal in labour was to not use any type of pain management, but once we were at the hospital and the most intense part of my labour was taking the longest, I seriously reconsidered. Unfortunately (and fortunately?) for me, I am stubborn and proud and wouldn't succumb to the pain. But I still wanted it to end. I wanted so badly to sleep, to curl up in a ball on the hospital bed and just will my contractions to stop. I was so incredibly done that I turned to my husband Sam and said "I don't know if I can do this again." Which would throw a wrench in the works of our plan to have twelve babies (read as 6 or 7). Yet in that moment, I seriously meant it. I have been told that women's bodies trick themselves into forgetting what the pain is like. Giving birth is definitely not as traumatic as it seemed that night, but it's still no picnic! It was the why's that brought me down. Those same questions I had about hard work plagued me while I laboured to bring our Joseph into the world. I kept saying "I can't," "I just wanna give up," but thankfully Sam and our wonderful doula Donna (www.donnathedoula.com) kept encouraging me. They got me to say "I can" every time I felt like I couldn't go on for another second. Eventually I adapted my mantra to be "I will do this," and from that stemmed the realization that I had been doing this and surviving for about 8-10 hours already. So my chant evolved into "I am." I am doing this. I am owning the pain. I am making noises I never knew I could make. I am having a baby. Bringing my labour into an immediate tense helped give me the strength to continue on. With the reminder of Romans 5:3-5, Sam provided even more encouragement. "We rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character and character hope. And hope does not disappoint us." (NIV) The passage goes on to talk about the Spirit God has given us; but in the context of birth my hope was in this new life, this new babe that is a symbol of potential and hope for the future. A complete parallel to the hope that came with another child. Although, "that's another story to be told in other places." (C.S. Lewis, The Magicians Nephew) So now, in the two months since I can remember looking out over the lights of Langley and suffering for hope, I've realized life is a lot like labour. Or maybe even it just is labour. A time of suffering for hope. But when I remember that I am doing this life, that I have been and will get through every wave of pain, or change, or days where all I want to do is nap. I am, because of the I AM. This, my friends, makes all the difference. |
Jordan is...A mother, artist, designer and loyal friend. May this blog bring you hope and a normalization of both emotion and logic. Archives
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