My friend, Amanda, won weekend passes to the Mother Earth News Fair this weekend at the Puyallup Fairgrounds by writing a super neat blog about her current gardening exploits for a community organization we both are participating in called Sustainable Renton. I had never heard of this fair before this year but with lots of information on seeds, homesteading, sustainability, low-energy buildings, gardening, and farming, how could I pass it up? Even though the invitation came on the morning of the Fair at 8:30am. Amanda's husband had to work and she wanted a buddy. I'm so glad she asked! We had a great time.
There were tons of booths and 14 (!) different workshops going on at the same time, all day, both days (though we only attended Saturday) to choose from. We were tempted to split up and cover multiple topics but camaraderie won out. First we went to a lecture about composting and soil fertility. Amanda took great notes while I was busy with Abigail. They're so great I copied them here and added some commentary:
Building Soil Fertility
Fertile soil is made of:
1) mineral particles
2) organic debris
3) soil foodweb - bacteria, mites, fungi, algae, protozoa, earthworms.
Fertile soil should be about 50% air : water ratio.
Soil foodweb - plants release sugars from living plant roots, bacteria and other critters feed on sugar, then on bacteria concentrated around roots.
Earthworms break down nutrients which are left in castings while their tunnels aerate the soil.
Over-tilling creates too much aeration and tiny particles called Micromanure which quickly dissolves minerals from the soil and allows minerals to escape into the air.
Minerals sustain the food web which sustains the plants. The large minerals commonly found in fertilizers are N-P-K = Nitrogen, Phosphorus, and Potassium. The most influential of which is Nitrogen.
Nitrogen - Plants require it but it must be balanced.
Lack of nitrogen is one of the most common reasons that plants don't achieve optimum growth. However, too much nitrogen causes an overgrowth of leaves without produce. Balanced nitrogen is a key component for balanced leafy growth and produce growth.
Cover crops - keeps your soil foodweb supported through the winter.
"Fixing nitrogen" - legumes take nitrogen from the atmosphere, convert into a form useable by plants in the soil - part of the soil foodweb
Austrian peas are a tasty overwinter crop (available from Peaceful Valley Farm Supply). Clovers, vetch, and alfalfa are also good cover crops.
Compost - apply mulches, compost, or manure regularly
- Suppresses plant diseases
- Improves soil texture
- Increases soil's water-holding capacity = drought resistance
Artificial Chemical Fertilizers
- Unsustainable (fossil fuel based)
- Can be too potent and burn plants
- washes out of soil, damaging the water supply
- damages the soil foodweb
- Expensive
Soybean meal and alfalfa meal are the best priced organic fertilizers per pound of nitrogen.
Most organic fertilizers will be 2-4% nitrogen. If your fertilizer has more nitrogen than that, they likely have a chemical fertilizer added.
Eight keys to good soil
1) Grow cover crops
2) Avoid chemical fertilizers
3) Avoid tilling. (Broad fork suggested. I also suggest this)
4) Use organic mulches - such as wood chips
5) Use as much compost as you can - chicken manure is great
6) Use grass clippings
7) Use fall leaves - you may break them down with lawn mower - aged one year is best
8) Buy good organic fertilizers wisely
After that lecture we wandered around the booths a bit more, listened to Ed Beckley Jr. speak a bit about his slow transition to energy efficiency, then hit the bookstore. I got three: "Folks, This Ain't Normal" by Joe Salatin, "Saving Seeds" by Robert and Cheryl Gough, and "The Fruit Gardener's Bible" by Lewis Hill and Leonard Perry. Amanda also got three other books so theoretically we could swap and read six!
Then it was time for FAIR SCONES! I absolutely adore them. We always have some in stock from Costco. As soon as we get low I put it on the next list. When we turned around I noticed a booth of specialty oils and balsalmic vinegars. Be still my heart; and my taste buds! We had a blast tasting everything and I ended up buying a small bottle of the white balsalmic and the parmesan, garlic, basil dipping oil. Then it was off to a fermentation lecture during which a sore back, fussy baby, and lack of experience with the subject allowed me to be distracted most of the time. But Amanda says she got a lot out of it. Maybe she'll write up what she learned. Unfortunately, I was so distracted that I ended up forgetting my beautiful balsalmic and oil under the chair never to be seen again. :((((
We also bought some local Theo chocolate, I bought a beautiful bracelet from Guatemala brought to us by co-ops and fair trade, and Amanda bought some seeds. We also got some gluten free handouts from Bob's Red Mill company which I'm curious to try.
The other topic I learned a LOT on is pasture management. I attended a lecture put on by the Pierce County Conservation District about small farms and how to manage your small pasture. Now that we know our goats are a long-term fixture on our long-term property we need to develop a perspective on our property from "back yard" to "pasture" and treat it as such. Already we are seeing compaction, erosion, and overgrazing of some plants and overabundance of others. The original plan for this fall was to top sow a pasture seed mix specifically for dairy animals and fence it all into three or four sections to allow for rotational grazing. That is all well and good but I didn't know when to move the animals on (when the pasture is about three inches high) or when a pasture needs grazing (no more than 5 or 6 inches high). Or that when an animal is provided with an abundance of grazing they will become picky and quickly kill out their favorite foods. Apparently it is beneficial to chop your pasture down if it gets too tall for whatever reason otherwise the animals will be picky. Too short and the beneficial plants will either die or be stunted. Also, if a plant goes to seed it will stunt because it's job is done for the season. The speaker showed us a couple of different common variations of fencing orientations and other things to take into consideration such as gate layout and high traffic areas. For our high traffic areas it sounds like our best option is to, again, use wood chips layered a foot deep (they will compress over time) in the high traffic areas to promote drainage, protect the soft hooves, and prevent erosion. The drawback to this method is it needs to be scraped out and reapplied every year otherwise the new droppings and accumulations will simply develop a top layer of mud and defeat the purpose. Cheap, but labor intensive.
Last thing, I found this video on combining cover crops with no-till methods. Good stuff to keep in mind for this winter and how to manage that along with the wood chips.
I love this stuff.
Sunday, June 03, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Abigail's Birth Story (2 of 2)
The wait was agonizing. My heart literally hurt. I had to force myself to eat and drink just in case that could make a difference. I cried constantly.
Over the last few years I have developed this sense, this overarching fear, of waiting for the other shoe to drop. When things are going relatively well I start wondering when it will all crash down. Even though the news was pretty grim I still saw a tiny shard of hope. "Miracles can happen." This, from my doctor who is a Christian and has seen medical miracles. Both he and I knew it would require a miracle.
Seconds ticked into minutes. Minutes blurred into hours. Hours drug on to days. Tuesday arrived without any further bleeding. I went to my ultrasound thinking that either I am carrying a dead baby or a miracle has happened. Medically, physiologically, there isn't much middle ground. Knowing the tech is not qualified to tell me all I want to know, I simply ask to see the heartbeat. I've seen another woman's child's heartbeat four weeks after a grim prognosis. Would it be the same for me? I could tell right away the tech was experienced. She was efficient in getting set up and as soon as possible aimed the wand toward the heart.
There it was.
"There it is!"
There it was. Flickering rhythmically. Somewhere around 200 beats a minute. My little one was still alive! If only I were an ultrasound tech and could get a clue what the rest of it meant. I waited a couple of hours for the radiologist to view the reports, come to his conclusion, and report to my doctor. "The radiologist tells me he has never seen this amount of improvement in this amount of time." About 80% of the blood between the placenta and uterus had been absorbed. There was no new bleeding and there was significantly more tissue attached to the uterine wall than there was four days earlier, evidence of the placenta shunting it's structures to maintain adequate blood flow despite having a smaller percentage of attached surface area.
It was good news, but not 100% comforting. If the threatened miscarriage was due to a physical abnormality or a developmental issue it could still reoccur at a later time.
Now that we know she is happy, healthy, and developmentally on track we can call this a miracle. But at the time there was still uncertainty.
Fast forward to one week before my due date. I was SO READY for her to come out. When pregnant my joint issues are amplified ten-fold climaxing to constant pain in the last three or four weeks. Both times I have torn the cartilage in my pelvis further crippling me for months. Since my joints are unusually weak I depend heavily on my muscles to provide joint stability. As things get looser with the pregnancy my muscles are taxed more and more, sapping my energy, requiring me to take time off from work for several weeks before the baby is born. With Abigail's pregnancy, the torn pelvis didn't improve after tearing, it only got worse leaving me in intense pain for the last four weeks of the pregnancy. There were times that all I could do was lay on the couch and cry. Hence, when labor started one week before my due date I was relieved.
That morning began with a general backache, something I didn't take note of until much later; I was in too much general pain to notice my back joining the symphony. Contractions maintained the same rhythm as the week before: sometimes an hour would pass between contractions, sometimes only 10 minutes, but nothing consistent and not particularly interruptive. Once Tim returned from work in the evening contractions had begun to get closer together and were much more noticeable so I cloistered myself in the bedroom hoping to maintain that trajectory using concentration with peace and quiet and Sudoku on my phone. After about two hours of this things began changing. I knew I crossed the threshold from latent labor to active labor and would likely give birth soon! Things really intensified over about four contractions so I said it was time to begin the process of traveling to the hospital 40 minutes away.
We left for the hospital (the choice since after my intense labor with Shoshana I wanted the option of pain medicine if I needed it) between 10 and 11 pm, I think. Once there I changed positions frequently, was in and out of the birth tub, saying with a sigh "that contraction was tough but NOTHING like the induced contractions of labor with Shoshana. I could do this for days!" We chatted between contractions, listened to music, progressed consistently. Once transition got close and the sun was coming up we could tell that once again I had a cervical lip. An incredibly painful piece of cervix being pinched with every contraction rather than pushed and stretched. I asked for my pain management options since this is what I feared. The suggestion was made by both Amanda, acting as doula, and the labor RN that we should try breaking my water before trying pain medication which would give more consistent pressure on the cervix. I agreed.
We expected to wait 30 minutes for the midwife on call. She was in another room with a woman pushing. Around this time the shift changed and things got... interesting. 30 minutes turned into an hour and I was screaming with every contraction. Now this is what I remembered from Shoshana's labor! Fire and agony. Tim and Amanda asked again about the status of getting my waters broken since they still hadn't broken on their own. At this point I asked again about my drug options and I was assured that once my water broke things would progress so quickly that drugs wouldn't help. My support team was also assured that the midwife would come VERY SOON to break my water.
Another 30 minutes or so passed and I was sure Abigail was stuck. Every contraction sent me into writhing agony but she wasn't moving. All pain and no progress. Somehow, Amanda got the point across that we wanted someone, anyone, to come and break my water NOW. For the first time, the nurse paged the OB. Apparently they got the idea that I would refuse any and all treatment by an OB without express permission. I'm still not sure how they got that. There was also information lost over shift change including that I had already asked about pain management so they thought I was simply trying to tough it out, determined to have another natural birth.
The OB, who I had never met, showed up in great spirits. He was joking around with the staff and trying to be funny with my support team. Can you guess how raw everyone's emotions were after 2 hours of hearing me scream? He didn't go over well. I have one memory of him talking: "If only she would push past the lip the baby would come right out." OH REALLY? YA THINK? HOW ABOUT YOU COME OVER HERE AND TRY IT! I wanted to scream at him that I'd done that once before but this time something was different! IT WASN'T WORKING! He broke the water which was so tough I might have otherwise birthed her in the caul, with intact membranes. Talk about making up for last time when my water broke on its own at 5am, 18 days early! Then, my favorite memory of the birth happened: someone suggested putting counter-pressure on the cervical lip while I pushed. For those who don't know counter pressure on a bruised cervix during a contraction sends your pain from unimaginable, to inconceivable. I did not agree to this. However, the next contraction came so soon that I didn't get a chance to protest. He barely touched my bruised, hypersensitive cervix and I aimed a kick square in the chest. Too bad he saw it coming and it only glanced off his shoulder. That was mostly for his rude comment earlier and the simple fact that I got to retaliate for his insensitivity with the excuse of being in labor made me unusually happy.
I didn't see or hear from him again. Phew!
Going on 2 and a half hours of transition it occurred to me that this is how women die in childbirth. I had failed to communicate to my team how Abigail was stuck and my weeping between contractions that "this isn't working" didn't get the message across either. Finally, I resorted to the one thing I knew was guaranteed to get everyone's attention: talking about dying. A rule of thumb for clinicians is to always take it seriously when someone starts talking about a "sense of impending doom." Abigail was going to die and I was going to die. That was the only thing I could think to say that might get the sort of response from the clinicians that I wanted. Something had to change or things were going to go badly very quickly. I remember telling Tim to make sure that Shoshana knew how much I loved her. At that point I remember things finally starting to pick up the pace around me. Apparently the anesthesiologist was waiting on the floor, expecting my call. They were prepped for an epidural. Did I want an epidural? ARE YOU KIDDING?? I asked about pain meds two hours ago and you guys are the ones who suggested something else!
Within minutes the anesthesiologist was in the room asking basic questions and the nurse started an IV. They immediately gave me a nice big dose of Fentanyl, a powerful opioid. It didn't touch the pain. Ok, now for the 30 minute process of setting the epidural. Typically you are required to have a liter of fluid infused before starting the epidural to protect against hypotension but in my case they knew I needed the relief ASAP. Too bad the anesthesiologist didn't try sooner! I was in such agony that I couldn't sit still enough for him to do his job. In the meantime they gave me another dose of Fentanyl. Again, no difference in pain. The first poke missed. The second one sent electricity down my left leg. As he was attempting the third one I promised myself that this was his last try. If this didn't work we were having a cesarean. Come to find out later, Tim was thinking the same thing. That, and he had set a time limit: if I didn't have relief or had birthed the baby by a certain time he would demand a c-section. And I would have agreed whole-heartedly! Suddenly, gratefully, "my toes are tingling!" Within a minute I was numb from the ribs down. Don't get me wrong, an epidural doesn't make you completely numb. But a spinal does! I heard him talking to a nurse later that he felt so bad for me that he wanted to make sure that I would get immediate pain relief. I was so glad he did.
And so VERRRY sleepy.
Just in case you missed it, the total was 3 hours of transition and screaming with every push/contraction. Worn out from labor, hoarse from screaming, and, apparently, nearly overdosed on opioids. Oops. Now that I could rest they wanted to wait an hour before pushing so the Fentanyl could work it's way out of our systems. What a great idea! I'll just lay here and sleep. And stop breathing a couple of times. "beep beep beep." "Elizabeth, you need to take a deep breath for me." Clinician speak for "this needs to change now." I forced myself a deep breath and the beeping stopped. As I drifted off again I thought to myself "No Narcan. No Narcan." The reversal drug is brutal. It sends you into complete withdrawal allowing you to feel all the pain again within a matter of seconds. I've had to use it a couple of times on patients. It is never pretty. A tap on the shoulder and reminder to breathe happened three times during that hour. But mostly I slept. My support team got a nap too. The only one not happy at this point was Abigail. She began to show signs of stress.
"Alright! Let's have a baby!" I felt so good! I was grateful and happy to be detached from my lower body. To this day when I hear the word "spinal" I can't help but smile. Feelings of relief, peace, gratefulness, and happiness flood my brain. That happened just this morning! Several intense pushes later she popped out and immediately started making noise. Rather than her big sister's pointed screams Abigail cooed. "ooo ooo." "There she is!" I said I picked her up and placed her on my tummy. She immediately wanted to nurse. It was actually rather comical. Her umbilical cord was still returning the blood that belonged to her back from the placenta yet she couldn't wait to eat! She must be my daughter. The poor thing had to wait anyway because the umbilical cord wasn't long enough to allow her to reach.
My smiling reverie was suddenly broken as the pediatric nurse made a rough swipe on Abigail's right cheek, removing most of the sticky skin protectant/moisturizer called vernix, something I SPECIFICALLY requested on my birth plan to be avoided. "Please don't" I asked the nurse. She said something about getting the baby dry. "We can pat her dry." When she continued to be rougher than I wanted I just happened to dry Abigail just in the places she was aiming for. She got the hint pretty quickly and left us alone.
This is getting pretty long so I'll wrap it up. Abigail was an excellent eater from the start, something I had prayed for since feeding was such a challenge with Shoshana. She was latched the whole first two hours of life. The downside is she is not nearly as good a sleeper as Shoshana. But at this point I am okay with that. As far as the emotional upheaval of the first few months, I haven't come to many conclusions about that yet. Just that I'm glad it is over. I am still puzzled by these sorts of situations and what they are supposed to teach us. I don't have any great insights. I'm still healing. And Abigail is playing a beautiful part of that healing both from the traumatic experiences of Shoshana's early days as well as her own.
Maybe you can help me out. What sorts of things has God taught you through difficult situations?
Over the last few years I have developed this sense, this overarching fear, of waiting for the other shoe to drop. When things are going relatively well I start wondering when it will all crash down. Even though the news was pretty grim I still saw a tiny shard of hope. "Miracles can happen." This, from my doctor who is a Christian and has seen medical miracles. Both he and I knew it would require a miracle.
Seconds ticked into minutes. Minutes blurred into hours. Hours drug on to days. Tuesday arrived without any further bleeding. I went to my ultrasound thinking that either I am carrying a dead baby or a miracle has happened. Medically, physiologically, there isn't much middle ground. Knowing the tech is not qualified to tell me all I want to know, I simply ask to see the heartbeat. I've seen another woman's child's heartbeat four weeks after a grim prognosis. Would it be the same for me? I could tell right away the tech was experienced. She was efficient in getting set up and as soon as possible aimed the wand toward the heart.
There it was.
"There it is!"
There it was. Flickering rhythmically. Somewhere around 200 beats a minute. My little one was still alive! If only I were an ultrasound tech and could get a clue what the rest of it meant. I waited a couple of hours for the radiologist to view the reports, come to his conclusion, and report to my doctor. "The radiologist tells me he has never seen this amount of improvement in this amount of time." About 80% of the blood between the placenta and uterus had been absorbed. There was no new bleeding and there was significantly more tissue attached to the uterine wall than there was four days earlier, evidence of the placenta shunting it's structures to maintain adequate blood flow despite having a smaller percentage of attached surface area.
It was good news, but not 100% comforting. If the threatened miscarriage was due to a physical abnormality or a developmental issue it could still reoccur at a later time.
Now that we know she is happy, healthy, and developmentally on track we can call this a miracle. But at the time there was still uncertainty.
Fast forward to one week before my due date. I was SO READY for her to come out. When pregnant my joint issues are amplified ten-fold climaxing to constant pain in the last three or four weeks. Both times I have torn the cartilage in my pelvis further crippling me for months. Since my joints are unusually weak I depend heavily on my muscles to provide joint stability. As things get looser with the pregnancy my muscles are taxed more and more, sapping my energy, requiring me to take time off from work for several weeks before the baby is born. With Abigail's pregnancy, the torn pelvis didn't improve after tearing, it only got worse leaving me in intense pain for the last four weeks of the pregnancy. There were times that all I could do was lay on the couch and cry. Hence, when labor started one week before my due date I was relieved.
That morning began with a general backache, something I didn't take note of until much later; I was in too much general pain to notice my back joining the symphony. Contractions maintained the same rhythm as the week before: sometimes an hour would pass between contractions, sometimes only 10 minutes, but nothing consistent and not particularly interruptive. Once Tim returned from work in the evening contractions had begun to get closer together and were much more noticeable so I cloistered myself in the bedroom hoping to maintain that trajectory using concentration with peace and quiet and Sudoku on my phone. After about two hours of this things began changing. I knew I crossed the threshold from latent labor to active labor and would likely give birth soon! Things really intensified over about four contractions so I said it was time to begin the process of traveling to the hospital 40 minutes away.
We left for the hospital (the choice since after my intense labor with Shoshana I wanted the option of pain medicine if I needed it) between 10 and 11 pm, I think. Once there I changed positions frequently, was in and out of the birth tub, saying with a sigh "that contraction was tough but NOTHING like the induced contractions of labor with Shoshana. I could do this for days!" We chatted between contractions, listened to music, progressed consistently. Once transition got close and the sun was coming up we could tell that once again I had a cervical lip. An incredibly painful piece of cervix being pinched with every contraction rather than pushed and stretched. I asked for my pain management options since this is what I feared. The suggestion was made by both Amanda, acting as doula, and the labor RN that we should try breaking my water before trying pain medication which would give more consistent pressure on the cervix. I agreed.
We expected to wait 30 minutes for the midwife on call. She was in another room with a woman pushing. Around this time the shift changed and things got... interesting. 30 minutes turned into an hour and I was screaming with every contraction. Now this is what I remembered from Shoshana's labor! Fire and agony. Tim and Amanda asked again about the status of getting my waters broken since they still hadn't broken on their own. At this point I asked again about my drug options and I was assured that once my water broke things would progress so quickly that drugs wouldn't help. My support team was also assured that the midwife would come VERY SOON to break my water.
Another 30 minutes or so passed and I was sure Abigail was stuck. Every contraction sent me into writhing agony but she wasn't moving. All pain and no progress. Somehow, Amanda got the point across that we wanted someone, anyone, to come and break my water NOW. For the first time, the nurse paged the OB. Apparently they got the idea that I would refuse any and all treatment by an OB without express permission. I'm still not sure how they got that. There was also information lost over shift change including that I had already asked about pain management so they thought I was simply trying to tough it out, determined to have another natural birth.
The OB, who I had never met, showed up in great spirits. He was joking around with the staff and trying to be funny with my support team. Can you guess how raw everyone's emotions were after 2 hours of hearing me scream? He didn't go over well. I have one memory of him talking: "If only she would push past the lip the baby would come right out." OH REALLY? YA THINK? HOW ABOUT YOU COME OVER HERE AND TRY IT! I wanted to scream at him that I'd done that once before but this time something was different! IT WASN'T WORKING! He broke the water which was so tough I might have otherwise birthed her in the caul, with intact membranes. Talk about making up for last time when my water broke on its own at 5am, 18 days early! Then, my favorite memory of the birth happened: someone suggested putting counter-pressure on the cervical lip while I pushed. For those who don't know counter pressure on a bruised cervix during a contraction sends your pain from unimaginable, to inconceivable. I did not agree to this. However, the next contraction came so soon that I didn't get a chance to protest. He barely touched my bruised, hypersensitive cervix and I aimed a kick square in the chest. Too bad he saw it coming and it only glanced off his shoulder. That was mostly for his rude comment earlier and the simple fact that I got to retaliate for his insensitivity with the excuse of being in labor made me unusually happy.
I didn't see or hear from him again. Phew!
Going on 2 and a half hours of transition it occurred to me that this is how women die in childbirth. I had failed to communicate to my team how Abigail was stuck and my weeping between contractions that "this isn't working" didn't get the message across either. Finally, I resorted to the one thing I knew was guaranteed to get everyone's attention: talking about dying. A rule of thumb for clinicians is to always take it seriously when someone starts talking about a "sense of impending doom." Abigail was going to die and I was going to die. That was the only thing I could think to say that might get the sort of response from the clinicians that I wanted. Something had to change or things were going to go badly very quickly. I remember telling Tim to make sure that Shoshana knew how much I loved her. At that point I remember things finally starting to pick up the pace around me. Apparently the anesthesiologist was waiting on the floor, expecting my call. They were prepped for an epidural. Did I want an epidural? ARE YOU KIDDING?? I asked about pain meds two hours ago and you guys are the ones who suggested something else!
Within minutes the anesthesiologist was in the room asking basic questions and the nurse started an IV. They immediately gave me a nice big dose of Fentanyl, a powerful opioid. It didn't touch the pain. Ok, now for the 30 minute process of setting the epidural. Typically you are required to have a liter of fluid infused before starting the epidural to protect against hypotension but in my case they knew I needed the relief ASAP. Too bad the anesthesiologist didn't try sooner! I was in such agony that I couldn't sit still enough for him to do his job. In the meantime they gave me another dose of Fentanyl. Again, no difference in pain. The first poke missed. The second one sent electricity down my left leg. As he was attempting the third one I promised myself that this was his last try. If this didn't work we were having a cesarean. Come to find out later, Tim was thinking the same thing. That, and he had set a time limit: if I didn't have relief or had birthed the baby by a certain time he would demand a c-section. And I would have agreed whole-heartedly! Suddenly, gratefully, "my toes are tingling!" Within a minute I was numb from the ribs down. Don't get me wrong, an epidural doesn't make you completely numb. But a spinal does! I heard him talking to a nurse later that he felt so bad for me that he wanted to make sure that I would get immediate pain relief. I was so glad he did.
And so VERRRY sleepy.
Just in case you missed it, the total was 3 hours of transition and screaming with every push/contraction. Worn out from labor, hoarse from screaming, and, apparently, nearly overdosed on opioids. Oops. Now that I could rest they wanted to wait an hour before pushing so the Fentanyl could work it's way out of our systems. What a great idea! I'll just lay here and sleep. And stop breathing a couple of times. "beep beep beep." "Elizabeth, you need to take a deep breath for me." Clinician speak for "this needs to change now." I forced myself a deep breath and the beeping stopped. As I drifted off again I thought to myself "No Narcan. No Narcan." The reversal drug is brutal. It sends you into complete withdrawal allowing you to feel all the pain again within a matter of seconds. I've had to use it a couple of times on patients. It is never pretty. A tap on the shoulder and reminder to breathe happened three times during that hour. But mostly I slept. My support team got a nap too. The only one not happy at this point was Abigail. She began to show signs of stress.
"Alright! Let's have a baby!" I felt so good! I was grateful and happy to be detached from my lower body. To this day when I hear the word "spinal" I can't help but smile. Feelings of relief, peace, gratefulness, and happiness flood my brain. That happened just this morning! Several intense pushes later she popped out and immediately started making noise. Rather than her big sister's pointed screams Abigail cooed. "ooo ooo." "There she is!" I said I picked her up and placed her on my tummy. She immediately wanted to nurse. It was actually rather comical. Her umbilical cord was still returning the blood that belonged to her back from the placenta yet she couldn't wait to eat! She must be my daughter. The poor thing had to wait anyway because the umbilical cord wasn't long enough to allow her to reach.
My smiling reverie was suddenly broken as the pediatric nurse made a rough swipe on Abigail's right cheek, removing most of the sticky skin protectant/moisturizer called vernix, something I SPECIFICALLY requested on my birth plan to be avoided. "Please don't" I asked the nurse. She said something about getting the baby dry. "We can pat her dry." When she continued to be rougher than I wanted I just happened to dry Abigail just in the places she was aiming for. She got the hint pretty quickly and left us alone.
This is getting pretty long so I'll wrap it up. Abigail was an excellent eater from the start, something I had prayed for since feeding was such a challenge with Shoshana. She was latched the whole first two hours of life. The downside is she is not nearly as good a sleeper as Shoshana. But at this point I am okay with that. As far as the emotional upheaval of the first few months, I haven't come to many conclusions about that yet. Just that I'm glad it is over. I am still puzzled by these sorts of situations and what they are supposed to teach us. I don't have any great insights. I'm still healing. And Abigail is playing a beautiful part of that healing both from the traumatic experiences of Shoshana's early days as well as her own.
Maybe you can help me out. What sorts of things has God taught you through difficult situations?
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Abigail's Story (1 of 2)
This birth story will actually start much earlier than most. Due to the difficult time I had with Shoshana's conception, development, birth, and post partum period we made peace with the idea that I may never be ready to have another child, though the concept of having an only child irked me. It was simply so traumatic, so dangerous for both myself and our child, that Tim and I needed to feel a deep sense of security with my emotional state, our support system, and our relationships with our Heavenly Father before even considering willingly walking through that door again. When Shoshana was almost a year and a half old I began to feel a sense of loss creeping up on me. Bit by bit I was no longer okay with the thought that I may never be ready to have another child again. That I might be missing out on someone. I broached the subject with my husband who was truly shocked to hear of a change in attitude so soon. As was I! I assured him that this did not mean I was ready to start trying again, just that my emotions were beginning to change. My little exasperated comments evolved from "she is such a handful" to "she needs a sibling." From "you need to play by yourself now" to "you need to play by yourself now... and you need a sibling."
I re-read the book "Surprise Child" by Leslie Leyland Fields. My responses to the content were markedly different. I began reaching out to other moms who I knew were also emotionally scarred from post partum depression; some that had been through that experience and had another child and one that was still waiting on that decision. I consistently heard back that there is no way to predict when you will feel ready again, but when you know, you know. Ya know? But I want predictions! I want the goal! Not this whole waiting for when I might know something that I am so unsure will ever happen!
True enough, about three months later I wept when my period started. What is this? Maybe I need to increase my medication dosage. Whatever happened to the familiar feeling of relief? Relief that our efforts were successful, that another child wasn't put in harm's way. Instead I was incredibly disappointed. That night we talked on our pillows. After a short introduction I said "I feel like I'm missing out on someone. I want to meet that someone." Tim took a little more convincing that it wasn't my monthly hormones talking before he said "ok."
Three more months passed in which I got a very small taste of what it is like to try for a child and have to wait. Of course, that is nothing compared with several people I know: 6 months and successful, 2 years and not successful, 3 years and successful, 5 years and not successful, 14 years of waiting with 2 years of trying ending in preterm labor and non-viable live birth followed by more trying. Every period was a disappointment but at least I had the history of a healthy child even when not trying for one!
Then my period didn't come. The test was positive! Again, I returned to the bedroom, this time with a grin, and said "good morning daddy." We laughed and praised the Lord.
Then, 6 weeks later I found blood.
It was a Thursday night, after my first professional choir rehearsal. Even though Amanda, my midwife for Shoshana and a long-time friend was already retired, she was still my first call. She asked me questions and told me what to watch for. No matter what, to go in for an ultrasound in the morning. At 9am I saw my PCP, my former pediatrician, and, based on the fact that I had not bled any more since that night, was not very concerned but sent me for an ultrasound anyway. On return from the ultrasound his face gave away the news even before his words came. "Miracles can happen..." he began. There was a heartbeat but 6 cm of the placenta was no longer attached. I immediately burst into tears. I knew that 6cm is almost the entire length of the placenta. It was all gone except for a small ring around the edge.
I was in the process of miscarriage.
He talked to my husband on the phone because I couldn't speak. He counseled us what to expect physically and emotionally. Basically, I was to go home and wait for the inevitable. If, by the hand of God there was still no miscarriage by Tuesday, I should schedule a follow-up ultrasound.
WHAT THE HELL?
All of my resentments over the last several years, all my doubts about who God is, all my anger bubbled up tar-like from the neat little filing cabinet in the far back dark room where I had stored it away for future reference. Hot, black, sticky, bubbly and oozy all at once. He gave me a child I didn't want at the time, put her in my tummy, in harm's way, and now threatens to take away the one I actually wanted! How many ways can you say UNFAIR? It was all so wrong. What kind of a God would do that? Not a God of blessing, surely. A God of good gifts, a loving Father, a faithful lover, a protective mother hen? Garbage. All of it.
My husband called together the elders of our church to anoint me with oil as is prescribed in James but I was so disillusioned that I didn't even care. My heart did not participate in the prayer for mercy, providence, a fully-formed healthy child. I wouldn't pray to that God any more. If there was a God.
I re-read the book "Surprise Child" by Leslie Leyland Fields. My responses to the content were markedly different. I began reaching out to other moms who I knew were also emotionally scarred from post partum depression; some that had been through that experience and had another child and one that was still waiting on that decision. I consistently heard back that there is no way to predict when you will feel ready again, but when you know, you know. Ya know? But I want predictions! I want the goal! Not this whole waiting for when I might know something that I am so unsure will ever happen!
True enough, about three months later I wept when my period started. What is this? Maybe I need to increase my medication dosage. Whatever happened to the familiar feeling of relief? Relief that our efforts were successful, that another child wasn't put in harm's way. Instead I was incredibly disappointed. That night we talked on our pillows. After a short introduction I said "I feel like I'm missing out on someone. I want to meet that someone." Tim took a little more convincing that it wasn't my monthly hormones talking before he said "ok."
Three more months passed in which I got a very small taste of what it is like to try for a child and have to wait. Of course, that is nothing compared with several people I know: 6 months and successful, 2 years and not successful, 3 years and successful, 5 years and not successful, 14 years of waiting with 2 years of trying ending in preterm labor and non-viable live birth followed by more trying. Every period was a disappointment but at least I had the history of a healthy child even when not trying for one!
Then my period didn't come. The test was positive! Again, I returned to the bedroom, this time with a grin, and said "good morning daddy." We laughed and praised the Lord.
Then, 6 weeks later I found blood.
It was a Thursday night, after my first professional choir rehearsal. Even though Amanda, my midwife for Shoshana and a long-time friend was already retired, she was still my first call. She asked me questions and told me what to watch for. No matter what, to go in for an ultrasound in the morning. At 9am I saw my PCP, my former pediatrician, and, based on the fact that I had not bled any more since that night, was not very concerned but sent me for an ultrasound anyway. On return from the ultrasound his face gave away the news even before his words came. "Miracles can happen..." he began. There was a heartbeat but 6 cm of the placenta was no longer attached. I immediately burst into tears. I knew that 6cm is almost the entire length of the placenta. It was all gone except for a small ring around the edge.
I was in the process of miscarriage.
He talked to my husband on the phone because I couldn't speak. He counseled us what to expect physically and emotionally. Basically, I was to go home and wait for the inevitable. If, by the hand of God there was still no miscarriage by Tuesday, I should schedule a follow-up ultrasound.
WHAT THE HELL?
All of my resentments over the last several years, all my doubts about who God is, all my anger bubbled up tar-like from the neat little filing cabinet in the far back dark room where I had stored it away for future reference. Hot, black, sticky, bubbly and oozy all at once. He gave me a child I didn't want at the time, put her in my tummy, in harm's way, and now threatens to take away the one I actually wanted! How many ways can you say UNFAIR? It was all so wrong. What kind of a God would do that? Not a God of blessing, surely. A God of good gifts, a loving Father, a faithful lover, a protective mother hen? Garbage. All of it.
My husband called together the elders of our church to anoint me with oil as is prescribed in James but I was so disillusioned that I didn't even care. My heart did not participate in the prayer for mercy, providence, a fully-formed healthy child. I wouldn't pray to that God any more. If there was a God.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Baby goats!
Last Thursday I was making final preparations to head out to the gym and I decided to check on our very pregnant goat, Chestnut, "just in case." It's a good thing I did because she was in labor! I considered going to the gym anyway since I didn't know how long it would take her, but since I had to intervene in her labor last season I didn't want to risk her progressing quickly then getting stuck while I was out. I called my sister to let her know that this is the day and she is welcome to come over whenever she is able.
Chestnut's first labor, last year, stalled a bit after the birth of the first kid. In general, there should be no more than an hour between delivery of kids. After about an hour and a half of her ineffective pushing I decided it was time to physically help the kid advance. I didn't like causing Chestnut to be so uncomfortable but after a few attempts I got the harness around his front hooves and aided him out. She was pretty tired and was very grateful for the energy and vitamin supplements we had on hand.
Given that, I kept a close eye on Chestnut to make sure she was progressing consistently and not getting stuck at any point.
She did lots of arching, stretching, and changing positions.
At one point I got the impression that she was getting tired so I offered her warm mash and molassas water. She wasn't interested in the mash, it must have been too rich for her, but she gulped down the molassas water. About two hours after I noticed her contractions she started pushing.
She is much more vocal than Rosemary when in labor giving me a bunch of sympathy pains for her. She decided to delivery laying down this year. A dark kid came first.
As she was cleaning that one a second one started coming. Then it occurred to me: my phone can take video too! I asked Amanda, holding the phone, to switch it to camcorder mode while I continued to stand by and help out where needed.
You might want to turn your volume down. Pushing out a kid isn't called LABOR for nothing!
Cute family photos!
Chestnut's first labor, last year, stalled a bit after the birth of the first kid. In general, there should be no more than an hour between delivery of kids. After about an hour and a half of her ineffective pushing I decided it was time to physically help the kid advance. I didn't like causing Chestnut to be so uncomfortable but after a few attempts I got the harness around his front hooves and aided him out. She was pretty tired and was very grateful for the energy and vitamin supplements we had on hand.
Given that, I kept a close eye on Chestnut to make sure she was progressing consistently and not getting stuck at any point.
She did lots of arching, stretching, and changing positions.
At one point I got the impression that she was getting tired so I offered her warm mash and molassas water. She wasn't interested in the mash, it must have been too rich for her, but she gulped down the molassas water. About two hours after I noticed her contractions she started pushing.
She is much more vocal than Rosemary when in labor giving me a bunch of sympathy pains for her. She decided to delivery laying down this year. A dark kid came first.
As she was cleaning that one a second one started coming. Then it occurred to me: my phone can take video too! I asked Amanda, holding the phone, to switch it to camcorder mode while I continued to stand by and help out where needed.
You might want to turn your volume down. Pushing out a kid isn't called LABOR for nothing!
Cute family photos!
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Wait (3 of 3)
Believe
it or not, the incident to spark this series was a visit by some Mormon boys (as my mom always called them) and the related research before their visit about eight weeks ago. A passage in the Book of Mormon, Alma
chapter 5 outlines the Mormon faith: "and this is how you know if you have been saved...have you sufficiently retained
in remembrance the captivity of your fathers? Yea, and have you
sufficiently retained in remembrance his mercy and long suffering
towards them? And moreover, have ye sufficiently retained in remembrance
that he has delivered their souls from hell?...And now I ask of you on
what conditions are they saved?...they humbled themselves and put their
trust in the true and living God. And behold, they were faithful until
the end; therefore they were saved."
Light from heaven!
Sufficiently? How subjective! How wrought with doubts inspiring outward service and mostly fear. No wonder my paternal grandmother, a picture-perfect Mormon for life, told my mother on her deathbed "I don't know what the [angels in heaven] would want with me." Against that background the Good News sparkled bringing tears to my eyes. Sparkles, relief, peace, hope, assurance, and maybe even some angelic singing! "How marvelous are your works, O God. How vast is the sum of them. Were I to count them they would outnumber the grains of sand... (Ps. 139)" Marvelous to know that we are utterly inept to prove ourselves sufficiently worthy to live amongst God's Holiness so he created a way to give us His holiness! What human mind would have come up with that? God's plan is so elegant that the wise are dumbfounded (1 Cor. 1:27)!
Revelation 5
"I saw in the right hand of Him who sat on the throne a book written inside and on the back, sealed up with seven seals. 2 And I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the book and to break its seals?” 3 And no one in heaven or on the earth or under the earth was able to open the book or to look into it. 4 Then I began to weep greatly because no one was found worthy to open the book or to look into it; 5 and one of the elders said to me, “Stop weeping; behold, the Lion that is from the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has overcome so as to open the book and its seven seals.” ...
Then I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels around the throne and the living creatures and the elders; and the number of them was myriads of myriads, and thousands of thousands, 12 saying with a loud voice,
A lamb, standing as if slain, was worthy? It sounds so strange, so counter-intuitive. But I have come to the conclusion once again that it is an elegant, true, inspired plan to erase our sin and make us holy so that we can spend time with God who is holy. God himself came down to become a man, to live a perfect life, so that he could be a worthy sacrifice to pay the penalty for all our sins. And he demonstrated to everyone, human and divine, that he defeated sin and death for all time by coming back to life, appearing to hundreds of witnesses, and ascending into heaven. All we need is faith. Not sufficient faith, whatever that means. Just faith. "For it is by God's grace that you have been saved through faith. It is not the result of your own efforts, but God's gift, so that no one can boast about it (Eph 2:8-9, Good News Translation)."
Yet another piece of the puzzle to fit into these last confusing years. It is so tempting to lose sight of the truth that we can rest in God's holiness simply because he gave it to us, having absolutely nothing to do with our actions. This is not a new idea to me but in relation to what I have been learning recently and contrasted with the Mormon religion it has new depth of color in my understanding.
On a quirky little side note, the time previously that I heard God speak to me as he once did on a regular basis, he told me to invite a friend of mine to a book study with other friends, and to keep on asking. The man who was to win her heart a few years later hadn't even joined the group yet, but God invited me to be part of the process. I don't have any deep "spirichal" insights about that one, it was simply fun. A joy. A pleasure to be a part of. And I am reminded of the unnecessary invitation to be part of something beautiful every time I think of them.
Psalm 27
13 I remain confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the LORD
in the land of the living.
14 Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.
In just the last few weeks I and others have directly benefited from the difficulties I've experienced in the last few years. My traumatic experiences with labor, delivery, breast feeding, and bonding have directly benefited my little sister. At the time I didn't care if my experience would help someone in the future. I had to focus on living through this day, this hour, this minute. I had to prevent myself to carry out plans for death solely for the sake of my husband. I don't know that I can yet say it was all worth it, but what I can say is I had no idea how fulfilled it would make me feel to help someone else avoid what I went through, or to simply show them the support I needed when experiencing similar circumstances.
Isaiah 61:1-3 - A prophecy in the voice of the coming Messiah
To bring good news to the afflicted;
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to captives
And freedom to prisoners;
2 To proclaim the favorable year of the Lord
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
3 To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.
There are still many things I do not understand. Some day I will know the big picture of why I've had these experiences, why my family, and especially my firstborn daughter, had to experience the fallout of these dark times but for now I am holding on to a couple of key verses, two of which I shared earlier and two additional:
"You have the words of life. Where else will I go (my paraphrase, Jn. 6:36)?"
"...So they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified (Is. 61:3)."
"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, [nor depression, addition mine], will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom. 8:38-39)
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 5 For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ. 6 But if we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; or if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which is effective in the patient enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer; 7 and our hope for you is firmly grounded, knowing that as you are sharers of our sufferings, so also you are sharers of our comfort (2 Cor. 1:3-7)
Light from heaven!
Sufficiently? How subjective! How wrought with doubts inspiring outward service and mostly fear. No wonder my paternal grandmother, a picture-perfect Mormon for life, told my mother on her deathbed "I don't know what the [angels in heaven] would want with me." Against that background the Good News sparkled bringing tears to my eyes. Sparkles, relief, peace, hope, assurance, and maybe even some angelic singing! "How marvelous are your works, O God. How vast is the sum of them. Were I to count them they would outnumber the grains of sand... (Ps. 139)" Marvelous to know that we are utterly inept to prove ourselves sufficiently worthy to live amongst God's Holiness so he created a way to give us His holiness! What human mind would have come up with that? God's plan is so elegant that the wise are dumbfounded (1 Cor. 1:27)!
Revelation 5
"I saw in the right hand of Him who sat on the throne a book written inside and on the back, sealed up with seven seals. 2 And I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the book and to break its seals?” 3 And no one in heaven or on the earth or under the earth was able to open the book or to look into it. 4 Then I began to weep greatly because no one was found worthy to open the book or to look into it; 5 and one of the elders said to me, “Stop weeping; behold, the Lion that is from the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has overcome so as to open the book and its seven seals.” ...
Then I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels around the throne and the living creatures and the elders; and the number of them was myriads of myriads, and thousands of thousands, 12 saying with a loud voice,
“ Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing.”
13 And
every created thing which is in heaven and on the earth and under the
earth and on the sea, and all things in them, I heard saying,
“To Him who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, be blessing and honor and glory and dominion forever and ever.”
14 And the four living creatures kept saying, “ Amen.” And the elders fell down and worshiped."
A lamb, standing as if slain, was worthy? It sounds so strange, so counter-intuitive. But I have come to the conclusion once again that it is an elegant, true, inspired plan to erase our sin and make us holy so that we can spend time with God who is holy. God himself came down to become a man, to live a perfect life, so that he could be a worthy sacrifice to pay the penalty for all our sins. And he demonstrated to everyone, human and divine, that he defeated sin and death for all time by coming back to life, appearing to hundreds of witnesses, and ascending into heaven. All we need is faith. Not sufficient faith, whatever that means. Just faith. "For it is by God's grace that you have been saved through faith. It is not the result of your own efforts, but God's gift, so that no one can boast about it (Eph 2:8-9, Good News Translation)."
Yet another piece of the puzzle to fit into these last confusing years. It is so tempting to lose sight of the truth that we can rest in God's holiness simply because he gave it to us, having absolutely nothing to do with our actions. This is not a new idea to me but in relation to what I have been learning recently and contrasted with the Mormon religion it has new depth of color in my understanding.
On a quirky little side note, the time previously that I heard God speak to me as he once did on a regular basis, he told me to invite a friend of mine to a book study with other friends, and to keep on asking. The man who was to win her heart a few years later hadn't even joined the group yet, but God invited me to be part of the process. I don't have any deep "spirichal" insights about that one, it was simply fun. A joy. A pleasure to be a part of. And I am reminded of the unnecessary invitation to be part of something beautiful every time I think of them.
Psalm 27
13 I remain confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the LORD
in the land of the living.
14 Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.
In just the last few weeks I and others have directly benefited from the difficulties I've experienced in the last few years. My traumatic experiences with labor, delivery, breast feeding, and bonding have directly benefited my little sister. At the time I didn't care if my experience would help someone in the future. I had to focus on living through this day, this hour, this minute. I had to prevent myself to carry out plans for death solely for the sake of my husband. I don't know that I can yet say it was all worth it, but what I can say is I had no idea how fulfilled it would make me feel to help someone else avoid what I went through, or to simply show them the support I needed when experiencing similar circumstances.
Isaiah 61:1-3 - A prophecy in the voice of the coming Messiah
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
Because the Lord has anointed meTo bring good news to the afflicted;
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to captives
And freedom to prisoners;
2 To proclaim the favorable year of the Lord
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
3 To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.
There are still many things I do not understand. Some day I will know the big picture of why I've had these experiences, why my family, and especially my firstborn daughter, had to experience the fallout of these dark times but for now I am holding on to a couple of key verses, two of which I shared earlier and two additional:
"You have the words of life. Where else will I go (my paraphrase, Jn. 6:36)?"
"...So they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified (Is. 61:3)."
"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, [nor depression, addition mine], will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom. 8:38-39)
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 5 For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ. 6 But if we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; or if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which is effective in the patient enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer; 7 and our hope for you is firmly grounded, knowing that as you are sharers of our sufferings, so also you are sharers of our comfort (2 Cor. 1:3-7)
Wait (2 of ?)
I feel as if I have lost precious time. Time
to be productive, to love my first born during her earliest, most impressionable age, to "be all that I can be". Depression is the most insidious thief I have ever known. It sneaks up on you and before you know it all the colors turn to gray-scale, the sky becomes a dark roof ever lowering, the air a suffocating liquid, life itself a shrinking black box. Get too mired in depression and you come to a point where you cannot even help yourself any more. When my left triceps and forearm are gone I have very little desire left to open that bottle and down the one thing that will help me. I'd rather just disappear into that black void and sleep (with obligatory nightmares) than lift my arm, my head, unscrew the bottle, down the pill and chase it with water. My peace has been stolen, my happiness, my joy, my faith in the steadfast God that I first fell in love with. I have been relearning it all.
My daily dependency on a pill to function has been an interesting starting point: "He humbled you and let you be hungry, and fed you with manna which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that He might make you understand that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the LORD (Deut. 8:3)," "Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears our burden, The God who is our salvation (Ps. 68:19)," "Blessed is the man who listens to me, Watching daily at my gates, Waiting at my doorposts (Pr. 8:30)," "Give us this day our daily bread (Mt. 6:11)," "And He was saying to them all, “ If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me" (Lk. 9:23),"
I have a difficult time focusing on daily things. They are so monotonous, so repetitive, so boring. I want the finish line! The point to all of this! The goal!
During that first year of marriage to Tim, hitting rock bottom, threatening suicide to simply end it all and go to heaven where I belong, the discipline of daily devotions became burdensome to me. I was so focused on doing, getting it done, toughing it out that I began resenting the commitment I had made to the Lord. But I had always been told that giving up regular Bible reading was a bad idea and sometimes even sinful. But I was so mad at God for putting me in the situation: calling me to be a nurse then pulling away, showing me the man to marry then allowing the deep darkness to have me, bringing an innocent child in the middle of all this, an unwanted child. So he gave me permission to rest. To stop doing,
I was allowed to be confused. To be hurt. To cry. To question my very faith.
To wait.
A verse mentioned as a side note in a sermon stuck with me. The setting is Jesus just described the taking of communion in confusing, gory terms making people think he was talking about cannibalism. Many of his followers left. Then he turned to those who had stayed and asked "Are you going to leave me too." " Simon Peter answered Him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have words of eternal life. We have believed and have come to know that You are the Holy One of God (Jn. 6:67-69).” Simon and the others were still confused. But that was okay. They were convinced that he was the Son of God and that he had the "words of eternal life". What are the other options? None! So, things are confusing. They didn't have the big picture. They had not taken communion with Jesus yet nor seen the parallels in his death, burial, and resurrection in the days afterward. But where else can we go? No one else has the Words of Life!
Is that the point? Have I been so fixated on Doing that I have forgotten how to Be? Had my daily devotions in themselves become an idol? Was the action of doing what I was supposed to do distracting me from what I was really supposed to be doing? To rest in the Lord and meditate on who he is: Creator, Redeemer, Friend? Somehow, during this journey I have felt permission from the Lord to take a step back. To rest. To rely on the many verses I had memorized and meditate on them when they came to mind, but not force the issue on a regular basis.
There I go again, fixating on the point. The end. The purpose. The goal. I need to be more present, more here, grateful for the journey, the commute. How are we to ever say that there is one main point for whatever trial we have gone through? I find that concept demeaning and insensitive. Don't you?
For now, I am learning to wait.
Psalm 40 - A lament of David
I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
2 He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
3 He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear
And will trust in the Lord.
My daily dependency on a pill to function has been an interesting starting point: "He humbled you and let you be hungry, and fed you with manna which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that He might make you understand that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the LORD (Deut. 8:3)," "Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears our burden, The God who is our salvation (Ps. 68:19)," "Blessed is the man who listens to me, Watching daily at my gates, Waiting at my doorposts (Pr. 8:30)," "Give us this day our daily bread (Mt. 6:11)," "And He was saying to them all, “ If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me" (Lk. 9:23),"
I have a difficult time focusing on daily things. They are so monotonous, so repetitive, so boring. I want the finish line! The point to all of this! The goal!
During that first year of marriage to Tim, hitting rock bottom, threatening suicide to simply end it all and go to heaven where I belong, the discipline of daily devotions became burdensome to me. I was so focused on doing, getting it done, toughing it out that I began resenting the commitment I had made to the Lord. But I had always been told that giving up regular Bible reading was a bad idea and sometimes even sinful. But I was so mad at God for putting me in the situation: calling me to be a nurse then pulling away, showing me the man to marry then allowing the deep darkness to have me, bringing an innocent child in the middle of all this, an unwanted child. So he gave me permission to rest. To stop doing,
I was allowed to be confused. To be hurt. To cry. To question my very faith.
To wait.
A verse mentioned as a side note in a sermon stuck with me. The setting is Jesus just described the taking of communion in confusing, gory terms making people think he was talking about cannibalism. Many of his followers left. Then he turned to those who had stayed and asked "Are you going to leave me too." " Simon Peter answered Him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have words of eternal life. We have believed and have come to know that You are the Holy One of God (Jn. 6:67-69).” Simon and the others were still confused. But that was okay. They were convinced that he was the Son of God and that he had the "words of eternal life". What are the other options? None! So, things are confusing. They didn't have the big picture. They had not taken communion with Jesus yet nor seen the parallels in his death, burial, and resurrection in the days afterward. But where else can we go? No one else has the Words of Life!
Is that the point? Have I been so fixated on Doing that I have forgotten how to Be? Had my daily devotions in themselves become an idol? Was the action of doing what I was supposed to do distracting me from what I was really supposed to be doing? To rest in the Lord and meditate on who he is: Creator, Redeemer, Friend? Somehow, during this journey I have felt permission from the Lord to take a step back. To rest. To rely on the many verses I had memorized and meditate on them when they came to mind, but not force the issue on a regular basis.
There I go again, fixating on the point. The end. The purpose. The goal. I need to be more present, more here, grateful for the journey, the commute. How are we to ever say that there is one main point for whatever trial we have gone through? I find that concept demeaning and insensitive. Don't you?
For now, I am learning to wait.
Psalm 40 - A lament of David
I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
2 He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
3 He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear
And will trust in the Lord.
4 How blessed is the man who has made the Lord his trust,
And has not turned to the proud, nor to those who lapse into falsehood.
5 Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders which You have done,
And Your thoughts toward us;
There is none to compare with You.
If I would declare and speak of them,
They would be too numerous to count.
And has not turned to the proud, nor to those who lapse into falsehood.
5 Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders which You have done,
And Your thoughts toward us;
There is none to compare with You.
If I would declare and speak of them,
They would be too numerous to count.
6 Sacrifice and meal offering You have not desired;
My ears You have opened;
Burnt offering and sin offering You have not required.
7 Then I said, “Behold, I come;
In the scroll of the book it is written of me.
8 I delight to do Your will, O my God;
Your Law is within my heart.”
My ears You have opened;
Burnt offering and sin offering You have not required.
7 Then I said, “Behold, I come;
In the scroll of the book it is written of me.
8 I delight to do Your will, O my God;
Your Law is within my heart.”
9 I have proclaimed glad tidings of righteousness in the great congregation;
Behold, I will not restrain my lips,
O Lord, You know.
10 I have not hidden Your righteousness within my heart;
I have spoken of Your faithfulness and Your salvation;
I have not concealed Your lovingkindness and Your truth from the great congregation.
Behold, I will not restrain my lips,
O Lord, You know.
10 I have not hidden Your righteousness within my heart;
I have spoken of Your faithfulness and Your salvation;
I have not concealed Your lovingkindness and Your truth from the great congregation.
11 You, O Lord, will not withhold Your compassion from me;
Your lovingkindness and Your truth will continually preserve me.
12 For evils beyond number have surrounded me;
My iniquities have overtaken me, so that I am not able to see;
They are more numerous than the hairs of my head,
And my heart has failed me.
Your lovingkindness and Your truth will continually preserve me.
12 For evils beyond number have surrounded me;
My iniquities have overtaken me, so that I am not able to see;
They are more numerous than the hairs of my head,
And my heart has failed me.
13 Be pleased, O Lord, to deliver me;
Make haste, O Lord, to help me.
14 Let those be ashamed and humiliated together
Who seek my life to destroy it;
Let those be turned back and dishonored
Who delight in my hurt.
15 Let those be appalled because of their shame
Who say to me, “Aha, aha!”
16 Let all who seek You rejoice and be glad in You;
Let those who love Your salvation say continually,
“The Lord be magnified!”
17 Since I am afflicted and needy,
Let the Lord be mindful of me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
Do not delay, O my God.
Make haste, O Lord, to help me.
14 Let those be ashamed and humiliated together
Who seek my life to destroy it;
Let those be turned back and dishonored
Who delight in my hurt.
15 Let those be appalled because of their shame
Who say to me, “Aha, aha!”
16 Let all who seek You rejoice and be glad in You;
Let those who love Your salvation say continually,
“The Lord be magnified!”
17 Since I am afflicted and needy,
Let the Lord be mindful of me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
Do not delay, O my God.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Wait (1 of ?)
**This is the first in a series of posts. At this point it looks to be about two or three posts long but it isn't finished yet.**
As an internal processor I have a difficult time communicating in the middle of situations. Hence the lack of writing for over a year. I've had the smallest breakthrough, the slightest hint of understanding, and I'm ready to share this process. I only ask that you be gentle. I still do not respond very well to people deciding and telling me how I should react to a given situation. I am fragile. I still do not understand very much of why. And though you may have the best of intentions sometimes I have a hard time looking past your insensitive wording to those intentions. But it makes me feel a little more secure just to state my need.
I've always been a doer. A go-getter. A fighter. Most definitely a goody-two-shoes related to "an overdeveloped sense of justice." The answer was always "Yes. I can do that." Even if it meant asking a missionary family to take me back to Guatemala with them before asking my parents' permission. At 8 years old. Didn't mom realize that this is what I am supposed to do? Yes, she did, but it wasn't time yet. I had to wait until I was 12 years old, she said. Once that magic number came I had to wait an additional four years until the opportunity FINALLY arrived.
For me, doing comes naturally. Waiting does not. Even commuting makes me feel like I'm wasting time. Hence all the running between classes on campus even though I was rarely late. A dear friend had to teach me how to stroll. But strolling is a waste of time, don't you know! Making quilts, doing crafts, raising children, a 9-5 job. I always knew that wasn't the life for me. Too mundane. Too boring. Not enough DOING for God. I am energized in another country, communicating with people despite cultural barriers, being mistaken for a native. Every day life is a drag.
*Spoiler* God has been teaching me a little bit about waiting. Forcing me to balance out the "Come to me all who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest" with the "Put on the full armor of God so that you will be able to stand against all the evil schemes of the devil." Or, as John Piper put it so well in his study When I Don't Desire God "...balance out the concepts of life as rest and life as fight."
It's all so counter-intuitive. God wants our actions to accompany our faith, to "go out and make disciples of all nations," to "to proclaim good news to the poor... to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor (Lk 4:18-19).” I identify with that. I'm energized by that. Apparently that's not the whole picture.
I thought I knew how to listen. How to be quiet. How to do the "boring" stuff. "Be still and know that I am God (Ps. 46:10)." On the surface it doesn't seem that complicated. Know that I am God. Okay... You are God. You are God. You are God. You are Goooddd (cue reverberating baritone). Should I make a mantra out of it? Sit with my legs crossed, thumbs touching middle fingers, eyes closed, humming? Are you getting the idea that I have no idea what the heck I'm talking about? The truth is, for most of my life I didn't to wait much, to listen long, to hear God's voice. He blessed me beyond understanding with a gift of communication. Not with other people, but with him. A two-way conversation. On a regular basis. Besides God revealing to me His Good News of salvation, that is the most amazing thing I have ever experienced.
But the moment I was informed the reason to my illness, my inability to stay awake and lucid for more than a few hours at a time, he went silent. That dreaded word: CANCER immediately cut our phone lines.
Looking back I remember He developed a theme of impressions once I started nursing school; "relax, be at peace, enjoy this moment." But nothing in my experience so far makes me wait as expectantly as silence. Absence. Hope in something unseen. Tasted but unsavored. Fading memories of something glorious.
1 Out of the depths I cry to you, LORD;
2 Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.
3 If you, LORD, kept a record of sins,
Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness,
so that we can, with reverence, serve you.
5 I wait for the LORD, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
6 I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.
7 Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
for with the LORD is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins.
"More than the watchman waits for the morning." I can identify with that. The night is limited vision, heightened hearing, acute nerves, deadly animals and men. The morning is another night survived, renewed hope, warmth, waking family and friends. I have been waiting to once again hear the momentary whisper of God for three years now. Six years for our cherished conversation. Six years since cancer somehow necessitated this silent phase. It has been a dark time. A hard time where God seems far off, dangers close at hand.
Death is in my very mind.
Despite living much of the American Dream, experiencing many wondrous things, I was falling apart. My limbs didn't even feel like my limbs. Were they mine? Or the transparency of an apparition? Perhaps I wasn't alive, but a soul stuck between worlds, restless even in death. Only pain could solidify my flesh to my own eyes. Pain and blood. Even now, stray too far from my medication and I feel as if chunks of my flesh begin to fall out. Always starting with a tennis ball section of my left trapezoid, then a chunk the size of a golf ball from my left forearm, then my right hand. If left unchecked there comes a point where I cannot walk, I cannot even lift my own head for it is only attached by a thread.
The thoughts of death once kept at bay by the voice of God screamed at me, clawed at my flesh, what little flesh was left after the ravaging of depression. J.K. Rowling chose to anthropomorphize this sensation thus: "Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soul-less and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life." Perhaps the worst part about depression is that last sentence. No matter what happy memories you have or the quantity of them, depression steals those beautiful experiences leaving only the worst ones behind.
As an internal processor I have a difficult time communicating in the middle of situations. Hence the lack of writing for over a year. I've had the smallest breakthrough, the slightest hint of understanding, and I'm ready to share this process. I only ask that you be gentle. I still do not respond very well to people deciding and telling me how I should react to a given situation. I am fragile. I still do not understand very much of why. And though you may have the best of intentions sometimes I have a hard time looking past your insensitive wording to those intentions. But it makes me feel a little more secure just to state my need.
I've always been a doer. A go-getter. A fighter. Most definitely a goody-two-shoes related to "an overdeveloped sense of justice." The answer was always "Yes. I can do that." Even if it meant asking a missionary family to take me back to Guatemala with them before asking my parents' permission. At 8 years old. Didn't mom realize that this is what I am supposed to do? Yes, she did, but it wasn't time yet. I had to wait until I was 12 years old, she said. Once that magic number came I had to wait an additional four years until the opportunity FINALLY arrived.
For me, doing comes naturally. Waiting does not. Even commuting makes me feel like I'm wasting time. Hence all the running between classes on campus even though I was rarely late. A dear friend had to teach me how to stroll. But strolling is a waste of time, don't you know! Making quilts, doing crafts, raising children, a 9-5 job. I always knew that wasn't the life for me. Too mundane. Too boring. Not enough DOING for God. I am energized in another country, communicating with people despite cultural barriers, being mistaken for a native. Every day life is a drag.
*Spoiler* God has been teaching me a little bit about waiting. Forcing me to balance out the "Come to me all who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest" with the "Put on the full armor of God so that you will be able to stand against all the evil schemes of the devil." Or, as John Piper put it so well in his study When I Don't Desire God "...balance out the concepts of life as rest and life as fight."
It's all so counter-intuitive. God wants our actions to accompany our faith, to "go out and make disciples of all nations," to "to proclaim good news to the poor... to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor (Lk 4:18-19).” I identify with that. I'm energized by that. Apparently that's not the whole picture.
I thought I knew how to listen. How to be quiet. How to do the "boring" stuff. "Be still and know that I am God (Ps. 46:10)." On the surface it doesn't seem that complicated. Know that I am God. Okay... You are God. You are God. You are God. You are Goooddd (cue reverberating baritone). Should I make a mantra out of it? Sit with my legs crossed, thumbs touching middle fingers, eyes closed, humming? Are you getting the idea that I have no idea what the heck I'm talking about? The truth is, for most of my life I didn't to wait much, to listen long, to hear God's voice. He blessed me beyond understanding with a gift of communication. Not with other people, but with him. A two-way conversation. On a regular basis. Besides God revealing to me His Good News of salvation, that is the most amazing thing I have ever experienced.
But the moment I was informed the reason to my illness, my inability to stay awake and lucid for more than a few hours at a time, he went silent. That dreaded word: CANCER immediately cut our phone lines.
Looking back I remember He developed a theme of impressions once I started nursing school; "relax, be at peace, enjoy this moment." But nothing in my experience so far makes me wait as expectantly as silence. Absence. Hope in something unseen. Tasted but unsavored. Fading memories of something glorious.
Psalm 130
A song of ascents.1 Out of the depths I cry to you, LORD;
2 Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.
3 If you, LORD, kept a record of sins,
Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness,
so that we can, with reverence, serve you.
5 I wait for the LORD, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
6 I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.
7 Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
for with the LORD is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins.
"More than the watchman waits for the morning." I can identify with that. The night is limited vision, heightened hearing, acute nerves, deadly animals and men. The morning is another night survived, renewed hope, warmth, waking family and friends. I have been waiting to once again hear the momentary whisper of God for three years now. Six years for our cherished conversation. Six years since cancer somehow necessitated this silent phase. It has been a dark time. A hard time where God seems far off, dangers close at hand.
Death is in my very mind.
Despite living much of the American Dream, experiencing many wondrous things, I was falling apart. My limbs didn't even feel like my limbs. Were they mine? Or the transparency of an apparition? Perhaps I wasn't alive, but a soul stuck between worlds, restless even in death. Only pain could solidify my flesh to my own eyes. Pain and blood. Even now, stray too far from my medication and I feel as if chunks of my flesh begin to fall out. Always starting with a tennis ball section of my left trapezoid, then a chunk the size of a golf ball from my left forearm, then my right hand. If left unchecked there comes a point where I cannot walk, I cannot even lift my own head for it is only attached by a thread.
The thoughts of death once kept at bay by the voice of God screamed at me, clawed at my flesh, what little flesh was left after the ravaging of depression. J.K. Rowling chose to anthropomorphize this sensation thus: "Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soul-less and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life." Perhaps the worst part about depression is that last sentence. No matter what happy memories you have or the quantity of them, depression steals those beautiful experiences leaving only the worst ones behind.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Summer Project
After years and years of expecting to develop my parent's property we finally resigned ourselves to the fact it wasn't in the works for another several years, if ever. Lots of conversations later we determined that it was in all our best interests to begin development of a long-term "homestead" on my parents' lot while our lot, good for the goats but not for much else, would be the develop-able lot should that time finally arrive.Thus, the Harris Homestead was born.
Perhaps more of an introduction is needed. The "we" in relation to the Harris Homestead are myself and my husband, my sister and her husband, and my parents. My nuclear family lives seven blocks from my parents' property which is rented by my sister and her husband and a few of their friends while my parents are working a temporary job in Colorado. We are all passionate about healthful, sustainable, non-GMO foods and healthy living in general. I've always been the gardener of the bunch. I love being outdoors, working with my hands, getting dirty. I love the peacefulness of growing things, and let's not forget the joy of eating! Mostly I love food. Good food. Tasty, vitamin rich, filling, invigorating food! Much of that love was cultivated by my mother as we would go back and forth between home grown produce and "store bought" produce. There was simply no comparison. One of my early experiences with my mother's produce illustrates this exactly.
The first year we lived at our "new" house, the current site of the Harris Homestead, my mom expanded her repertoire and grew some new crops: acorn squash and beets. Two things that I had learned to detest. They tasted like dirt. Squash was stringy and pithy. Beets, well, they just tasted like dirt. Their only redeeming quality was the novelty of everything stained red on the other end. The day mom's acorn squash hit the table everyone doctored it up like usual: slabs of butter and as much brown sugar as we could get away with. I refused to try it. I KNEW what squash tasted like, thank you very much. Watery-overripe-maggoty-apple-peat-moss-mush with a double helping of tiny shoelaces that got stuck in your teeth. Of course, mom wouldn't allow as much butter and brown sugar as I required to down the stuff so I refused. Usually pickiness was strictly forbidden but being a good eater I was allowed some sympathy for my few dislikes. Suddenly everyone was exclaiming the wonders of this acorn squash, how rich, how creamy, how sweet it is! Not until both my siblings mounded second helpings on their plates would I consider putting all their teasing to rest by trying it so as to once again wax eloquent on how distasteful and unfit for human consumption is winter squash. To my surprise the small bite was smooth, buttery, and sweet. No, my mom said, that portion did not include any butter or brown sugar. My opinion was forever changed. I now know that winter squash is versatile, delicate, and filling. Organic, "home grown" squash, that is. The store bought stuff is still not food.
A similar experience was had when the garden beets first came to the table. That time I didn't hold out quite as long to try my first bite and I was even more impressed than I was with the squash. That settles it! I thought to myself. "Home grown" methods are the way to go. There is something wrong with the produce at the store.
I was 10.
In the 16 summers since then I have either had my own garden or managed my mother's garden for at least 12 of those years. Last year, in an attempt to increase production and lower workload we built 10 raised beds. It was moderately successful. But a few months ago my parents were somehow introduced to another method called Back to Eden Gardening. They kept raving about it until the craziness of adjusting to a second baby died down and I had a chance to sit and watch the movie. All I can say is, WOW. If this guy's methods work half as well as he claims, then I had to try it! He claims a lot of things about his garden.
1. No tilling.
2. No watering.
3. Minimal weeding.
4. Warmer soil temperatures.
5. Constant, nature inspired fertilizing.
6. Little to no cost to implement.
All this because of wood chips. Seriously. You have to see the video. I won't attempt to describe it all here and now. (It's late, I work in the morning, I can't do a better job than him in explaining his thoughts, and this post is getting pretty long already.) You can stream it any time at www.backtoedenfilm.com. Even if you're not a Christian like he is, you can appreciate his efforts and his observations on how to improve on nature rather than fighting it. Over and over as he tells of his experiences gardening, his difficulties, questions, answers, and implementations; I was struck at how many of my own questions he answered.
At no cost for amending or preparing the soil we have now prepped all the area we intend to use for this year's vegetables as well as a large swath of the front yard for my coveted orchard. I'm nearly giddy at the thought of having so much fresh fruit just waiting to be picked! Cherries, pears, plums, apricots, apples, and crabapples are in and budding. The blueberry and raspberry patches were amended and added to. The future wish list includes Asian plums, peach, nectarine, pie cherries, and additional species of all the above! With how much space we have for such endeavors we might even be able to host a community garden on the property in coming seasons. But first thing's first, seeing how well it really works.
What we have found so far is visibly richer soil after only a few weeks covered with the prescribed depth of wood chips, a plethora of worms, no weeds, and a dry 1/2 inch covering beautifully moist and rich chips. I must admit, it sure looks promising!
Go. See it. Tell me what you think.
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