Sermon: Death, Life, and Holiness (All Saints Day 2015)

All Saints Day

November 1, 2015

            As most people do when they suddenly become parents, Michael and I have been thinking back on our own childhoods a lot, considering what from those years we want to do with our own child. One thing we’ve been working on putting in place is a bedtime routine. Mine growing up was that we read a story, then said prayers, then mom or dad sang a song and scratched our backs while

we fell asleep. And of course I still remember the prayer I said as a very little girl, until I was able to

say the much longer Lord’s Prayer that my older brother said. Maybe you said it, too, as a child, and remember it: “Now I lay me down the sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”

            I remember as a child, I didn’t have any trouble with mentioning death in my prayer. Of course I didn’t ever plan to “die before I wake,” but if there was a chance I might, I was glad to pray that the Lord would take my soul straight up to heaven. I also loved a frequently sung bedtime song, which I now sing to Grace, which has a similar idea: “Four corners to my bed, four angels there a-spread. Two to feet, and two to head, and four to carry me when I’m dead.” Never once as a child do I remember being concerned about this – in fact, I rather enjoyed the peaceful image of angels carrying me to heaven someday. It seems as a child, I had no concerns about speaking so explicitly about death, at least not in the context of prayer and song.

            Adults, however, are another question. I have seen an updated version of my beloved bedtime

prayer that changes the second line to, “Guide me safely through this night and wake me with the morning light.” Maybe the change is to spare children from this inappropriate topic, but I think more it is to spare adults. Adults, I have found, do not like to talk about death so openly. We don’t even like the word. We say people “pass away,” or, “we lost him.” Even in hospitals, the proper language is to say someone has “expired” – something that drove me crazy when I was a hospital chaplain one summer (as if people are yoghurt or something!). But to talk about death outright – proper etiquette considers it crass and disrespectful.

            As a pastor, I’m not quite sure how to manage this reality. Because talking about death is kind of why the church is here. Our faith depends on a man named Jesus who died for our sins. We would never say Jesus “passed away” for our sins, that he “left us” on the cross, that he “expired” so that we would have eternal life. Our faith, ultimately, is about life – everlasting life, yes, as well as living in fullness of life here on earth – but you can’t talk about life until you’ve talked about death.

            That’s why All Saints Day is one of my favorite days of the church year, because it is a day when we do, all together as a community of faith, acknowledge that death is a part of life. Traditionally on this day, we name all those who are members of this congregation or close friends or family of members who have died in the faith in the past year, and remember them – either by ringing a bell, or lighting a candle, or just taking a moment to remember.

            But it is not just a day when we remember. Though remembering is a good thing to do, and a biblical thing to do (God is often inviting God’s people to “remember” past acts and history), there is more to our faith than this. Do you notice what the color is today? … White. In what other season of the church year do we see white in the church? [Easter] Exactly – it is the color we use to celebrate new life, and specifically the new life that resulted from Christ’s triumph over death. We use the same color for baptismal gowns, and funeral palls. On Easter, and in those other events, we celebrate that triumph, that resurrection. And so when we use that same color on All Saints Day, it puts death in its proper context: in the Christian faith, death is a means to life, not the other way around.

            When we can accept this, that death is a means to life and a chance to celebrate Christ’s triumph over death and the new and everlasting life we find as a result, two things happen. First, we no longer have to be terrified of death. David Lose says it beautifully: “It is from the light of Easter dawn that we confront the darkness of death. And it is from the other side of Christ’s resurrection that we gain the courage, not to deny death, but to defy it, to defy its ability to overshadow and distort our lives, for the Risen Christ has promised us that death does not have the last word.”

            The other thing that happens is that life no longer terrifies us! That may sound strange to say – death seems like the more terrifying of the two. But how many of us are afraid to really live – we fear taking risks lest we fail, we fear investing energy in something important lest we end up disappointed, we even fear helping others lest we put ourselves in danger, or be confronted with our own weakness. But because Christ has triumphed over death, these things don’t need to terrify us. We can live, trusting that our lives have a God-given purpose, and we are called to fulfill that purpose.

            And that brings us once again to baptism. We always think about All Saints Day as the day when we remember those who have died. Certainly that is a part of it – we remember them, we give thanks for their lives, we remember their faith, and we remember that they are now partaking of the heavenly everlasting feast that is promised to us. But it is also a day to think about the saints that are right here among us – all of you! You likely noticed that when we began worship this morning, we named not only those who have died, but also those who have been baptized in the past year. That is because when we talk about saints, we are really talking about all the baptized, all who, as the book of Romans articulates, have been baptized and united with Christ in a death like his, so that we are also united with him in a resurrection like his.

            You see, we are all saints already. We all celebrate today the gift of eternal life. We all

All Saints Day, by John August Swanson

celebrate today the gift of this life that we are currently living. So the question becomes: how will do you that? How will you celebrate and live into your saintly identity already? Here’s how I am going to do it: by considering every role I have – as pastor, as wife, as friend, as mother, as colleague, as neighbor – every role as something that is sanctified, made holy by God. God gave me the capacity to do and be all those things. God called me into all those things. God promised me in my baptism that my life, my whole life, is holy. If I can consider each of my various roles as something holy, I think it might just affect how I see its importance. Going through the check-out line at Wegmans – how would a saint do this? How would a saint drive to work? How would a saint clean the house?

            This life is a gift, a sanctified, holy gift. To live it wholly, whole-heartedly, is to live it without fear of death, trusting instead in the life-giving power of Jesus Christ. And so let us give thanks together, with all the saints – both those who have gone before us into eternal glory and those who are gathered around us here this morning. Let us give thanks that God has sanctified us to live holy lives here and now, and that God has given us the assurance that we need not fear the grave, because Christ has shown us that the grave is merely a means to eternal life. Amen! Thanks be to God!

            In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Free indeed (Reformation, 2015)

Reformation Day

October 25, 2015

John 8:31-36

Grace to you and peace from God our Mighty Fortress and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            Being a cancer survivor, a wife of someone who struggles with allergies, and now a mother of a young babe, I have gotten very interested the past couple years in cleaning. In particular, my interest is in the growing movement to “clean green,” trying to cut back on the barrage of chemicals we’ve grown accustomed to in cleaning and personal care products, but which often do more harm to our health than good. One article I recently read to this end was one on anti-bacterial soap and hand sanitizers. It outlined a history of hand cleanliness: did you know that when Dr. Ignaz Semmelweis suggested in the 1840s that washing hands before seeing each patient would decrease the spread of disease, he was ignored, ridiculed, rejected, and eventually admitted to an insane asylum? Of course now, washing hands is common sense and understood as the best way to prevent the spread of disease. Clean hands are so important, that today, 75% of liquid soaps include some anti-bacterial agent, and hand sanitizers are ubiquitous in purses, classrooms, doctor’s offices, and even church pews. We’ve taken the war on germs very seriously. But, this article went on to say, it turns out that our obsession with anti-bacterial hand-cleaning has had an undesired effect: it has weakened our immune systems, and created a “superbug,” a super resistant bacteria, not to mention exposed us to some dangerous chemicals along the way. As it turns out, plain old soap and water is still the best way to wash hands.

            I posted this article on Facebook, and a friend commented, “And another pendulum keeps swinging…” It’s true. Whether it is what current wisdom or research is recommending, or learning

that something we all were told was the best thing ever is actually harmful, or just the way we look at and understand something in our lives, it seems the world around us is a constantly swinging pendulum. Just when you get used to life one way, everything shifts.

            And so this week I have been thinking a lot about change, stagnancy and freedom. No one likes change – that is, no one likes it until we find ourselves in an uncomfortable or discouraging rut: a job that no longer challenges us, a relationship that does not bring us life, a way of living that drags us down. In these cases we may think that stagnancy is actually worse than change, but we don’t always have the courage to make the change that is necessary to break that stagnancy. We are held back by too much baggage, too much doubt, or too much fear. We are in some way enslaved by these things – our baggage, doubts, and fears – and we feel we lack the freedom to make the change we need.

            I wonder if that’s how people felt back in 1517, when Martin Luther famously took his stand regarding how the Church needed to change and reform? In the 95 theses Luther hammered to the church door on that October day, he noted the abuses the Church had engaged in, most notably the sale of indulgences that were allegedly required for people to get into heaven. Luther explained how unbiblical this was, how contrary to the gospel of forgiveness and eternal life. He preached that we are saved and justified not by our actions or the law, and certainly not by how much money we are able to pay (that is, we cannot buy our way into heaven). Rather, he preached that we are saved purely by God’s grace, apart from any works. As Paul writes in the passage we heard today from

Romans, “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God; they are now justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.”

In other words, nothing you do or don’t do is grounds for you going to heaven or not; it doesn’t so much matter what you have done as what God has done through Christ. It was (and is!) a beautiful gospel of freedom, life, and forgiveness. Seems pretty good, right? And yet, the Church of the 16^th century resisted this truth. It was a change in what the Church had been teaching – a good, and more faithful change, but a change nonetheless. But the resistance to change, to reform, was so strong that Luther ended up spending his last years hidden away in a stone safe haven, for fear of his life. Like with our hand-washing doctor friend, what now seems like a common sense change for the better was resisted in favor of keeping the status quo.

            Well, it’s easy to look back at the 16^th century Church and say, “Wow, they really missed the boat on this one. Why would they be so resistant to such good news?” The gospel that Luther preached was one of liberation, one that released people from financial obligations they couldn’t afford, and emotional and spiritual baggage that was destructive to their relationship with God. Why would they reject that?

But honestly, even though it is this same interpretation of the gospel that I try to preach each week, we are all still resistant to it. The possibility that God’s grace could be more powerful than our shortcomings seems like a long shot. Even though we believe God to be all-powerful and the king of the universe, it is sometimes hard to accept that God’s grace and forgiveness extend even to us, that all of that baggage, that self-doubt, that fear that enslave us and keep us from moving forward, moving toward life and transformation, might in fact be powerless in the face of God’s love and grace. It is hard to accept that we could actually be free.

But imagine for a moment what that freedom might mean. Imagine that you are not riddled with self-doubt, and instead can trust that God loves you and is pleased with you. Imagine that whatever haunts you or hurts you from your past no longer matters, and instead you can trust that you are forgiven for all your past mistakes. Imagine that the expectations you put on yourself, and your frustrations over when you don’t meet those expectations, are no longer weighing on your shoulders, and instead you can live and rejoice in the knowledge that God has claimed you in baptism, redeemed you through Jesus Christ, and promises continual grace and life to you. If all that were true, what might you be able to do? How might you be able to be in the world? Unencumbered by all those things that enslave you, how would your life look?

It’s hard to grasp all that! It all seems too good to be true. But friends, it is true. God has given all of this to us. The Son has made us free, and we are free indeed – free from doubts, fears, frustrations, burdens, sins, and all that would enslave us and keep us from living the life that God intends for us. Free to make the changes we need to make in order to live life more fully. We are free. Tell yourself in the morning. Tell yourself at lunchtime. Tell yourself before bed: “I am free. God loves me and forgives me when I fall short, and I am free to live a life that reflects my God of grace.” Thanks be to God!

Let us pray… God of grace, we are so often held back and enslaved by our fears and doubts. But you are a God of freedom! Guide us to live in that freedom – freedom for love, freedom for joy, freedom for service. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Looking for power in all in the wrong places (Oct. 18, 2015)

Pentecost 21B

October 18, 2015

Mark 10:35-45

            I don’t normally follow politics very closely, but like many Americans, I suddenly become very interested when we are nearing a presidential election. In these years, I soak it up: I read about candidates’ policies, I listen with interest as Michael tells me what the latest polls are saying (he’s sort of an election nerd), I watch debates and read the commentaries afterward. All this is very interesting… but one thing I really hate about election season is how the candidates’ hunger for power turns into mudslinging, lies, speaking poorly about everyone else and generally doing whatever it takes to get ahead. There are some candidates in particular this season who seem only to dwell on how great, powerful, and successful they are and how terrible everyone else is, often making low blows to people’s character and even their appearance in the process. Maybe this tactic works for

2016 Presidential candidates

some voters, but I find for me, it leaves a really bad taste in my mouth.

            Politics is often like this, though, isn’t it? And especially for a presidential election, the stakes are so high because so much power is involved, and the result is even more power-mongering behavior than usual. And with media – both traditional media and social media – we are even more aware of this behavior. But the truth is that even outside of high stakes politics, we see this sort of thing all the time. People crave power and prestige. We may not crave power over such a large jurisdiction as the President of the United States has, but we certainly crave and seek it in our own realms. We seek power over our own lives and what direction they will go; we seek it over the lives of our friends and families (I have learned this in a new way as I try to have some control over how my daughter will be raised and influenced!); and we seek it over our surroundings.

            And there are lots of tactics we may take to find that power and prestige. We might do it like some presidential candidates, by speaking poorly about others so that we look better, blowing out someone else’s proverbial candle in hopes of making our own shine more brightly. We might do it by making lots of money, looking for the highest paying job, or spending extra hours at the one we have, so that we will have more, more, more. Then with that money, we can also buy tokens that put our power and success on display – a nice car, designer clothes, a cool phone, a big house – so that others will see that we are successful, and so we are powerful. We might do it through our kids, urging them toward certain activities and doing well at them so that it reflects well back on us. We might do it by

surrounding ourselves with people who we know rely on us for advice and sage council, because feeling wise makes us feel powerful. There are so many ways we seek power and prestige, and often they are disguised as something noble (like wanting your kid to do well, or living in a comfortable home), but really, when we dig down deep, we find that we want to look good, and have status among those in our circles. After all, who wants to be at the bottom of the heap?

            That’s what happened to James and John in our Gospel lesson today. Maybe the reason they asked Jesus to appoint them places of honor at his right hand and his left seemed to them on the surface to be noble. Maybe they told themselves that from these powerful positions, they would be able to help others the way Jesus was always doing. But I have a hunch that really, they just wanted that sense of power. They knew Jesus was special, and wanted to ensure that when he truly came into power, they would be right there with him, having secured their spots early on. And who among us wouldn’t want the same?

            Of course, James and John have their tactic all wrong. They should know better – they have been following Jesus for a while now, and have heard him say that the way to greatness is not through political gain or positions of power. They have watched him heal and teach and serve and hang out with the lowliest in society. Just before this, Jesus told them – two different times – to enter the kingdom of God like a little child, like the weakest, most vulnerable members of society. But

since they still don’t seem to get it, he tells them here again, in no uncertain terms: the way toward greatness is not through power-seeking in the traditional sense, but rather, through service. He says, “whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave to all.”

The language is clear; but the meaning is difficult. It goes so much against the grain, against what our culture around us urges us to do. Be great by being weak? What if one of our presidential candidates stood up at a debate and said in his opening statement, “Listen guys, I don’t have a lot of influence. I’m not that powerful, nor do I aspire to be. I don’t have a lot of money. But I can offer you this: my dedication to serving you, listening to you and especially to those who are most in need in this country, and to do everything I can to treat you with respect and to show you what love looks like.” I would love to vote for that candidate, but if we’re being honest, such a candidate would be eaten alive! Everyone would doubt that this person actually has the gumption to get the job done. We are accustomed to looking up to people who can assert their power, not admit weakness!

And yet, as Jesus goes on to say, being great by being a weak is exactly the sort of power that Jesus demonstrates when he “gives his life as a ransom for many.” There is nothing strong or powerful about a man hanging on a cross. Yet it is by these means that Christ conquered death and offered to us eternal life. There is nothing outwardly strong or powerful about a baby at a font, or a humble meal of bread and wine, but these are the means by which Christ brings us into this eternal life, this body of Christ. Being a follower of Christ does indeed mean giving up the illusion of power.

This is why I find tithing to be such a powerful practice. Now, I by no means give enough to relinquish all power (we are still able to live quite comfortably and put money in savings and retirement). But tithing each month serves as a regular reminder that my power does not come from my money.

This is also why I appreciate pledge cards. I think pledge cards are somewhat misunderstood. It’s true that they serve a practical purpose – they help our council have a sense of what will be coming in during the year so that we can make a balanced budget. But for me, their purpose is more spiritual. You see, money and faith are intimately connected; there is a reason Jesus talks in the Bible

more about wealth than anything else other than the kingdom of God. And so filling out this card each year is my chance to take that faith/money connection seriously, to consider my finances and make a goal – just like I might make a goal to pray more intentionally, or read the Bible more – a goal that will bring me closer to Christ and help me remember that my power does not come from what’s in my bank account. By writing it down, I am making myself accountable to that goal. If I happen to fall short, it’s okay – the church isn’t going to hunt me down looking for that money – but having made the goal, I can get myself back on track.

Sometimes, I admit, I don’t want to meet my pledge. I don’t want to relinquish that power. There have been a couple months when we had big expenses, and I thought, “You know, the church wouldn’t really miss it if I just knocked $100 off my tithe this month, but it would sure help us…” but then I remember that my giving is not so much about what the church needs as it is about my own spiritual growth, about being willing to give up some of the perceived power that I find in having money and learning instead to trust God. In some small way, it helps me to understand what it means to be a humble servant who strives toward self-sacrificial giving, just like Jesus did for me.

This is the season when we think about what we will give in the coming year. I pray that as you consider this, you will not think about it in terms of what the church needs in order to function, but rather about how your gift can help you to grow in faith and in trust. May we all seek the power that comes not from wealth and prestige, but from humble servant-hood and from the one who gave his whole life for our sake.

Let us pray… Lord of all, we often strive to feel powerful in ways that only offer us a false sense of security. Give us faith to seek the power that comes from you, and give us strength to use that power to serve one another in humility. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My Birth Story

During the pregnancy months, I heard a lot about "my birth story" - the stories women share after their babies are born, and the way they feel about them, and how they went as expected or not. And I marveled that often, women would tell a story that I thought sounded horrendous, but they would finish with, "I loved my labor." How could this be?! (There were exceptions, and I don't discount these - I know a lot of women carry a lot of baggage about how their labor and delivery turned out. That's just not what this blog is about.)

Now, I understand. I had thought long and hard about how I wanted things to go, and I had a terribly difficult time accepting that it might not go that way. But guess what? It didn't go as I planned... and I wouldn't have it any other way. I might next time, but for this time, my labor and delivery was perfect. 

So allow me to share my story.

Grace was 13 days overdue. This was draining, more emotionally than physically. It finally got to the point where my doctors no longer felt it was safe for her to stay in there, and so we made the decision to induce. I was really distressed about this. I had so much baggage about wanting my body to do something right, and I hated that once again, I was going to need medical intervention. With the help of my dear husband, I finally accepted this reality, and tried to believe that this could still be a wonderful labor and delivery, even if I had to have the medical intervention I had so badly wanted to

Mom and Dad came to check out our digs, which we did our
best to make look like home.

avoid. 

It turned out that knowing just when this would happen gave us a wonderful gift: we were able to spend the rest of the day consciously preparing for the event. We spent some time alone, some time together, we went for a walk, we cuddled with the dog, we picked up the house and got it ready for my parents to stay there the next couple days to take care of Klaus. This intentional time together was very special, and I'm so grateful we had it. 

Once we got to the hospital, the doctor on call, Dr. D., came to talk to us, and we immediately liked her. She said, "I know you really wanted a natural birth, and we're going to do everything we can to make it as close to that as possible." I felt a burden lifted. She told me about the drug they would use to ripen my cervix, Cervadil, which they would insert and after 12 hours, we would re-evaluate, and possibly start the Pitocin then. It was a slower, but gentler approach, she said, and if I were to go into natural labor during that time, they would abandon the rest of the plan and let my body do what it does. Sounded good to me, and I said a silent prayer that I would, in fact, go into natural labor during the next 12 hours.

As per my request, they hooked me up to the portable monitor so I could walk around. Michael and I

All suited up with my monitor "purse."

explored the third floor. It wasn't exactly as I had pictured it, but I was walking, and that's what I wanted, and I was so grateful to the doctor for making it possible. After our walk, we took our time going to bed, because we expected to be in this for the long haul.

How wrong we were!

An hour after falling asleep, I started having contractions. Unable to sleep, I texted with a friend, then called the nurse in. Between the time I called her and the time someone actually came (around 3:30am), my contractions had grown too strong and frequent for me to get any sleep, even with sleep medicine. Since I had only slept an hour and needed more energy for impending labor, we opted for some morphine mixed with Nubain, which allowed me for two hours to sleep during the few minutes between contractions. Totally worked: Michael said I would moan through a contraction, while he massaged my back, then immediately my breathing would change to the measured breathing of sleep. 

Michael texted our doula, Alison, and she came right away. I was aware of her entering the room, but one of my more vivid memories of those hours was when she touched my back for the first time - her cool hands were such sweet relief, and she knew just where to touch my back, and the pain immediately dissipated. This may be too dramatic, but it reminded me of Jesus' healing stories, where "immediately" an ailment leaves the person at the mere touch of the Healer. I felt calmer just knowing she was there. Her being there also allowed Michael 90 minutes of (fitful) sleep, which was essential to get through the next part.

At some point, I became very aware of the need to push. It wasn't even a mental awareness so much as a completely physical one, that is, I was pushing before I realized I was doing it and thought to tell anyone. What an amazing thing, to feel my body know how to do something, to listen to it, to let it guide the process. When I told the doctors and nurses I was pushing, they didn't believe I was ready so soon, but an exam (between my now rapid fire contractions) revealed that I was indeed ready. I think it was during this time that my water broke, around 7am - a fact I felt the need to announce to everyone ("Water broke! Water broke! Water broke!" I said, with every breath), as if they couldn't see the gush that had just come out of me! Just trying to be helpful, you know. :)

Nurse Alicia and Doula Alison - a great team!

I heard the nurse, Alicia, say, "As much as I'd love to deliver this baby, they don't like it when I do that, so I'm going to call the doctor," then heard her on the phone, "No, you need to come now. No, now." No one could believe how fast this was happening! There wasn't even time for the pediatrician to get there (there was meconium in the amniotic fluid, so they usually have the peds come in this case).

At some point, Alison had me move from being on my side, to being on all fours. I had tried that earlier without success, but now it gave me relief. She then had me turn to face the wall behind the bed, and put my arms over the back of it, so I was on my knees with my back to the doctor. When the doctor came in, someone said, "Can you deliver this way?" He said he never had before (in 27 years!), but could certainly figure it out! (Later her said, "Wow, that worked pretty well!" Turns out having gravity on your side is helpful, not to mention being in a position more conducive to baby movement as opposed to ease for the doctor.)

I had heard about the "ring of fire" - when baby's head is coming out and you can't imagine your skin could possible stretch any more to let the kid through. This was the only time I was ready to admit defeat. I said into my pillow, "I can't do this." (Did I not want anyone else to think I was doubting myself? I don't know.) But then I thought: this hurts so much already, and it's going to hurt even more when she goes through there, but she can't go the other way. I guess this is the only option. Good use of logic, Jo. I resolved to do it (as if there was really a choice).

Two great, rapid pushes later (Bam, Bam), I felt each of Grace's little limbs passing by, and it was the most exciting and exhilarating feeling I have ever experienced. I felt my child enter the world. All the pain was absolutely worth it for that two seconds. It didn't take long for me to forget what the pain of labor felt like. But I can still remember both the need to push, and what it felt like the moment my daughter came out of the womb. Wow. Wow. It was everything I had wanted, everything I had hoped for in my labor and delivery experience. It was everything.

Our first picture together!
During skin-to-skin time.

That is, it was everything until I saw that slippery little beauty. As soon as Michael (who was by this time weeping for the sheer emotion of it all) had cut the umbilical cord, they placed Grace on my chest for some skin-to-skin time, and for about 45 minutes, we got to know each other a bit (then I passed her on to Michael for skin-to-skin with his daughter). I searched her face for familiar features, and tried to grasp that this little person was someone I at once already knew, and was only just getting to know. I didn't feel the overwhelming rush of emotion I expected, because I really felt like this was someone I already knew, and we were just hanging out face to face now, and it was the most natural, ordinary thing in the world. My daughter. Of course.

All in all, this was certainly the most incredible experience of my life, and it was everything I could possibly have hoped for and more. I am so grateful to my amazing husband, and all the wonderful doctors and nurses for being so sensitive to my hopes and desires, and for all the care they offered before, during and after. 

First family picture

A friend of mine had offered me the advice, while I was still anxiously waiting and pregnant, that sometimes things don't go at all how you wanted, but how they go turns out to be exactly what you wanted. Throughout my story, this was so true for me. Every time something happened that I didn't want, it ended up being such a gift: a planned induction allowed us time to prepare our hearts, minds, and home, medical intervention helped my body realize what it was supposed to do so that it could do it on its own, morphine allowed me some much needed sleep. And in the end, all the things I truly wanted - those feelings I will never forget of pushing and feeling Grace enter the world, and of course a healthy child at the end of it all - were not compromised. This sage advice is something I will continue to hold onto and unpack throughout this new life. Thanks be to God, that God is the one in charge, and not me. God knew the best way all along. 

The most beautiful thing I've ever seen

This morning I experienced the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I had just gotten up to feed and change Grace, about 7:30 or so. After we were done, we crawled back into bed together with Michael and Klaus to have some whole family cuddle time. I lay down and lay her on my belly. Sometime thereafter, I saw her starting to root, crawling her way up my chest like she had done during our first skin-to-skin time right after she was born. I quickly pulled down my tank top a little so she could find some skin. Soon enough she was pulling down my shirt, and I realized: she was looking for my breast.

I couldn't believe it.

I pulled down my shirt the rest of the way on both sides, exposing both of my scar-covered breast mounds, watching to see what Grace would do. As she made her way down the breast toward where the nipple would be, I wondered, "Is there really still some instinct in her, or some scent or remaining tissue in me, that draws her to this place, even though it is merely a manmade breast?" And then to my amazement, she started licking my mastectomy scar - right where my nipple used to be.

What a gift my Grace was giving me. At first, my heart ached a little, because she will never find food from that scar. My little girl is such a good sucker and she would surely love breast-feeding. I have many times wondered what it would be like to breastfeed her, even as I find bottle feeding her very satisfying as well. But here I was getting something at least close to the breast-feeding experience, and it was beautiful. It occurred to me then that I had not finished the bottle, filled with donated breast milk from a friend, that we had started. I reached for it, and squeezed it in under her little seeking mouth, and Grace took it immediately. And then I fed my daughter breast milk as her head rested on my breast. I looked on in continued amazement.

When she had finished, I took off her sleeper, and my shirt, and lay her back down on my chest. She happily rested her head between my two breast mounds, her sweet, soft head between my scars. My heart filled with gratitude even as my eyes spilled over. I tried to sing softly to her the song that Michael and I danced to at our wedding, the first song I ever sang and played for Michael on my ukulele, The Way I Am (Ingrid Michaelson), but I couldn't get past the first chorus before my voice left me completely: "...Cuz I love the way you say good morning. And you take me the way I am."

And so I just enjoyed the moment, enjoyed watching her sleep, enjoyed stroking her head, praying for her, thanking God for this gift.

This, my friends, this is what GRACE looks like.

Welcome to the world, Grace Victoria!

It is my great pleasure to introduce to the world (only 13 days late)...

Miss Grace Victoria Rehbaum

Day 5

Born Saturday, Sept. 5, 2015

6 lb 13.75 oz

19.5 inches long

Beautiful and perfect in every way!

So far, on Day 5, Grace is a delightful baby. She has her mom's nose and lips, and her dad's ears and chin, and seems to have her grandpa Karl's eyes, and strawberry blonde hair. She loves singing, looking around, and of course being held by either mom or dad. She brings smile upon smile to all who meet her with her rosy cheeks and entertaining sounds and faces.

Here are some more pictures from shortly after birth:

Happy family of three, a couple hours after birth

Daddy gets some skin-to-skin time (after mommy had hers!)

Mommy feeds her daughter for the first time

Close up of Grace's sweet face, a couple hours out

Three generations

Waiting, wounds, and waters of new life

I'm now beginning my ninth day overdue with my until-now-cooperative unborn daughter. The waiting is not easy, as anyone who has had to wait for anything knows, but especially anyone who has had to wait for a way overdue child to be born.

Michael and I have been dealing with the waiting in different ways, but both ways have been wrought with anxiety. For me, a lot of that anxiety comes from a whole bunch of cancer baggage I did not expect to rear its ugly head during this experience.

I have written before (here and here) about how pregnancy has been something of a healing process for me in learning to love and appreciate my body again. This is a body that has betrayed me too many times by growing death and disease, but the fact that I have had such an amazing pregnancy, and I can see life literally bulging out from under my scars, has helped me be grateful for that body anyway, and rejoice in the amazing things it can do.

But the longer I wait, the less confidence I have.

Last week (39 weeks and 5 days), we had an ultrasound that showed that our Grace is measuring on the small side of normal, and that her head is especially small. Even though the doctor said it was nothing to worry about, I created a whole narrative in my head in which my body has already failed to do its job. In my made-up story, my body can't sustain life after all. It has stopped nourishing my child, and she can't grow like she should. I repeat that no one told me this was even remotely true; my unhealed wounds totally made it up. And my unhealed wounds told me: your body has failed again.

Yesterday, at 41 weeks and one day, I went in for a fluid check and non-stress test (NST) to make sure Grace is still thriving in my womb. At the doctor, the NST was inconclusive - nothing wrong, necessarily, but they didn't get the information they needed to be sure everything was okay. It should have been that whenever she moved, her heartbeat changed, but the few times she moved, there was no change. So they sent us to the hospital for more monitoring, with the likelihood of inducing. If they couldn't be sure, the doctor said, they'd rather get her out. (By the way, my doctor is on vacation this week - I wish she were here!) Both Michael and I had not planned on inducing. Even though I mentally prepared for this possibility, I found myself incredibly upset that once again, my body was not doing what it was supposed to. Every time a doctor checked my cervix and concluded it was not "ripe" or "favorable" or "soft" but rather, closed up tight, all I could think was, "Body fail."

At the hospital non-stress test, Grace continued to sleep and not move. The technician had me lie on my side to see if that helped. I thought maybe if I sang to Grace, that would help - the few times she had moved at the doctor's office had seemed to be in response to singing. The technician said to try whatever I wanted! So I began singing: "Every time I feel this way, this old familiar sinking, I will lay my troubles down by the water, where the river will never run dry. Hallelujah." And she moved! She moved a bunch! And every time I felt her move, I could hear the monitor change, her little heartbeat growing stronger and faster for a moment. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. The technician stuck her head in, grinning, and said, "Whatever you're doing, it's working!"

With that news, the doctor said everything looks fine, Grace is still doing fine in there, and if we would like not to induce yet, that was fine. Michael and I both felt this was the right decision. We talked about it later, and I said as much as I want Grace to come out, the thought of inducing made me feel very unsettled, like we were pushing something not quite ready. He agreed.

But I couldn't shake all the baggage. I still could only hear, "Your cervix isn't favorable. It's closed up tight." I related some of my frustrations to Michael and my parents as we sat on our lovely porch, processing the morning. As my anxiety about it all grew more and more apparent, my mom said, through tears, "Your body did not fail. It grew a person. There's a person in there that you grew, and she responds to your singing! That is not failure. That is amazing." We talked some more, and more generally, about the need to be kind to ourselves and to our bodies, and the need to say to our bodies, "Thank you for all you do," instead of loath them for all that they do wrong.

That night, I took a bath. I don't take a lot of baths, but hoped it would help my muscles to relax and let a baby out. By the light of one candle and our "I <3 my Dachshund" nightlight (yes, it's true), I lay in the warm, lavender-scented water, and breathed deeply, praying two different mantras - one was the simple "oooooopen" we often use in prenatal yoga, and one was something I came up with, again during yoga: "Trust God. Trust your body."

Then I decided to actually wash myself a bit. As I ran a washcloth over my face, my arms, my belly, I imagined washing away all the blame and frustration. I used a lavender salt scrub to wash my scar-covered breast mounds and my belly, and was stunned by their softness and beauty. I see myself every day, but I have never really taken so much intentional time to really take in the whole picture, with multiple senses. In the soft light, I remembered again how taken I had been with the beauty of my "new boobs." Now again, as my skin glistened in the soft light, I remembered how beautiful my body is - not for how it looks, but for all that it has been through and all that it has done for me. As I rinsed the salt scrub off, cupping water in my hands and letting it run over my chest and belly, I couldn't help but notice that this is the same motion I use to I baptize people, cupping water from the font in my hand, and letting it run down the brow of the person being baptized. And so this, too, became like a baptism to me, as I imagined this water washing away my grief, my brokenness, my disdain, my frustration. In their place, I left words of gratitude: gratitude for this temple God has given me, gratitude to God for bringing me through so much, gratitude for the wholeness and love God offers, gratitude for the little being still growing in my belly. In short, it was a moment in which I experienced the forgiveness of sin and brokenness, and the promise of life.

I continued to sit in the warm bath for a few more moments, not wanting to leave that now sacred, healing space. And then, I was suddenly ready. I felt that this moment had fulfilled its purpose, and I was ready for the next thing. I got out of the tub, dried off, and got ready for bed. Before Michael joined me, I lay there in bed and prayed a most earnest prayer, thanking God, and surrendering my anxiety, my need to plan, my need for this to go my way, and leaving what is left of this pregnancy, and all that will follow it, in the hands of a God who I trust will not fail me. After a brief but loving talk with Michael, I fell asleep feeling a peace I haven't felt in days.

And so we continue to wait. As one friend commented on one of my recent Facebook posts, "Grace always comes at the right time and in the right way." And so it does. And so she will.