Say "hi" to Daddy

Elsa and I made a video for Daddy today at work when we woke up.

The Great Divide

Forever will Jan. 26^th be a most tender of days for me. The day Jonan Eilam was born. Sacrosanct.  Never will that day pass without me breathing a bit more deeply; looking around at the world with a sober appreciation for life…and for the presence of God which fills it. Never.

Today, January 29^th, is also seared into soul. The day we laid him in the ground. In the post On Grief and Celebration I recall the details and the pictures…I am thankful to live in a time when print and picture flow freely, despite the various damage they can do in other settings, they are helping me remember my son.  I am thankful there will come a day when memory will no longer be needed. I will meet my son when I meet the Son. 

Between me and that day lies death.  The Great Divide.

Today at church I was swept into the musical portion.  We have some talented folk at our church.  On any given Sunday there could be a swooning set of strings, maybe a saxophone, even an accordion. Today the flute made an appearance as did my husband rockin’ the electric guitar.  Perhaps, though,  one of the most important contributions to me is made by the one who chooses the music…you know, feels the flow of what will unfold during the service and provide us the musical score.  Music massages the soul and takes us places; the integrity of its compilation is vital for moving us toward God.  Agreed, God can use many things to draw us unto himself, and we can choose to acknowledge His presence anywhere we find ourselves.  But many times music just helps.

Often there are songs we sing that speak about rising from the grave.  The pinnacle of the Christian faith.  Not in a “Night of the Living Dead” sort of way, but in a Resurrection sort of way. The fact that Jesus has risen from the grave, gaining access for all who call on His name to have resurrection life. He conquered death by death, thus offering hope to us.  There is a song called I Will Rise (listen here).  The bridge goes like this:

Jesus has overcome

And the grave is overwhelmed

The victory is won

He is risen from the grave

Before Jonan Eilam, lyrics like this were a great theological reality to sing of, but nothing that felt existentially relevant to my days.  It meant that we no longer fear death as the ultimate separation from God; we can have salvation through Christ.  Following Christ is different than every other religion on the globe by relying on grace through faith in Christ, rather than all the good we can do to outweigh the bad. This theology is good and something I could sing about with confidence and thankfulness…but now the lyrics ring anew.

We sang three songs today referencing overcoming the grave. As we sing of these things my soul stirred... I just visited a grave a few days ago… The reality (and need!) of overcoming the grave is relevant to my days.  And I am not without Hope.  As we drove into the cemetery grounds there was a peace amidst the fog that was around and within. 

This was, after all, our first visit since the earth opened.   Usually places like this bring unease, but there was beauty and precious space.  I stood at the grave of my son…silence. What does one say at the tomb of him who grew in her womb? 

Anticipating the need for ritual over words Elsa and I bought some beauty on our way.  I also packed candles. We picked up Jeff from the train station and made haste to ensure daylight.

We lit the large candle first, signifying Gods presence. We have lit this exact candle for years, recording thankful days. Then Jeff and I laid two roses, one for each of us.

We laid Elsa’s rose for Jonan next. She does not know him now, but she will someday.

We then lit four candles, one for each person in our growing family.  I named us each as we lit our candle. Thankful to God for our lives.  Trusting Him with their end.

Tears. Prayers. Silence. Daylight fades into night…

Darkness falls; reminds us again of the Great Divide. That mysterious space.  But the Light of God’s presence remains and we have hope that there is a Day yet to come.  The words of the song we sang today, one year later, lift my eyes toward Him whose grave has already been opened.  

You, oh Lord, have made a way 
The great divide You heal 
For when our hearts were far away 
Your love went further still 
Yes, your love goes further still 
You alone can rescue, You alone can save 
You alone can lift us from the grave 
You came down to find us, led us out of death

To You alone belongs the highest praise

(lyrics by Matt Redman, You Alone Can Rescue, listen here)

Birth.Day.

(Throughout this post I have linked to posts from last year about Jonan and the journey we were on, they are in pink. If you have time please read the links as we remember Jonan and honor God, the One who gave us his life). 

How precious a birth-day. An October day, just over three months ago a few of my friends and I were anticipating getting together to celebrate my dear friend Kags' birth-day.  That word, birth-day, has often slipped through my lips as easy as the word dinner, laundry or any other mundane word we speak so freely. But this day changed that. Before meeting my friends to celebrate, I had received a call from the hospital where Jeff and I had an ultrasound the evening prior of little Elsa. They called me back that following morning and said I needed to come back for further pictures…right away if possible. Preferably that evening. …Oh, Lord, be with me…I could hardly breathe through setting up the appointment time and calling Jeff at work.  

Would there be another silent birth-day for a baby Pelletier? Please, God, I cannot bury another one, Please God.  

I happened to be enjoying tea with a friend the moment that call came in, so I shared the phone conversation with her and we prayed right there in Caribou coffee. I felt just enough strength to be present to my friend for the remainder of our visit and then drive to meet my other friends for the birth-day celebration at Le Chocolat. As I picked them up for this joyous celebration of a birth-day I gathered myself once again and shared my phone conversation. I was hesitant because I did not want to put a damper on this birth-day celebration we were about to enjoy via a chocolate-induced coma. But being the kind of friends they were I knew they would be upset if I did not share what weighed on my soul. So I did.

As we arrived at Chocolat and sat in our parking spot as they asked to pray for me. I accepted prayers once again, thankful for friends who pray. The presence of God filled the Toyota and my soul…and with His presence came this thought: How precious is a birth-day. How many of my friends and families birth-days have rolled on by with  mere acknowledgement? That moment I longed for nothing more than a healthy birth-day for this baby girl growing within. Looking at my friends in the car I realized there were days when their parents awaited their birth-days. Looking out the car window at people walking about I realized someone, at some point, was awaiting their birth-day. This word: Birth-day is not a word to glibly fall through my lips, but a reason to praise God for new life all around me.  A reason to celebrate birth-days for those I love, for those God loves.  For the many healthy birth-days that have existed for thousands of years. God has been calling forth life since the beginning of time (Genesis). He holds all things together (Colossians 1:17). 

As we exited the car toward Le Chocolat my friends asked if I was up for this celebration as I awaited an uncertain ultrasound that evening. I said, peace flooding within…"Yes!" What better way to trust the Lord with the life of this little one within and with the hopes of a healthy birth-day than to celebrate and thank Him for a birth-day that He did see to completion, my dear friend Kags! Tender and joyous we entered our chocolate paradise thanking God more fully for the gift of birth-days and His sovereignty over them.  

Today, Jonan Eilam, we celebrate with tears your birth into heaven. The day you made me a queen. Never will you know the brokenness of the world outside of my womb. To what extent you experienced that within my I may never know. But thankful I am forever that you were born into the Hands of our great God. I still marvel that you get to see Him before I do. As I visit your grave tonight, for the first time in almost a year, I remember the words I speak every week at church in the Nicene Creed…”We look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come”. I think of you. What joy your short life has added to the anticipation of the resurrection of the dead. Your life continues to be the second greatest gift we have ever received. Second only to the salvation of our souls through Christ, a precious birth-day of soul, indeed. Though tears find me this day, unexpected and more numerous than anticipated, I celebrate.  Birth-day.  Yours was not as we had hoped, but it did birth faith and hope in the souls of many. Your life and death offered Plentiful Redemption to us and to others. Thank you, Lord, for birth…the births we hope for, the births that break us, the births you work within our souls.  Thank you, Lord. You make beautiful things. 

Awakening

Today Miss Elsa is 6 weeks old. It’s the time that mom is officially moving on from post-partum pain and exhaustion (sure…) and usually gets to all clear to resume normal life…time for the exercise DVDs J But better than that it is often the beginning of the great awakening to the world for the baby. Responsive smiles begin to replace the post-fart smiles, eyes contact is the norm versus an accidental glance, and for our little genius (forgive me) she tries to imitate our mouth movements. If I stick my tongue out a few times at her, she does the same. If I open and close my mouth or talk to her with big open lips, she moves her mouth around…and is even cooing here and there. To the big world outside the windows these are pathetically insignificant but to us... it is the big world! I used to be that person that, when parents’ ooh-ed over their babies tiny little progresses, I politely agreed how wonderful it was, but silently wondered how one could work so hard and be so exhausted for so long just for that.  That takes serious commitment! Now I did believe every little life was a miracle and could understand the parents unending love, but such excitement over eye-contact…it was almost exhausting to think about.

Now here I am writing about these things and thinking they are important enough to post on the internet! How experiences change us! Today I just wanted to share these little milestones and offer a sweet picture from last night.  When Jeff came home Elsa was still napping so he hadn’t had time with her. The second she awoke he was in the room to greet her (did I mention he still bounds through the door after work as if it were Christmas morning in our living room J ).  After some time of him not coming out of the room I walked in to see what was going on. I found this…Daddy’s first smiles with his little girl.  

A short picture journey: the first 5 weeks

Sweet early moments at the hospital with mommy and daddy

The ride home: a peanut in a carseat (Look how big those clips are! They take up her entire body)

Early help with the bilirubin, grandma’s remedy J

Strawberry sweetness

Daddy time:

Morning snapshot by Mommy:

 All smiles!

To Infinity and BEYOND!

And finally…the future blackmail pictures! 

Naming Our Daughter

What a joy to name a human being. What a responsibility! As we pondered many names for this coming little lady we did, as some other parents probably do, run it through the “junior high make-fun-of-me name list”.  We ruled out names that could have a nickname that sounds anything like a body part, or sounds that a body part could make. We ruled out names with the same first letter as our last name. Penelope Pelletier.  It doesn’t sound right, and again falls into that category of sounds a body part can make (“PP”). We ruled out ex-girlfriends’ names, and the name of those girls you just hated in high school, no matter how great the name sounds you just can’t name your child after someone you thought had a horrible attitude.  We ruled out the super popular names, because we are ornery and rebellious in our hearts ;-)  And we ruled out making up our own name out of the wild blue yonder as some feel very comfortable doing. We just don’t think that highly of our brains to do such things to other humans. Really.

We do, however, love to name based on meaning. We enjoy our children’s name telling a story. Jonan Eilam, as many remember from that post: Jonan – God is a gracious giver; Eilam- Eternal. These tell of who God was to us through Jonan’s life, giving us precious time with a precious son. And also that he is eternal, we must await heaven for our reunion and finally getting to know him.  So with our daughter we based her name on the story she arrives into this past December 2011.

Let me explain with a bit of uncomfortable transparency.

Jeff and I have had an abundance of challenges since the beginning of our marriage about 4 ½ years ago.  The beginnings offered us a diagnosis of Panic Disorder with a side of PTSD.  Time away from work and some sizeable bills as a garnish.  Long time job loss, losing our home, and both cars unexpectedly failing within months of one another for the second course. A painful separation for attention to personal matters as the main dish.  Followed by a wonderful reunion leading to the life our firstborn.  Early pregnancy scooped in some unrelated sickness dishing out a stepping back from the long-time dream of graduate school.  Months later the first fruits of our reconciliation, and my womb, would turn out to be a precious life short-lived.  That briefly sums up the fall of 2007 until winter 2011. 

In the midst of what would be a 26 month job search, without cash & certainty, with new life dying there was God in the midst. Our gracious giver offering more than we could have asked or imagined. Birthing in us life through death, again in 2011 as He did 2000 years ago. The deepest places of surrender we had known, though we thought we had let so much go already, we laid down yet one more dream.  

Light came in with the steadiness of a surgeon’s hand and at the pace of awaiting a Chicago spring. Certain but long-awaited. Surrounded by meals, resources, community, and hope God flooded us in our flood of tears.  And before the tangible answers of jobs, steadiness, and new life would come He filled us with joy. The unforeseen surprise of joy.  Deep, healing joy. A greater vision of who He is and how He loves us. Served with contentment & trust as a dessert.

What does Elsa mean? “Joy or joyful.” Jenae? “God has answered.”  So the story our little one enters into, where her story begins…”Joyfully, God has answered.” Or you could say “God has answered with joy”.

Our story will continue and it will have new wonderful things God does and new challenges, but our baby girl, Elsa Jenae, is set in her time. Set in our story. Proceeded by her brother who was graciously given us for a time, but who we must wait for eternity to meet fully.

Joyfully, God has answered.

The first three weeks or so I learned:

·        The midwife (or doc) will not just take the baby by the ears and pull her out just because they can see hair, no matter how hard you beg and cry out to God.

·        If I am not relaxed, she does not relax (it is much more difficult to feed an anxious baby)

·        It does get easier after the first two weeks.  My emotional break downs significantly lessened after she was two weeks old, I felt like I knew her a bit better.

·        It is possible to miss holding your own baby, even though you did for 22 out of 24 hours just yesterday.

·        Making up cute songs for every diaper change, bath time, or clothing change does not make her stop crying...but yet I don’t stop singing them…

·        Even though I told Jeff I was sorry we were only have one child (during and after delivery), my mind has since changed, though I was pretty darn certain it wouldn’t…

·        Possibly some of the most sincere prayers I have ever prayed have to do with bowel movements (mine, not hers…any postpartum moms? For real.)

·        I have never googled different types of poop as many times as I have these weeks…yellow, green, frothy  seedy…(hers, not mine J )

·        Being a mom-at-home does not mean you have any free time at all (I definitely thought it did prior to this new vocation). Not that I thought it was a walk in the park, but at least emptying the dishwasher I thought would be easier.

Awaiting the Baby

(This post was written December 10, 2011, I have backdated the posting date)

Eagerly, patiently, we await a baby. Honoring, we celebrate the Baby. What a magnificent time to be swollen with anticipation. Advent, the season of reflection as we await the birth of the Christ child. God made flesh. God, grown in the womb of an unwed mother, gaining life from her breast. What an unlikely story this is. An unlikely way to redeem a broken world.

Here, within the same year as laying down our firstborn, we carry our second, thankful most of all for Mary’s firstborn. Life with Christ living within us is everything our hearts are made for. Peace, joy, goodwill.  The seasonal songs have always recalled these themes, but the familiarity has oft rendered them unheard, even amidst the loudest of chorus.  “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men.” “Joy to the world.” What of these words, these now cultural clichés that ring throughout shopping malls as the season becomes about bustling streets rather than a bursting womb.  Odd, because from that womb birthed Peace, Joy. The antithesis of what most experience this time of year.

This season seems to incur stress, impatience, frustration. Is it just me or are many angrier folks on the road, and less likely people to look you in the eye as they try to beat you to be the next in line at the store.  Gift-giving is wonderful and can be a joyful endeavor. I don’t judge or offer alternatives of cloistering away and despising all around us. But what of the Baby, what of Peace, Joy?

As we anticipate the Baby, celebrating the birth that offers us all new birth I am acutely aware of longing this year. Not for the books I want (thought I do J ) or the blender I of which daydream (neurotically so), but for the longing of all the Baby offers us. Remembering, entering into the remembrance of the first Advent of Christ is to remind us, partially, of the second Advent of Christ. For those of us who have put Christ as Lord, believing He is at work setting all things right, making all things new, we await the fulfillment of that. Don’t we?

I am confronted, in this season, by how our challenges can lead us toward the Baby, the Christ, whose coming is to make all things new.  The strained family relationships, the broken ways I relate to those I love so much, the death of ones dearly loved that is remembered during this time, the death of those lost too soon, the injustice of children starving, civilians dying, unjust rulers.  Some sickening, others saddening. All broken by sin.

What do you long to be made new?

I don’t suggest that Christ is coming to us for a to-do list that he can check off like a celestial Santa Claus, but what if some of our deepest longings matched His? Culturally, God is often passé, or at best well-meaning but out of touch.  “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men” the angels sang that night of his birth.  The depths of this meaning we could watch unfold our whole life.  “Joy to the world.” Maybe he knows more than we think. What prayers can we offer him this season, what relationship to be healed, what wounds to bind up, what comfort to the mourning?  Out of touch would not be my first thought of our God. But deeply in touch with our pains…so much so he comes. He lives with us. He cries with us. He brings good news. He dies to rise again. And we await his second advent.  For now we live in the tension of his first advent and his second.  

My deepest pray is that this Baby brings to you all the peace and joy for which your soul longs this season. 

Big Life

As of late I have been considering why the life and death of our son was a doorway to such things that could seem, at first step, antithetical to such an experience. Healing, joy, gratitude…things like that. Seems like the wrong doorway to those types of things.  I have been asked, at random, why this wasn’t the straw on that overburdened camel that finally broke me after years of difficulty.  Legitimate question. My answer, until now, has been a simple one: God. The presence of whom transforms and fills, tirelessly loving His own.  God is real, He is not my “faith”, as in my “faith” gets me through tough times. My faith is in Him; He is alive. Real.  The Someone who journeys with me, ahead of me, in joy and in devastation. I get to share it all with God, or maybe God shares it all with me.                                                                                                     

But my answer has just been God. God helped me in this time. True. God brought healing to my bleeding soul. True. God gave me peace that Jonan lived the life he was called to live. True. All true.  But me, Kimberly who pondered why God gave us two hands at 4 yrs old, you know, instead of just one hand. (I determined one day after a visit to the bathroom it was so we could wash them, in case you were wondering as well.) That Kimberly wants to know why. Why, 8 months later, is the realness of the healing, the joy still alive and deep? Why? If you have read much of my writings you know that while I love to ponder and understand, I am also at home with mystery. The works of God will always be mysterious on some level, I am certain, so delving deeper this one I will either find more of God, or I remain in just as much wonder.  Well, by all means then, let’s forge ahead!

I am writing in the center of this revelation, not fully formed theology…yet…And these thoughts are of no instigation of my own. I am reading again this morn the book “One Thousand Gifts” and receiving from the author’s sustenance. Her thoughts strike me deep this morning, so I write.

“All wonder and worship can only grow out of smallness”.

Eek. Smallness. Not a culturally-esteemed word. Smallness. Become less, don’t think of yourself more highly than you ought. Humble yourself and the Lord will life you up. Oh, she writes “don’t I often desperately want to wriggle free of the confines of a small life?”  Yes. That’s my answer. I want to be loved and known for great things. Great creativity, great love, great thoughts, great writing (a-hem). Eek. Smallness? Confession: for years I have hated that word, despised the teachers who have taught of Christ becoming small so we could be healed, have salvation, be with Him. I love that Christ did that, for it changes my life constantly, but I don’t know why we have to focus on the smallness of it…is that really essential? Can’t we talk about how powerful He is and how He has defeated death and sin? Yeah, let’s talk about that. Not smallness, that makes me uncomfortable.

About ten years ago I was reading from John 13 of Christ as He kneeled and washed the feet of those who would betray and lie and clamor for position and as I entered into the story of Christ becoming small I had a significant epiphany: smallness does not equal meaningless, purposeless, uselessness. Smallness, akin to humility, is simply true estimate of oneself.

What does smallness offer when I look at the Milky Way smattered across an unending cosmos? What does smallness create within when I feel my daughter’s hiccups in my swell? What of smallness when we are rendered still, hemmed in by feet of white powder on a January day? Awe. Smallness ushers in awe. And “awe ignites joy because it makes us bend the knee”…

“All wonder and worship can only grow out of smallness.”

These moments remind me of my true place, my small place in the cosmos. Not insignificant, not useless, not meaningless, just small. And small ushers in joy. Like children are small, they do seem to ignite joy more than those of us big. We wonder at children’s joy and their love for life, for us. They are small, yet to know big. We know big, and we clamor for bigger. Joy disappeared. We demand, expect, claim our rights, sue, hate, rage, take, despise. I do as if I have a hand-written invitation. But, author writes “is it only when our lives are emptied that we’re surprised by how truly full our lives were?” Is it? When we lose something dear to us, perspective changes.  View of smallness enters, joy ushers forth. Maybe that’s why St. Peter wrote in the 5^th chapter of this first book, “Humble yourselves before God.”  Humility, seeing rightly, seeing who we truly are, that opens the doors for God’s gifts.

“And what humbles like and extravagant gift?” my author continues.

What? What can humble like that? For each of us to answer. So back to my original question: why the healing, joy, gratitude from the life and death of our son? Why so many gifts from one small life? …Maybe the increased capacity for smallness it created in us. The smallness that ushers joy. The reality, again, that God is God. Though I would clamor for control and bigness…in all the earth it would offer me the same as it offers our narcissistic world…emaciation of soul.

Accepting that within my rightful place of humility before Him I am offered great gifts directly from the Big Himself. God. And so through Jonan we were yet placed small in our world. Not in control, chosen to be humbled, and choosing humility. Big offered joy and healing to small. God, who loves and offers to all who humble themselves: Big Life.

So as I began at the beginning, the simple answer is God, the rest of the answer is the smallness it created. The short story would go something like this: Big used small life to create Big Life in those who thought too big of their life. Big graced the thought-too-big-of-their-life with small life to show them what Big really is. And they learned they were small, too. Big now brings Joy and Healing as they live their small life within true life. Big Life.

The Ghost of Grace

I feel conviction this morning as I read the book I am enjoying (One Thousand Gifts). As I consider my life I don’t feel full of grace. I feel I am missing my call here at home. I have, at times, repelled my call here at home…confused by the many voices, within-without, of what the “role” should be. So I’ve neglected role altogether for some bastardized version of freedom. Agenderized myself for the illusion of something greater. Deeper than work or home, education or educating. It’s calling I consider. Calling. What is my call and how am I living it…or not?

Today I am keenly aware of my ability to make grace a ghost in my marriage. Interacting more heinously than the offense for which I feel so dignified in condemning.  First things first: Where has been my own encounter with Grace? Why the closed Bible so many days? Why the closed heart? The pursed lips?

I have a hunch why I miss my call at home and grace becomes a ghost: I wait for another. My life contingent on someone else to go first. If I am to seek God, to know Him, I must act regardless of my perception of another. God at work within me is revealed in my simple desire to even know Him; He has clearly gone first. Is there any other impetus I need to “Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ”?

So I must act if I am to call Grace to life in my home.  As I decipher my call as wife and mother, this certainly is part. I don’t have to wear a “role” in order to accept a call. To live grace as a wife in my home will look specific to my own home. But if I neglect it and say, “but he…” I am still responsible for bringing death where I was called to bring life. If I am to invite life into my home, my marriage, my womb I must make space. New life cannot come without making space. And without grace, no space for life can be.  Mostly true within my soul, which is where life within my home must begin. For I am called to be a life-giver, my expanding anatomy reminds me of such a call.  There are no days I look to my husband and wonder why he is not bearing this child in my stead, there should be no day I look to him and expect him to live the call I feel in my own heart.   

So, my prayer today:

Lord, help me redeem the word “role” that my culture has bastardized and lied to me about.

Help me joyfully accept my call from You, that Grace may walk these halls. Alive.

And, Lord, place blinders on my eyes that I may see only One, and thereby truly see.

Amen.