One More Thing

Sometimes I think that we put ideals above people, almost to the point where one might wonder if we've made idols of them.  

I'm not talking about actual moral issues that affect a person's soul.  I'm talking about the choices that I spoke about in my last post, and others of a similar sort.

In the last few days I've read many comments, some compassionate and some... not so compassionate and apparently I haven't yet run out of words.

There are ideals that are rather commonly accepted, at least by many people, as the best choice.  We usually know what these choices are.  We often feel pressure both externally and internally to make these choices work.

And I think it's good to have goals and standards that we want to strive for in these situations.

I've had plenty of goals for what I thought motherhood would be like for me.  One was to breastfeed each of our kids.  Another that was hugely important to me for a time, was to have a natural birth.  One of those worked out really well for me.  The other didn't.

If I'm totally honest, one of the reasons that I felt compelled to write yesterday's post and to speak out when I hear the anti-formula nastiness, is because I've experienced that same nastiness (often times from people who are also virulent in their opposition to formula feeding) because I've delivered all of my children via c-sections.

Oddly enough I love reading articles about natural birth.  Everything having to do with pregnancy and childbirth is fascinating to me.  I am elated for my friends who have successfully had the birth experience of their dreams.

At the same time I've met those who, without knowing my medical history, or what the experience of my first birth was actually like, are willing to tell me that they know, without a doubt that my c-section was absolutely unnecessary and if I'd just opted for a homebirth it wouldn't have happened.

They don't know that I pushed without an epidural for five hours before I went in for the emergency c-section or that I'd injured my spine when I was in college and would later find out when I went to an orthopedic doctor while pregnant with James, that my pelvis was actually twisted from the back injury.

They don't know that a half dozen doctors, from my family doctor who read the report to the on call pediatrician, to the anesthesiologist, to my OB herself, explained that I was most definitely one of those women who would have died in child birth a century earlier and that Sadie would not have survived either.

People who talk about these ideals as absolutes, with no leeway regardless of situation, do damage both to the cause they're promoting and to the people that they're blindly speaking to.

Because having ideas and goals about non-moral issues are wonderful, but I think it can be really helpful to know when it's time to let those dreams go because reality has been stacked too high against a goal.

Earlier today I heard someone claim that of course breastfeeding is a moral choice, because all choices are moral choices to which I say, was it moral choice to decide to wear my favorite long sleeved shirt today instead of my favorite sweater?  I think not.  Was it a moral choice to let Sadie decide to wear her silver snow boots instead of her pink ones?  Not all choice involve moral absolutes and saying so isn't a sign of the moral relativism eating away at our culture.

We live in messy world and come equipped with human frailties.  Sometimes the ideal is, quite literally, impossible for us.  Sometimes we must accept that the best way for us, isn't the way that looks the prettiest or gains the most accolades from the cheering masses.  

If you have never experienced this sort of disappointment, you are very fortunate in this portion of life.  Try to have compassion for those who have experienced this sort of pain, and who have experienced the disapproval of others as a result of a choice they wished they hadn't had to make, instead of calling them "over sensitive" and telling them to grow a thicker skin.  

Empathy would be a step in the right direction, but if you can't manage empathy, if you can't imagine feeling that sort of disappointment and distress, at least attempt to be compassionate.  It's likely they will someday "grow a thicker skin" because our world requires it, but healing from the pain of some of these experiences takes time, especially when you're repeatedly told how very wrong you were when you made the only decision you felt that you could make.

If nothing else this messy business of motherhood has taught me that sometimes the ideals aren't ideal.  Sometimes they aren't the best for the individual.

Sometimes the best thing is the thing that saves a life (or two).  Sometimes it's the thing that stops a tiny baby from losing more weight that it can't afford to lose.

And while those choices aren't the dream that we start with, sometimes they're the reality that we end up with... and having a baby that is healthy and alive, when without these tools, that wouldn't have been possible is the greatest blessing that we could have been given.

Perhaps it would be better to remind us to give thanks to God that we live in a time when these things are possible, rather than suggesting that we should have tried harder to "do what was best."

Looking back I realize that I've found, over this last decade, that it was very seldom the things that went as planned that led me nearer to God.  So often, it has seemed, that God has taken those flaws in the messy, imperfect world that we live in, and used them for my benefit in ways that I never could have imagined.  

Breastfeeding, as I've said, has been pretty easy for me.  It isn't particularly sanctifying.  Having major abdominal surgery every couple years on the other hand is a far greater test of my endurance and sometimes even faith.  For it's often in suffering that God helps us to see how small we are and draws us to himself.

Instead of criticizing others for hardships that aren't our own and that we often can't imagine, let's lift one another up, offering help when it can be given, but also understanding that sometimes what is best for our neighbor is not the good that we wish that we could thrust upon them.  Even if we think it would be for their own good.

God works so often through our brokenness and imperfection in drawing up to Himself.  Let's help one another along instead of talking about how the choices that we made were better, without ever knowing the hardship that can come when walking down a path that isn't our own.

On Virtue, Suffering, Growth and Waiting for the Phone to Ring...

Okay, let's just get it out of the way.  I'm still waiting for that lump of plastic to ring.  And it's still not. So I've been thinking things like:  "Apparently 'tomorrow at the latest' (yesterday) means different things to different people" even though I know it's really that the super nice people who did the test are super busy and likely overworked and underpaid since they work in a giant sprawling county building and that's likely why they haven't had a chance to call yet.

As a side note I believe I have learned, over the years, never to ask for a virtue like patience.  Because do you know how God gives you the opportunity to work on a virtue like patience?  Yeah.  By helping you find ways to practice it.  Oh sure, I guess it involves some pouring out of grace but right now I'm kind of in a let's-sulk-around-the-house-about-how-much-being-patient-and-waiting-for-the-psych-people-to-call-stinks type of mood and I've been doing a fair job of ignoring that fact.

It's like when I prayed for help with that whole little gluttony-pizza-ice-cream problem that I inevitably have when I'm pregnant or nursing (so pretty much always) and suddenly I had a nursing baby who was allergic to dairy and another kid who has major food intolerances so that our eating options are pretty much some meats, some veggies and some fruits, eggs and nuts and none of the wonderful cheesy grain-i-ness that sound oh-so-appetizing All. The. Time... which all feels like it happened about five minutes after I made that fateful help-with-gluttony prayer and has me laughing these days in a sort of resigned way while shaking my head and saying: "Not what I meant.  Not at all what I meant.  Didn't you see that I was asking for a magic power to resist ice cream, not an actual chance to work on self control or sacrifice?"

Except that in my head, when there's no suffering at all going on, I make these crazy requests to God to grow in love and understanding, even though I'm beginning to have an inkling of what the answers to those types of prayers generally require.

You see, even in the perfect little world in my head I know that growing towards sainthood, even with the outpouring of grace required, doesn't happen in a vacuum.

I can look at Jesus on the cross and remind myself that he told us to take up our crosses and that there was something in there about the path being narrow that made this whole thing sound like something other than a cake walk... or I can read the lives of the saints and the trials that they oh-so-often endured, and know that Jesus was obviously very, very serious about the aforementioned taking up of one's cross... and I can't ignore the fact that this growing often seems to involve suffering.

In fact, I can even see the tininess of the things that seem like "suffering" to me in my day to day life, at least from a distance, when I'm in a mood to examine these sorts of things.  Those moments of perspective, incidentally, also usually happens to be when I'm in the mood to request whatever sufferings God would like to send my way so that I might grow and become more like my savior.

From a distance it always sounds like an awesome idea... and it makes me feels so brave, like I'm trucking along down the road to sainthood (I think that usually happens right before a face plant of some sort, which you can probably see coming from a mile away).

Because in reality, it's never that pretty.  Sure I can pray for sufferings to offer up like a champ, I can imagine all the rosaries I'll say when I'm in labor and all the fantastic intentions I'll have while I'm praying them, but when the wheels hit the pavement it's more like "oh-my-goodness-the-red-superhero-boots-just-accidentally-smashed-my-big-toe-one-too-many-times-and-the-nail-broke-in-two-and-God-please-please-please-please-it-hurts-make-it-stop."  Which is about as not-heroic as one can get.

Still, we push on and I try to pray for the grace to be a little bit less of a weeny the next time it inevitably happens (those boot wearing toddler feet are dangerous!).  And some days (okay, more like moments) I actually feel like I'm toddling along in the right direction with teeny tiny steps... by succeeding at something small like not whining about a headache for an entire hour (inevitably the headache lamentations still usually tumble out of my mouth after a point, however...).

This isn't the post I set out to write...  but I have to say, having written it and having thought about actual suffering, like the sufferings of the saints in the book Sadie is always pushing into my lap, the fact that my phone still hasn't rung suddenly seem like a much, much smaller problem than it did when I began.  And that's something.

Baby steps.  Baby steps...

Thoughts on Suffering and Comfort

I’ve been mulling over the concept of being “comfortable” and the concept of suffering after a recent online debate that I was involved in.  When I began learning about Catholicism, I’ll admit that the understanding of suffering was one of the first things that made sense to me.  I’d never really been exposed to the idea (or hadn’t been paying attention if I had) that suffering could bring us closer to God.  The concept that we could “offer up” our pain was also certainly quite foreign. 

That’s why I’ve found it so disturbing over the past few years when I’ve read things that were written by other Catholics basically renouncing their belief in God because he “allowed” x horrible thing(s) to happen in their lives and if there was truly a God, he wouldn’t let it happen.  The idea of God as Santa Claus was certainly one that I struggled with in the past, although I’m not exactly sure where it came from.  I’d formed my own little belief of “if you’re good, God will protect you and good things will happen” that was bound to come crashing down by the time I reached adulthood.  And perhaps that’s why I find it so upsetting when I see others saying the same thing. 

The debate I was in more recently involved the word “comfortable” and whether or not we are supposed to be “comfortable” in this life.  In the conversation I was having, any sort of hardship seemed to be labeled “bad,” with a life of comfort in this world being seen as the goal of our labors.  I’ll admit that I instinctively find something troubling about the thought.  Being comfortable and successful in this life isn’t supposed to be our goal.  Besides, when we’re comfortable we don’t often go out seeking God, because the word seems to imply that we’re happy where we are.  And I just don’t remember reading about many (any?) saints who were “comfortable” in this life. 

The path to Sainthood isn’t supposed to be “comfortable.”  It requires heroic effort.  And the tragedy in this life won’t be we weren’t materially comfortable and happy with our careers.  The only tragedy would be not achieving sainthood. 

Apparently that idea is very, very offensive (as I was told many times in the conversation I was having).  The response I was given was that we are supposed to have comfort and be “happy” (because I’d pointed out that happiness in this life wasn’t something we’re promised) on earth.  And that there’s Nothing.  Wrong.  With. That.  

There isn’t anything wrong with happiness.  But the “happiness” that we seek through material goods and earthly pleasures and our own accomplishments is nothing compared with the joy we might gain by striving to live out God’s plan for our lives. 

Another idea I found somewhat off base was the idea that we know what will make us happy.  I think many of us can think of instances where it was the exact thing we least expected that brought us the most joy.  As much as we cling to our carefully crafted plans (and I am totally a list maker and a planner) what God has in mind to form our hearts and souls always seems to be infinitely better. 

And often times we are formed by suffering, and specifically, our response to suffering.  We can become bitter.  We can cling to belongings and plans, which can increase our suffering, beyond what it needs to be.  Or we can turn towards God and say “not my will, but yours be done.” 

It’s not easy.  I know it’s not.  That’s the prayer I found myself saying over and over again in the hospital in between “please save my baby… but not my will but yours be done… and if it’s your will that this baby be in heaven… then help me accept it…” a few months ago. 

For me that acceptance and reliance on God did make the suffering bearable, particularly in the weeks that followed our loss.  I found myself comforted and very much felt God’s presence in a very tangible way in my life and throughout my prayers in those immediate days.  The condolences I received in the weeks that followed, especially when I managed to cling to my daily prayers, were there when God must have known that I most needed them, although I must admit that my prayer life is back to normal now, with my personal daily struggles of remembering to pray, or feeling sleeping, or being distracted. 

God offers us comfort in this life.  He knows what we need and, if we turn to Him, will not allow us to be crushed under the weight of our sorrow.  But he doesn’t promise that we will be comfortable.  After all the gate wouldn’t be narrow (Matthew 7: 12-14) if this whole thing was supposed to be easy.