There are such things as Dumb Questions

A lot of my friends are, or in a very short time will be, new mothers. Consequently, I've been pondering that transitional phase of going from being an independent being responsible for self and partner only, to being the bearer of another being into the world for whom you are very much responsible. That phase in which your sleep goes from being an uninterrupted nightly given to a coveted periodic possibility. That phase in which thoughts of how well an outfit coordinates with shoes and accessories are replaced by thoughts of how to cover up spit-up stains and breast-milk leaks.

There are a lot of glorified aspects of pregnancy and motherhood, and a lot of known challenges as well, like whether you'll be the pickle and vanilla ice cream type, or the frozen meatloaf and rhubarb pie type; whether you'll have an easy pregnancy, one with forty straight weeks of endless nausea, or one of being laid up in bed with gestational diabetes and anemia. Of course, the question of whether I will be one of those who can pull off wearing skinny jeans at week 38 is a superficial question, but one I entertain nonetheless. I weigh it as heavily as I do the question of whether I'll look lean and toned in the face, or if I'll look like Will Smith in Hitch after he eats the seafood to which he's allergic.These, though, are truly stupid things to think about in terms of being with child.

During the holidays, many songs and Nativity stories highlight how the mother of Jesus must have handled her pregnancy. I imagine no amount of prior preparation could have made that child-bearing event one of normalcy. Two of my favorite Christmas songs of all time, Mary Did You Know? and Breath of Heaven, both examine closely the intimate feelings and questions she must have had. Her questions would, no doubt, have been tied to the divinity of her progeny and the knowledge of his significance to the world around her, and the future of mankind. Those are questions worth asking.

I have never even wondered how the raising of my child will affect the future of all mankind. Do you suppose that Luis Palau's mother or Billy Graham's mother asked the same kinds of questions that Elizabeth asked about John or Mary asked about Jesus when they were pregnant? Is investing in Baby Einstein materials, or playing Mozart against my belly able to bring as much positive good for my future child and the world as investing in the Scriptures and praying over my belly will be? Seems worth dwelling on for a second.

In light of recent events my close friends have experienced, I have had to consider if I'll praise God for giving and taking away should that situation arise; if I'll still rejoice and consider perfect a child with a chromosomal disorder. These questions are certainly worth pondering, and I hope that, should they ever arise with immediate relevance in my own life, I will respond in the most God-glorifying way possible.

I'm not pregnant for any of you who may be wondering. I've just been observing the monthly postings of baby belly protrusion progression and thinking about silly things like the loss of independence, toned tummies, and control of life that comes with a baby and thought that those three things are truly the least of my worries. How could I possibly think that "Will I still be hot with stretchmarks?" might be a valid inquiry in light of the many more profound answers I might seek?

not Haha, but Hmmm

Isn’t it funny how things trigger memories? Not haha funny, but hmm funny. I’m sitting at work doing pretty typical admin tasks, some of them rather repetitive and difficult to engage with, so I created a playlist of my favorite Classical-Pop crossover artists—Michael Buble, Jackie Evancho, Susan Boyle, Andrea Bocelli, Charlotte Church and Josh Groban type music.

When the song Wild Horses by Susan Boyle came one, I almost started crying!

This one time, my ma-in-law and I spent a solid half an hour on YouTube listening to renditions of this song by various artists past and present and determined that Susan Boyle’s version far surpasses all the other covers and even the original itself. Funny how a 30-minute segment of time could so affect me. It’s really only (1/1508472) of my life if I live as long as a Japanese woman is expected to live (86.1) these days, or (1/1415616) of my life if I live as long as an American woman is expected to live (80.8) these days.

That portion of time is not really a percentage of my life worth considering from any sort of quantitative standpoint. Numerically, it’s insignificant. But qualitatively, it was clearly impactful. Relationally, completely significant.

I miss you, in-laws. <3