Mary Jack

I got to play clarinet in chapel today through Kantor Hildebrand. Which I thoroughly enjoyed and who I thoroughly respect. It is so refreshing to me that he arranges and composes so dog-gone well! There's enough modern in it, enough variation of styles, enough contrasts, and such good balances between simple and complex. I'm a fan of his music. And I'm a fan of him. He is very approachable, very kind to work with, intelligent, competent, good at communication and working on varying levels, good sense of humor, and I simply do not know a single bad thing about him. He is a first-rate, truly churchly musician. As himself.

In other news, Ned & I fulfilled two dreams today. We made a homemade cheese ball (his dream) and we got to make sugar cookie cut-outs (mine)! Alas, we didn't have the ingredients to make frosting, but at least we had green and chocolate sprinkles on hand.

Tomorrow is our last interview with seminary placement. And in the afternoon I'm hosting the monthly deaconess gathering. I hope I have enough food & beverage.

It's been a good week but a touch or two too busy. Made impromptu enchiladas verde for dinner, which turned out better than I deserved, and now Ned's chopping tomatoes for bruschetta (for his own homemade bread).

I won't at this point write an ode to Ned or an ode to culinary joys. But I do want to mark that I am quite content right now. We don't have a lot of money or much spare time, but I have no fear of everything suddenly falling apart. There's nothing I really want materially, and we have our three velvety stockings hung above one of our church pews. There's headless cookies to eat. And it's not yet my bedtime. Life is good. I am thankful. And feel exercised in a good way. Though, really, these pregnancy dreams can stop any time now. Last night I dreamt I re-enrolled in high school because, in spite of my BAs and MA I wasn't sure if I'd bothered to graduate hs. And the Principle and Vice-Principle were two Jim Carys! Bizarro!

I seem to have had a shift in perspective. Which may or may not be a phase. Wherein the world has more beauty.

I was working on my application for Portals of Prayer and it really struck me that I am not as moralizing as I once was. I didn't intentionally work "law" into the devotions, focusing more on the Gospel. But I did so, not because the law doesn't matter, and I try to remember that not everyone is as haunted by the law as I can be, but my black-and-white thinking now allows for a bit more goodness. Not in people, not even as potential, but perhaps a clearer distinction between sin and creation. Creation has been broken. Turned. Corrupted. Saturated. But studying Genesis is a marvelous thing when focusing on what God does, as opposed to what people do. A simply marvelous thing.

I won't study it forever, but I am blessed that I've had this chance.

I wish I had more time to post. I think that would be good for me. I've been going a little crazy, but not too bad. I've been able to stay productive by redirecting efforts. But I'd really prefer to feel like myself again. Hopefully this week will be better. I have less scheduled with a deaconess gathering (menu already completed) at the end. It's like my head is working, but not quite in tandem with my fingers to record my thoughts or my body to maintain an up-and-go.

But besides Elizabeth going through a phase trying to scratch my eyes out (marks to prove it), I cried the other day out of pregnant frustration and her heart clearly broke for me. Her chin and tears quivered, oblivious to her toys all around, with eyes only for me. Poor girl. Though we both recovered in a few minutes. Sometimes I need that. A chance to change directions with a clearly experienced transition point. Though I am not a crier. I prefer my emotions strictly intellectual or heart-warming!

I increasingly think my personal anecdotes are too bizarro to share. Perhaps it's pregnancy hormones or perhaps it's just that I've always had a different perspective on things. But last night, after researching crib safety & recalls, I went to check on Elizabeth before bed, as I usually do. And I was especially heartfelt about it because she'd stayed with us in our room for nearly a week and I knew I'd miss hearing her breath & when she turns over as she kicks off her blanket(s). Anywho, I couldn't find her head and got really freaked out. So I called out her name in a sharp enough tone that she stirred (revealing her head intact) and poor Ned leapt out of bed with such force that he actually bounded up against the opposite wall making a large thwack sound. Needless to say our hearts were not quick to slow down. Then several hours later there was a car accident outside our window. Apparently some idiot drunk ran his car up over the sidewalk and got his car stuck halfway up an embankment. Ned called courtesy patrol and I went back to bed. After checking on Elizabeth for perhaps the sixth time. (His second thought on hearing the crash was that her crib had broken and she was in trouble. Darned recall! That spooks us even though our model should be fine!)

And all this after pondering the frailty of life for around a week. And marveling at what odd creatures we are that recognizing that frailty does not, of itself, make us any more protective or cautious about it. I'm no more attentive, no better disciplined. But more aware how much of life depends on God and not myself.

I thank God that Elizabeth, and so far Baby Anastasia (?), has survived another day, and marvel at both my great & insignificant roles in that.

But perhaps this makes Elizabeth symbolic of us all. As she sleeps, shoving her head into whatever cloth keeps her breath warm against her face. Hiding from the world and scaring others by her thoughtless recklessness and obvious content to trust fate or God or whatever else could make the days go by.

Happy Thanksgiving! Pardon the tardiness of this post, but I've been busy helping my momma.

Two days ago my precious little girl stood between one of my dearest friends and an ottoman (or maybe coffee table) and took two steps! When my back was turned! But you know, Ned got to see it and two witnesses are enough for me. Some people feel like they have to see all the firsts, but I don't. I can just be glad that those firsts continue to come.

Today I'm 22 weeks along, which is a bit relieving. I don't feel little Anastasia (?) much, so I can only hope and pray she's alright. But at least there aren't other signs of trouble and we'll go to the doctor when we get back into town. Elizabeth is 15 months also today!

I've volunteered to serve as editor for a newsletter. Hope I can do a professional job of it. And I hope people actually contribute! I used to want to be a one-woman wonder show, but now I really don't.

I've also had a few meetings with my dad about our project. Which is very good. I'm finding it hard to work so far away from dialog & feedback, but I suppose this is another path for me to learn.

I was feeling really good & highly energetic but now my baby-maker periodically is achy and a bit twitchy. But this holiday eating & drinking probably isn't helping. But it is so good to be with my family. Though it also reminds me how thankful I am for my own new little family. It'll be good to be home too.

I had two thoughts while having my two cavities drilled. The first was another girl's name (Anabel, which has already been sidelined) and the other was about how I experience pain. Now, when I was young I thought my pain tolerance was very high. I always fought with my brother, who's seven years older than me. And frankly I was a tooth & nail kind of girl. Feisty & violent. Morbid even. But really, now it seems like I feel in generalities. Pardon me being explicit, but while I could feel the two numbing shots, most other things are just general, whether pain or feelings. I often have to mentally consider my feelings and I often can't pinpoint locations for pain. As in, when my teeth hurt last night, I couldn't tell which teeth even though I know perfectly well which two neighboring teeth should have hurt. And I wonder if this general characteristic of my experience is why labor felt like death to me. Not sharping pains pushing and stretching. Death. And madness. But I reckon its also why sometimes I can chose to care or not care, chose to be upset or not. Granted, it's only sometimes, but still. I wonder why some people experience pain this way. And not just pain, but feelings in general. I wonder if it's a brain chemistry kind of thing. Or some combination of inhibition and stability. ; ) But, still, I'd rather feel headaches in my head. Maybe then I'd know when to take a stupid tylenol or equivalent. Or recognize that maybe I have a fever. Instead it's often vague and as much a matter of lost focus than anything else. Course maybe that's part of my blood sugar thing. Suddenly I just notice something has gone wrong instead of feeling a downward turn more initially.

While I'm still not convinced that theology can't be worded rightly to avoid misunderstanding, I am convinced that I am a theologian despite the fact that maybe most people will always disagree with me.

This is a good development. So that even if my daddy disagrees with me on our project, I've still grown into what I'd consider some good, solid Christocentric beliefs.

I'm more or less confident about my theological thinking of marriage, husbands and wives. Which may sound elementary to some, but not to me.

WE ARE NOT BORING! We just don't have all the drama of our earlier years pulling out different parts of us to question or explore. I don't know of any one of my friends who has "settled," with the exception of having jobs that are exactly that: jobs not dreams.

Really, I wonder why we didn't expect this. We haven't lost ourselves because we can't have all the conversations we once did. Or the fun schedule. We haven't forgotten our friends even though we've had to move away. We haven't betrayed our ideals by adding on a few years. We're just doing what we always did--trying to make the best of now. Which is all we can do.

As hard on ourselves as many of us are, the last thing we need is to criticize ourselves for lack of drama or emerging stability. We do not need to be constantly fine tuning brilliance. We do not need to be constantly planning for the next change. As far as I know, our lives right now are pretty good.

It seems to me that Christians could benefit from practicing their speech about both being sinners and interacting with the sinned against. In both practical application of theology at church or home and in our political discourse. Because maybe that could cut through some of our crappiest stereotypes while also helping others as directly as we ought to.

Sometimes friendship hurts my heart. And this past week has highlighted several reasons for that. Some of my friends share a worldview or perspective with me. Some a lifestyle or interest (i.e., love of food, respect for intelligence, etc). But either way friendship is vulnerable to pain, personally or sympathetically. I am sad that so many of my friends would utterly denounce some of my (to me, progressive) ideas. And it wouldn't be about them weighing my thoughts or perspective, but I'd be lumped in with their opponents, probably without a thought beyond an exasperated "religion." And I am so sad that so often we bring our own pain into our lives. And it hurts to see people do that to themselves.

And it hurts to be peripheral. I can't drop everything to run to my friends. I have friends I may never see again. And the friends I do see I can't necessarily lessen their pain or unhappiness.

I may be inactive in them, but I am committed to my friendships. And I am pained that, sometimes when I know I really ought to pray for those I love, I can't even imagine what to pray for in the given situation. And that is sad. Sadder than not really knowing what you want.

Seriously, friends, how about a lighter and less drama-filled week?

Elizabeth is getting quite hyper and I'm not sure whether I should try to do something about it. She got up super early this morning, just as happy as can be, and I don't understand why she isn't at least slowing down.

My sister-in-law is coming to town today. Wish me luck that both I and the apartment will be clean by the time that happens. We'll have brisket tonight (frozen from Ned's last smoke) w/ Wendish potato salad and stuffed pizza some time this weekend. And we'll see if she's in the mood to bake coffee cake & cinnamon rolls from scratch.

I think I'll give myself a detox day. I've been craving and caving to candy & white flour, and it's not done me good. Though my late night out socializing I chose to believe has had only positive impact. ;) I love Kim Vieker.

Ned asked me the other day if I wanted to do another Saint Nick's appetizer party. Is there interest?

I can concede that there may be ethical uses for things I usually disapprove of. But I hate it when that stuff intrudes into my own personal (largely generic!) life. I am so annoyed that the congregation we attend will no longer offer the chalice because of fears over swine flu. The American in me screams, "It's my right to chance it!" The rationalist in me shouts, "You idiots! You think handled plastic is somehow safer?" The antisocial in me says, "Yet we still have to shake hands with everyone after the service?"

At this moment I will avoid saying all people are dumb. But their inconsistencies annoy and sometimes downright put me out. And I'm probably extra frustrated because it is a blow to my pride to do something knowingly I disapprove of, particularly when I consider it less respectful than alternatives. I mean, no one can convince me it is better to deny the offered blood of Christ--Jesus allows Himself to be squandered, He lets Himself be scattered. Individual cups do not of themselves lessen forgiveness. But let me drink to the dregs, if I chose to! Let me not watch Jesus spill onto paper toweling! Let me not contribute to a practice I find less than dignified, helpful or informative.

I mean, sheesh, use a pouring chalice. Or wait until someone is actually contagious. Something!

My bizarre dreams continue. Last night I dreamt of war. First my king was House. But later he turned into Monk. I was some kind of consultant or cabinet member. And it went from being very modern warfare to us hijacking the plane we were captive on and landing in a magical woods with fairy creatures. Still, it was kind of satisfying to know love and loyalty to "my" king. And trying to make the best of bad situations. (I don't care so much for dreams I can control--it just seems like frivolous cheating.)

Last night I dreamt I was hitchhiking. At one point I was trying to get to DC. At another point I was just trying to elude police along a stretch of highway. But I kept running into this annoying ex-boyfriend who kept tormenting me with his dumb sense of humor and inane acts. As in, he stole my credit card to buy a water at a gas station when we were both trying to escape police. We just kept being in the same place. Finally, the two of us were hiding in different places in this a house and I was so fed up I turned myself in on the single condition that the police would give this guy a really hard time.

When I was a little girl, I believed blood to be sacred. And I still do, though not in the I'll-never-learn-to-shave-my-legs-lest-I-bleed-in-idolatry-to-vanity kind of way anymore.

I'm pretty content with my relationships to medicine, philosophically, theologically, and practically. I think it only makes sense to acknowledge there are things we cannot see or feel that may still be very wrong. And to be very thankful to God that He gives us people who specialized in yet another life-sustaining vocation.

I do think there is a heck of a lot that is undesirable in the study of health science. And early on I swore I would never go into that field or marry into it. I prefer all conversations about bodily functions be limited to areas of food and sleep.

I went ahead and got the swine flu vaccine. Not because I find preventative medicine to be especially wonderful or comforting, but because I want to honor my family as I am able and accept that doctors can have expertise, rational, and authority in such matters. Some things one does for the sake of others without the luxury of personal fears or hesitation. At least that's my experience.

I know some of my readers closely link vaccination with abortion. I don't, though I'm familiar with the arguments. I do think some vaccines are clearly involved in questions of sanctity of the body. (I believe in sanctity of the body even after death.) But I just don't see that it is my place to stand on my own moral convictions, when such morality clearly falls under vocational considerations: doctor's discretion, what is best for one's children, what is safest for the community, etc. At least regarding vaccines and medical studies. And, there are enough people in the United States making a fuss about vaccines that I have no doubt that our vaccines are produced in a more critical manner than many other countries. For example, our swine flu vaccine doesn't have the controversial ingredient that a similar form in Europe does (though terms/names escape me). Blah blah, we do probably over-vaccinate; I think some vaccines are largely unnecessary and plan to act accordingly for our children. But I have no reason or authority to presume vaccines are inherently wicked as a category.

But I am annoyed by cultural uncertainties about life & death. I don't want to have to seek out Christian doctors of certain persuasions, but I'm conscious-bound to provide my family with doctors of integrity to our views of life and death. So, culture, shape up so I don't have to use the church for the improper use of finding humane services!

Oh, and it hurt.

Considering "son" as a vocation, is Jesus still responsible for being Mary's son? He gunna invite her over for dinner more than the rest of us? Will we pay special attention to our earthly parents after the bodily resurrection? I always had the assumption that those aspects of our service would be put away, but I don't know why other than that our Lord takes those relationships onto the ultimate level Himself. Thoughts? Insights? Words of caution?

I really do enjoy being home. But I think no longer being out and about on a daily basis has me a bit disjointed in that I'm wary of how others perceive me. Maybe it's because I fall between categories, all of which have their local antagonists. But I should have the strength of conviction and faith to care less about others judging me. At least I feel like I should. But I don't. It really does take confrontation (temptation, if you will) for me to make a public stand to all sides. I reckon it's cuz I'm a sinner, but I wish I could do better, at least in superficial areas. Does it even matter how random people see me?

I talked with my sister last night about how I'll probably have a large family, but feel like I don't really have a role model for that scenario. I am scared to death of people who can't see, or who won't publicly mention, ethical uses for birth control. But I'm not the child-spacer I once thought I was. I simply have not been driven crazy by motherhood the way I expected. Despite depression & anxiety in my blood and my past, this has been a remarkably stable period for me. Thanks largely to Ned, I think, and being in a place that makes sense for myself--truly a gift from God.

My work doesn't bolster my self-confidence either. I over-think and it makes me wordy and overly substantial.

I know better than to think self-confidence actually solves problems. More likely one just pushes through. So I'm glad to be challenged. Still, self-confidence sure is handy when interacting with others. I really don't intend to just lock myself away with Ned, Elizabeth & Baby M_____, though I do think it'd be a most pleasant way to go.

I am afraid of worms. When they come out in the rain, they make me gasp out loud. I have to stop and then move forward only very slowly. Though I am an otherwise reasonable person, worms--especially as they stretch out--freak me out. I have to size them up before I determine a safe distance.

Gasps are the loudest expressions of fear or pain that I have. Crazy worm-related anxiety.

Can anyone tell me if I was this paranoid about miscarriage my last pregnancy?

I'm making progress on my project, which feels really good. Perhaps a necessary distraction or perhaps part of why I haven't felt Baby M_____ lately. : ( But it's much healthier for me to be working online instead of surfing. And I feel that health through higher energy, clearer thinking, and less trouble falling asleep.

I realized today how quickly my contract runs out. I'd kinda forgotten about that. But we can evaluate whether to extend the contract in December so that's at least a bit of heads up. I wish we'd get a advance.

Some day I may post an ode to Esther. Because she is so helpful and such a comfort to me.

It seems to me that people should listen in paragraphs. Take in each sentence, but allow the paragraph(s) to interpret it, put it into context, and limit the shortcomings of speech insofar as possible.

However, my thought paragraphs are too long, and I'd like to make them more "user friendly."

During paragraphs, maybe there's enough time to really listen and absorb before responding. Maybe respect just doesn't come one sentence at a time, but by paragraphs and pages, so to speak.

I wonder if the nature of language is such to imply this, that it takes time to speak, one must wait for the completion. A gift in the air. Though now so often distorted. But, still, I think the premise still holds.

But I want to learn to finish my thoughts sooner, say them within fewer sentences, to better bypass "but I was getting to that!"

I'm up an hour and a half early with a child who seems rather frustrated that it isn't day yet. At least it will be soon. And she was less than amused when I cuddled with her on the floor under a warm blanket hoping she'd go back to sleep. : )

I had a really nice weekend. The retreat went well, especially the car rides up and back where a smaller number allowed for easy conversation. Nothing super scary or scandalous happened, and the women talked about themselves as human-beings instead of just relating everything to their husbands or children--I take that as a good sign. Several very cute lap babies were there, but most of the women kindly covered themselves when necessary, though, pardon me from saying this, the chubbiest baby there sure was fed frequently! And, one little girl had a cry that sounded like laughter that both tugged at my heart and brought chuckles to my throat.

But it was good. When the food was good and I teased that I'd better go back for more since I haven't gained enough weight, the thin girls all chuckled and the preggos laughed too. And, really, the food was good. I didn't have anything I didn't care for, and I was impressed by the selection that included dairy-free, gluten-free, nuts marked & vegetarian. It soothes me that some women going into parishes are sensitive that way. And I was pleased that the girls were largely different from each other. More was represented than "high school" click and "home school" click.

I was reminded how important it is to me that parents be able to laugh about parenting, spouses marriage, and individuals their own weaknesses and silliness. I was also glad it was led by Dean Mosemann, who reminds me of Uncle Larry in Canada.