When I was really little, I had a recurring nightmare where a witch would drag me into the basement and lock me in a secret back room. In the dream, I would scream and scream, but no one would hear me. My voice would come out as a barely audible whisper, no matter how desperately I tried. People wouldn't look my way; they'd go about their business, and I'd wake up in a panic, panting as I tried to tell myself that such a situation was just a dream and would never happen in real life.
One of the worst feelings in the world is trying to confide in close friends or family, and being ignored, met with indifference or silence or downright lack of compassion. I realize that the competing demands and mundane tasks of modern life make whispered screams all but inaudible to those not paying attention.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Desire
My desire to see the world
has become a cat sleeping in the sun
and when there's no sun
it's curled up in the blanket of my family's love
Only when it's cold and hungry
does it wake up and prowl
Because I've seen enough of the world
to know it's better to expand one's own frontiers,
better to explore the boundaries,
better to unlock the wonder;
it's better to explore one's own province
than to nose in someone else's.
has become a cat sleeping in the sun
and when there's no sun
it's curled up in the blanket of my family's love
Only when it's cold and hungry
does it wake up and prowl
Because I've seen enough of the world
to know it's better to expand one's own frontiers,
better to explore the boundaries,
better to unlock the wonder;
it's better to explore one's own province
than to nose in someone else's.
Monday, October 4, 2010
On "not all who wander are lost"
I should write something, and so this is a quick response to an article a friend posted, a friend who may or not be reading this.
I completely agree with the 3rd-to-last paragraph and most of the last paragraph.
I find "happiness" to be a relatively useless word. I don't often worry about it or talk about it, nor do I particularly shoot for it because I don't think it's something you can make happen; it's something you have to let happen.
Is "dissatisfaction" the same as "unhappiness?" I don't think so.
It's interesting to think that when people wanted to talk about the US in Nepal, the vast majority (with some notable, wise exceptions) would tell me that if only they could live in the US, all their problems would disappear and they would be happy for the rest of their lives. They truly had a hard time believing that Americans could be unhappy without some tangible outside source of sadness in their lives.
I see people searching so hard for love, peace, and/or happiness. But I most often see people find these things precisely when they stop trying so hard. Most people are happy and they don't even know it. Most people have love in their lives but some can't even see it. Most people would find peace if only they would stop churning in the tide and just listen to the waves.
When we were kids, weren't we told "if you get lost, stay where you are" (this is assuming you can't find your source, which I emailed you about)? If we frantically cast about, we may get more hopelessly lost, as well as make it harder for others to find us. Likewise, if you meet a wild animal, will you catch it by chasing after it? Or will you sit still, be peaceful, and let it come to you?
Being more fully you now than then is quite possibly a different discussion than the "happiness" question, though. Is "being you" the key to happiness? The article's author seems to admit that it is, if only she knew how. That's the remaining question in my mind, as like I said, I don't really aim for happiness and I just let it happen or let it come to me whenever it will and does.
I still believe if you can go back to your source, you can never go wrong.
I completely agree with the 3rd-to-last paragraph and most of the last paragraph.
I find "happiness" to be a relatively useless word. I don't often worry about it or talk about it, nor do I particularly shoot for it because I don't think it's something you can make happen; it's something you have to let happen.
Is "dissatisfaction" the same as "unhappiness?" I don't think so.
It's interesting to think that when people wanted to talk about the US in Nepal, the vast majority (with some notable, wise exceptions) would tell me that if only they could live in the US, all their problems would disappear and they would be happy for the rest of their lives. They truly had a hard time believing that Americans could be unhappy without some tangible outside source of sadness in their lives.
I see people searching so hard for love, peace, and/or happiness. But I most often see people find these things precisely when they stop trying so hard. Most people are happy and they don't even know it. Most people have love in their lives but some can't even see it. Most people would find peace if only they would stop churning in the tide and just listen to the waves.
When we were kids, weren't we told "if you get lost, stay where you are" (this is assuming you can't find your source, which I emailed you about)? If we frantically cast about, we may get more hopelessly lost, as well as make it harder for others to find us. Likewise, if you meet a wild animal, will you catch it by chasing after it? Or will you sit still, be peaceful, and let it come to you?
Being more fully you now than then is quite possibly a different discussion than the "happiness" question, though. Is "being you" the key to happiness? The article's author seems to admit that it is, if only she knew how. That's the remaining question in my mind, as like I said, I don't really aim for happiness and I just let it happen or let it come to me whenever it will and does.
I still believe if you can go back to your source, you can never go wrong.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Meat: A Big Sham?
I have ventured into new terrain: the meat section of the grocery store. However, I don't think I'll be making a trip there very often. I had no idea what to purchase. I felt like I was in the middle of a morgue; there was a chill in there air and flesh and body parts lay all around me in a relatively sanitary, sterile atmsophere. I was shocked at how expensive the meat was. I'm so used to relatively inexpensive grains, legumes, fruits and vegetables, and dairy products.
I should back up a minute and say that Himal finally started eating meat--sort of. I do not know how to cook or store meat, so I told Esposo that he should be in charge of this area. He's up to the task--my husband loves cooking. Esposo is what we've deemed an opportunistic/non-practicing meat eater. He'll eat if it's around, he might order it once in awhile if we're out, and if I'm going to be gone for awhile, he might cook some at home. But he's not a regular carnivore, and these tendencies pre-date our relationship.
When my brother was living in Budapest and I visited him, we went to his girlfriend's ancestral home in rural Hungary. There, her vegetarian mother cooked a small feast for the family, and picked at a few mushrooms while the rest of us stuffed ourselves (I was eating her chicken dish, as I can be lax with vegetarianism abroad--food offered to a guest should be eaten, as much as possible). I asked my brother's girlfriend about how one can be a vegetarian in Hungary, which seemed like such a meat-based cuisine, and she replied, "oh, she cooks meat for all of us. She just doesn't eat." Glancing at this gaunt woman who was grimacing and picking at her mushrooms, I saw this to be true.
Despite the grim portrait this scene painted in my mind, I thought I would follow her example. After I returned from Hungary, I made the Hungarian chicken dish for Esposo (who was Novio at the time), as a gesture of how highly I thought of him and how I was (symbolically) willing to make sacrifices to please him. But I think my attempt scared Esposo more than anything.
Thus, that was the one and only time I've cooked meat (other than seafood and eggs, which I will cook). Fast-forward several years, and we have a toddler in our midst, a toddler with a heart condition that makes his red blood/iron count on the low side to begin with. I started wondering if Himal was getting enough iron in his diet, as he tends to refuse almost all animal protein. Of course, I've been careful to include iron-fortified foods in his diet, but I still wondered if it was enough. I was relieved when we went to Irish Fest last weekend, and Himal chowed down on a corndog, corned beef, and a chicken strip. I thought this might be the completion of a diet that is otherwise extremely healthy. Until he got sick...along with Esposo. They have since been suffering from stomach "bugs" whereas I've been spared--was it the meat they ate?
Nevertheless, I chugged on in this terra nova--right into the meat section of a local store yesterday. But I ran into immediate confusion--looking at the nutritional information--4% of one's daily iron in this serving of chicken?! What?! When Rice Krispies have 50% ?!!! Why in the world would I spent so much money on chicken if it's not worth the nutritional bang for the buck? Sure, I could splurge on a more iron-rich meat, but what toddler really eats steak? Who dares to eat liver these days, the organ meat that stores all the pesticides the animal has eaten? This is not making sense to me...are people aware of the nutritional value of meats opposed to grains, legumes, veggies? All my life, carnivores have lectured me on the merits of eating meat...but I don't see their views bearing out on the labels.
Esposo also made the point that maybe Himal doesn't like "meat" yet, but the salty taste that imbued the hotdog, corned beef, etc that he ate at the festival. "Hm," I mused. If I remember 23 years or so back, I might be able to recall what a hotdog tastes like, but I've never had corned beef. I thought a nice transition would be to buy some "chicken strips." I baked them last night, but Himal refused to eat them.
This morning, I wondered what to do with the leftover chicken, and decided to make fried rice--a toddler staple around here. It's easy, it includes several food groups in one dish. I fried up some veggies and egges--standard for fried rice. I made the rice. I cut up the chicken...and then I remembered the Old Testament admonition about not cooking a lamb in its mother's milk. I don't know if it's the same thing or not--serving a grown hen in the same dish as an egg, but it reminded me of just how much I was venturing into unfamiliar ethics. I remember reading that verse in high school, when I was dating the son of a Lutheran pastor. I asked my then-boyfriend what the verse meant, and he said, "well, it's just obvious. It's unethical." But it raised so many questions in my mind--did that mean, according to the Bible, that animals have family bonds that should be respected? I still wonder about that verse.
I tend to respect meat eaters who have the courage to raise/hunt, and slaughter and process their own animals. I think if you're going to be a meat-eater, you should be willing to do that--otherwise, how will you have an accurate picture of what meat eating really is--if you always let someone else do the dirty work for you? If you give an animal a good life, and kill and eat it, I think that's awesome. If you go to the grocery store and pick out factory-farmed meat that has been raised in terrible conditions, that an undocumented, underpaid foreign worker has slaughtered and cleaned up for you in dangerous conditions, if all you ever see is the nicely-packaged meat without all the exploitation and sacrifice...I'm sorry, but I don't have a whole lot of respect for that food choice. I don't know how we're going to negotiate getting some meat into Himal's diet...I figured that sooner or later, he would go after it himself, and then we would do our best to supply him with good quality/humanely-raised meats from then on. Maybe he's not there yet. But this has been something of a practice run.
I should back up a minute and say that Himal finally started eating meat--sort of. I do not know how to cook or store meat, so I told Esposo that he should be in charge of this area. He's up to the task--my husband loves cooking. Esposo is what we've deemed an opportunistic/non-practicing meat eater. He'll eat if it's around, he might order it once in awhile if we're out, and if I'm going to be gone for awhile, he might cook some at home. But he's not a regular carnivore, and these tendencies pre-date our relationship.
When my brother was living in Budapest and I visited him, we went to his girlfriend's ancestral home in rural Hungary. There, her vegetarian mother cooked a small feast for the family, and picked at a few mushrooms while the rest of us stuffed ourselves (I was eating her chicken dish, as I can be lax with vegetarianism abroad--food offered to a guest should be eaten, as much as possible). I asked my brother's girlfriend about how one can be a vegetarian in Hungary, which seemed like such a meat-based cuisine, and she replied, "oh, she cooks meat for all of us. She just doesn't eat." Glancing at this gaunt woman who was grimacing and picking at her mushrooms, I saw this to be true.
Despite the grim portrait this scene painted in my mind, I thought I would follow her example. After I returned from Hungary, I made the Hungarian chicken dish for Esposo (who was Novio at the time), as a gesture of how highly I thought of him and how I was (symbolically) willing to make sacrifices to please him. But I think my attempt scared Esposo more than anything.
Thus, that was the one and only time I've cooked meat (other than seafood and eggs, which I will cook). Fast-forward several years, and we have a toddler in our midst, a toddler with a heart condition that makes his red blood/iron count on the low side to begin with. I started wondering if Himal was getting enough iron in his diet, as he tends to refuse almost all animal protein. Of course, I've been careful to include iron-fortified foods in his diet, but I still wondered if it was enough. I was relieved when we went to Irish Fest last weekend, and Himal chowed down on a corndog, corned beef, and a chicken strip. I thought this might be the completion of a diet that is otherwise extremely healthy. Until he got sick...along with Esposo. They have since been suffering from stomach "bugs" whereas I've been spared--was it the meat they ate?
Nevertheless, I chugged on in this terra nova--right into the meat section of a local store yesterday. But I ran into immediate confusion--looking at the nutritional information--4% of one's daily iron in this serving of chicken?! What?! When Rice Krispies have 50% ?!!! Why in the world would I spent so much money on chicken if it's not worth the nutritional bang for the buck? Sure, I could splurge on a more iron-rich meat, but what toddler really eats steak? Who dares to eat liver these days, the organ meat that stores all the pesticides the animal has eaten? This is not making sense to me...are people aware of the nutritional value of meats opposed to grains, legumes, veggies? All my life, carnivores have lectured me on the merits of eating meat...but I don't see their views bearing out on the labels.
Esposo also made the point that maybe Himal doesn't like "meat" yet, but the salty taste that imbued the hotdog, corned beef, etc that he ate at the festival. "Hm," I mused. If I remember 23 years or so back, I might be able to recall what a hotdog tastes like, but I've never had corned beef. I thought a nice transition would be to buy some "chicken strips." I baked them last night, but Himal refused to eat them.
This morning, I wondered what to do with the leftover chicken, and decided to make fried rice--a toddler staple around here. It's easy, it includes several food groups in one dish. I fried up some veggies and egges--standard for fried rice. I made the rice. I cut up the chicken...and then I remembered the Old Testament admonition about not cooking a lamb in its mother's milk. I don't know if it's the same thing or not--serving a grown hen in the same dish as an egg, but it reminded me of just how much I was venturing into unfamiliar ethics. I remember reading that verse in high school, when I was dating the son of a Lutheran pastor. I asked my then-boyfriend what the verse meant, and he said, "well, it's just obvious. It's unethical." But it raised so many questions in my mind--did that mean, according to the Bible, that animals have family bonds that should be respected? I still wonder about that verse.
I tend to respect meat eaters who have the courage to raise/hunt, and slaughter and process their own animals. I think if you're going to be a meat-eater, you should be willing to do that--otherwise, how will you have an accurate picture of what meat eating really is--if you always let someone else do the dirty work for you? If you give an animal a good life, and kill and eat it, I think that's awesome. If you go to the grocery store and pick out factory-farmed meat that has been raised in terrible conditions, that an undocumented, underpaid foreign worker has slaughtered and cleaned up for you in dangerous conditions, if all you ever see is the nicely-packaged meat without all the exploitation and sacrifice...I'm sorry, but I don't have a whole lot of respect for that food choice. I don't know how we're going to negotiate getting some meat into Himal's diet...I figured that sooner or later, he would go after it himself, and then we would do our best to supply him with good quality/humanely-raised meats from then on. Maybe he's not there yet. But this has been something of a practice run.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Question of Wills
As Himal's 2nd birthday draws nigh, I've been thinking a lot about parenting lately. There are a couple of blog posts I've been wanting to write for awhile now, but like all my heady summer thoughts, they seem fragmented. I've reflected a lot on what the past year has taught me, all the hard-won lessons I've learned, and how my pespective has changed over the past year.
In the past, I've written about choice and free will, mentioning that despite our free will, there's a lot we don't get to "choose" in this life. I cited our birth families as an example. But, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if there is more of a cosmic roll call going on than we realize.
I remember when I first got to Nepal and was to live with a host family. Our program director, Manohari, had a mind-boggling list of families who had bravely volunteered to host an American college student of unknown character and hygiene. A few families had specified whether they wanted a male or female student to share their home, but other than that, there were no qualifications. I listened attentively as Manohari went down the list. I hadn't realized there would be some degree of choice involved, so I hadn't come up with any particular attributes I'd like my host family to have. The list went on and on, and still no family seemed quite right to me. After Manohari read each description, one or another of my 23 colleagues would jump on it. As he approached, the bottom, I felt a growing apprehension that I wouldn't find a suitable match.
Then, towards the very end, I heard this: "An ethnic Limbu family from the eastern hills living in Dhumbarahi. Extended family living situation involving a mom and her 2 girls and 1 boy, an aged grandmother, an auntie and uncle with a 3 year old boy, and several other people living both upstairs and downstairs. The father is away, working in Hong Kong." My hand shot up and I rushed to the front to sign my name on that line. I had found my perfect family, and perfect they were. I'm wondering lately if something similar occurs on a more spiritual level.
Today a neighbor came over with her 6-month old son. I'd never met her before, but I had many of Himal's baby clothes and toys to give her. As she entered our home, the difference between life with her child and life with my child was astounding. She nonchalantly mentioned that her husband was home "deathly ill," and the heart parental red flag went up...the unspoken code that You Do Not Come Over If There Is Illness in the Family flag. But, I sighed internally and let it go--after all, she doesn't know. Then, she proceeded to tell me that her pregnancy was completely unplanned, and she didn't even know she was pregnant until the 3rd trimester. The thoughts came washing over me in an unwanted tide...those thoughts that I try so hard to repress. But think about it--if you were me, wouldn't you think them too?! The thoughts that we had planned Himal's pregnancy so carefully and done everything "right," but he has HLHS. The thoughts that this woman didn't even know she was pregnant, didn't want children at all, and--surprise!--gave birth to a perfectly healthy baby like magic.
I looked at the baby, who was an adorable boy. At 6 months, he already weighs 18 lb (Himal is almost 2 and weighs 25 lb). The 6 month old is almost in 12 months clothes. He sits up on his own and is almost standing up on his own. The difference between the 2 experiences couldn't be greater.
Sometimes it's hard to comprehend. It's hard to comprehend why some people try so hard to have kids and can't, whereas others have kids they didn't plan or even want. But, as I looked at this mom and baby, I got the impression that having her son had completely changed her life around. There was no question that she loved her son and was a good mom to him. She might not be like me and her priorities were certainly very different, but I've come to believe that both of our sons have completely changed us internally.
I marvel at how she didn't *know.* I knew...I mean, really knew...that I was pregnant even before an early detection test would work. I bought the earliest detection test on the market and took it days before it said it would work, and the faintest pink line confirmed my knowledge. I *knew* Himal was a boy even though my family and friends all guessed he was a girl. I knew, deep down, that there was something wrong with him, despite everyone around me insisting things were fine and that all expectant moms share this worry. And I also knew that he really wanted to be born and be given every chance to fight.
And this brings me to the crux of this post. I was chatting online with a fellow heart mom a couple weeks ago--a heart mom who was asking some heavy questions about faith and God. I brought up a train of thought I've been wondering about lately. Our culture places a huge emphasis on controlling one's own destiny, exercising our individual rights, and asserting our free will. Modern Christianity also is a big proponent of the idea of "free will." And yet, our notion of "free will" seems so violated when a traumatic event happens in our lives. We didn't "choose" this--we didn't choose to give our son HLHS, and he didn't choose to be born with it...right?
Wait a second. Maybe...we did? And I'm not talking about in the Garden of Eden, when humanity chose to know good and evil alike. God knows us better than we know ourselves. He knew our souls even before we were born on this earth.
Someday, when Himal is say, 16 or so, he might scream at me, "why was I even born?! I didn't ask to be born!" But I know better. I, as his mom, *knew.* Sometimes, we parents know our kids better than they know themselves. Sometimes we remember things that for them are deeply buried in their blurry subconcious. I might then say, "I knew you before you were even born. And at that time, you told me you wanted to be born and live this life."
What if I, before I was born into this earthly body and forgot what came before, volunteered to be a mom to a child with HLHS? I can just see God calling for volunteers. Maybe volunteering is different than raw choice.
Even Jesus, who volunteered to lay down His life for humankind, seemed to have momentary forgetfulness in Gesthemane, when He begged God to take away the cup He had to drink. But God said, "I know better. I remember. You volunteered to do this."
I'm not saying I'm a god of any sort. I'm merely saying that there may be Biblical precedent for this idea.
Countless times I've heard parents talking about how their heart kids seem otherwordly, almost as if they have a more direct connection to the Divine. I've heard stories of heart kids having premonitions and heavenly messages that, if I didn't know the parent were telling the truth, I'm not sure I would believe. I've heard parents talk about some of the things their heart kids have said about God and heaven, and these things are way beyond their years and even way beyond most people's spiritual understanding. I've heard other (as we call them, "heart healthy") parents say to parents like me, "God chose to give you this child because He knew your faith would be strong enough to be their parent." But "choosing" to give us this situation...is that like God? Maybe yes, maybe no. What about Himal? He didn't "chose" this...or...is it possible that God called for volunteers and he stepped up?
I can actually picture it so perfectly.
God: I need a few special souls to be born with heart defects. You're going to have to go through operations and countless procedures and feel immeasurable pain. Everyday things will often be a struggle for you. You might not live very long. But the payoff far outweighs all that. You are going to touch a whole lot more lives than you ever dreamed. You're going to give people hope and you're going to be loved more than you can even bear it. You're going to know what really matters, and your going to show it to others. You're going to meet the most amazing people, the faces of determination and dedication, such as pediatric cardiologists and physical therapists and other special people who take interest in you and protect you. And I'll even throw this into the deal: I am going to keep you close to me, under my wing and especially tight in my palm, because I know you're going to need me a lot (and that's a good thing).
Himal (and several other voices in a chorus): ok, I think I can do that. Sounds like a pretty big adventure. Sign me up, then.
I think this is a pretty radical idea as far as Christianity goes, and maybe it's even a bit of a stupid idea. To go around saying that we chose our general lot but forgot? I don't think most religious folks would really accept it or acknowledge much Biblical basis for it other than what I've outlined. In fact, some would probably say this entire post is an indication that I'm getting way off-base, and need to start attending church again so that my spiritual ideas can be tested for truth (ie, shot down) by a body of believers. What about Job, right? No warm fuzzy notions of choice there! But I don't quite feel like Job. I feel like I've been blessed, not cursed, punished, or stricken. More on that later. But because of the theological shakiness, I do feel obliged to put in a disclaimer: this is only an idea and I do not claim it to be absolute spiritual truth.
Then again, maybe we didn't choose at all. Maybe God, knowing our souls inside and out, just *knew* that we would choose this path if we could do it over again (more on this later too), having the hindsight or the greater knowledge we will eventually have, and chose for us.
In the past, I've written about choice and free will, mentioning that despite our free will, there's a lot we don't get to "choose" in this life. I cited our birth families as an example. But, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if there is more of a cosmic roll call going on than we realize.
I remember when I first got to Nepal and was to live with a host family. Our program director, Manohari, had a mind-boggling list of families who had bravely volunteered to host an American college student of unknown character and hygiene. A few families had specified whether they wanted a male or female student to share their home, but other than that, there were no qualifications. I listened attentively as Manohari went down the list. I hadn't realized there would be some degree of choice involved, so I hadn't come up with any particular attributes I'd like my host family to have. The list went on and on, and still no family seemed quite right to me. After Manohari read each description, one or another of my 23 colleagues would jump on it. As he approached, the bottom, I felt a growing apprehension that I wouldn't find a suitable match.
Then, towards the very end, I heard this: "An ethnic Limbu family from the eastern hills living in Dhumbarahi. Extended family living situation involving a mom and her 2 girls and 1 boy, an aged grandmother, an auntie and uncle with a 3 year old boy, and several other people living both upstairs and downstairs. The father is away, working in Hong Kong." My hand shot up and I rushed to the front to sign my name on that line. I had found my perfect family, and perfect they were. I'm wondering lately if something similar occurs on a more spiritual level.
Today a neighbor came over with her 6-month old son. I'd never met her before, but I had many of Himal's baby clothes and toys to give her. As she entered our home, the difference between life with her child and life with my child was astounding. She nonchalantly mentioned that her husband was home "deathly ill," and the heart parental red flag went up...the unspoken code that You Do Not Come Over If There Is Illness in the Family flag. But, I sighed internally and let it go--after all, she doesn't know. Then, she proceeded to tell me that her pregnancy was completely unplanned, and she didn't even know she was pregnant until the 3rd trimester. The thoughts came washing over me in an unwanted tide...those thoughts that I try so hard to repress. But think about it--if you were me, wouldn't you think them too?! The thoughts that we had planned Himal's pregnancy so carefully and done everything "right," but he has HLHS. The thoughts that this woman didn't even know she was pregnant, didn't want children at all, and--surprise!--gave birth to a perfectly healthy baby like magic.
I looked at the baby, who was an adorable boy. At 6 months, he already weighs 18 lb (Himal is almost 2 and weighs 25 lb). The 6 month old is almost in 12 months clothes. He sits up on his own and is almost standing up on his own. The difference between the 2 experiences couldn't be greater.
Sometimes it's hard to comprehend. It's hard to comprehend why some people try so hard to have kids and can't, whereas others have kids they didn't plan or even want. But, as I looked at this mom and baby, I got the impression that having her son had completely changed her life around. There was no question that she loved her son and was a good mom to him. She might not be like me and her priorities were certainly very different, but I've come to believe that both of our sons have completely changed us internally.
I marvel at how she didn't *know.* I knew...I mean, really knew...that I was pregnant even before an early detection test would work. I bought the earliest detection test on the market and took it days before it said it would work, and the faintest pink line confirmed my knowledge. I *knew* Himal was a boy even though my family and friends all guessed he was a girl. I knew, deep down, that there was something wrong with him, despite everyone around me insisting things were fine and that all expectant moms share this worry. And I also knew that he really wanted to be born and be given every chance to fight.
And this brings me to the crux of this post. I was chatting online with a fellow heart mom a couple weeks ago--a heart mom who was asking some heavy questions about faith and God. I brought up a train of thought I've been wondering about lately. Our culture places a huge emphasis on controlling one's own destiny, exercising our individual rights, and asserting our free will. Modern Christianity also is a big proponent of the idea of "free will." And yet, our notion of "free will" seems so violated when a traumatic event happens in our lives. We didn't "choose" this--we didn't choose to give our son HLHS, and he didn't choose to be born with it...right?
Wait a second. Maybe...we did? And I'm not talking about in the Garden of Eden, when humanity chose to know good and evil alike. God knows us better than we know ourselves. He knew our souls even before we were born on this earth.
Someday, when Himal is say, 16 or so, he might scream at me, "why was I even born?! I didn't ask to be born!" But I know better. I, as his mom, *knew.* Sometimes, we parents know our kids better than they know themselves. Sometimes we remember things that for them are deeply buried in their blurry subconcious. I might then say, "I knew you before you were even born. And at that time, you told me you wanted to be born and live this life."
What if I, before I was born into this earthly body and forgot what came before, volunteered to be a mom to a child with HLHS? I can just see God calling for volunteers. Maybe volunteering is different than raw choice.
Even Jesus, who volunteered to lay down His life for humankind, seemed to have momentary forgetfulness in Gesthemane, when He begged God to take away the cup He had to drink. But God said, "I know better. I remember. You volunteered to do this."
I'm not saying I'm a god of any sort. I'm merely saying that there may be Biblical precedent for this idea.
Countless times I've heard parents talking about how their heart kids seem otherwordly, almost as if they have a more direct connection to the Divine. I've heard stories of heart kids having premonitions and heavenly messages that, if I didn't know the parent were telling the truth, I'm not sure I would believe. I've heard parents talk about some of the things their heart kids have said about God and heaven, and these things are way beyond their years and even way beyond most people's spiritual understanding. I've heard other (as we call them, "heart healthy") parents say to parents like me, "God chose to give you this child because He knew your faith would be strong enough to be their parent." But "choosing" to give us this situation...is that like God? Maybe yes, maybe no. What about Himal? He didn't "chose" this...or...is it possible that God called for volunteers and he stepped up?
I can actually picture it so perfectly.
God: I need a few special souls to be born with heart defects. You're going to have to go through operations and countless procedures and feel immeasurable pain. Everyday things will often be a struggle for you. You might not live very long. But the payoff far outweighs all that. You are going to touch a whole lot more lives than you ever dreamed. You're going to give people hope and you're going to be loved more than you can even bear it. You're going to know what really matters, and your going to show it to others. You're going to meet the most amazing people, the faces of determination and dedication, such as pediatric cardiologists and physical therapists and other special people who take interest in you and protect you. And I'll even throw this into the deal: I am going to keep you close to me, under my wing and especially tight in my palm, because I know you're going to need me a lot (and that's a good thing).
Himal (and several other voices in a chorus): ok, I think I can do that. Sounds like a pretty big adventure. Sign me up, then.
I think this is a pretty radical idea as far as Christianity goes, and maybe it's even a bit of a stupid idea. To go around saying that we chose our general lot but forgot? I don't think most religious folks would really accept it or acknowledge much Biblical basis for it other than what I've outlined. In fact, some would probably say this entire post is an indication that I'm getting way off-base, and need to start attending church again so that my spiritual ideas can be tested for truth (ie, shot down) by a body of believers. What about Job, right? No warm fuzzy notions of choice there! But I don't quite feel like Job. I feel like I've been blessed, not cursed, punished, or stricken. More on that later. But because of the theological shakiness, I do feel obliged to put in a disclaimer: this is only an idea and I do not claim it to be absolute spiritual truth.
Then again, maybe we didn't choose at all. Maybe God, knowing our souls inside and out, just *knew* that we would choose this path if we could do it over again (more on this later too), having the hindsight or the greater knowledge we will eventually have, and chose for us.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
For the Record...
Raising a family, parenting, trying to keep it all straight...is hard. Few would dispute it. There's a lot to keep straight. This is the medication schedule:
8:30 am: Himal's 1st round of meds
Cat's morning pill
11:30 am: Himal's 2nd round of meds
2:30 pm: Himal's 3rd round of meds
8:30 pm: Himal's 4th round of meds
Cat's evening pill
Is it any wonder that once in awhile we realize, with horror, we've lost track of the time, or forgotten to call in a refill for 1 of many Rx's? On top of that...2 of the meds are refrigerated, so when we're not at home for one of the scheduled med times, we have to be sure to pack up a cooler and bring it with us (sometimes we realize, with horror, we've reached a destination only to have forgotten the meds at home, and have to turn back and start all over again). Keep in mind that Himal is not old enough to swallow pills, so these meds have to be made in liquid form at the pharmacy, and we in turn draw them up individually in oral syringes. We also have a pill cutter so we can give the cat her proper dose. If we spend the night somewhere, we have a lot of meds to pack up and keep cool, and we have to make arrangements to have a pet sitter come 2x/day for the kitty.
I'm not complaining...I'm just saying...as someone who could never even remember to take her birth controll pill on a daily basis, I've had to come down to earth a lot.
8:30 am: Himal's 1st round of meds
Cat's morning pill
11:30 am: Himal's 2nd round of meds
2:30 pm: Himal's 3rd round of meds
8:30 pm: Himal's 4th round of meds
Cat's evening pill
Is it any wonder that once in awhile we realize, with horror, we've lost track of the time, or forgotten to call in a refill for 1 of many Rx's? On top of that...2 of the meds are refrigerated, so when we're not at home for one of the scheduled med times, we have to be sure to pack up a cooler and bring it with us (sometimes we realize, with horror, we've reached a destination only to have forgotten the meds at home, and have to turn back and start all over again). Keep in mind that Himal is not old enough to swallow pills, so these meds have to be made in liquid form at the pharmacy, and we in turn draw them up individually in oral syringes. We also have a pill cutter so we can give the cat her proper dose. If we spend the night somewhere, we have a lot of meds to pack up and keep cool, and we have to make arrangements to have a pet sitter come 2x/day for the kitty.
I'm not complaining...I'm just saying...as someone who could never even remember to take her birth controll pill on a daily basis, I've had to come down to earth a lot.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sultini
I want to be more than just a receptacle for memory
a repository for stories
a teller of truths, a chronicler,
a sifter, a winnower
But I feel like a shadowy ghost
I can build a house
windows, roof and floor
four walls and door
I can light a fire
and candles against the night
offer you a place of repose
when your thoughts take flight
But nothing more
You come to me for wisdom
when the world has hemmed you in
when it pushes on all sides
and you look to the horizon
You make me an outcast, a witch
on the edge of what you see
banished to the hovel in the forest
between the village and the sea
The house is empty, bare, unfurbished
a structure you inhabit only when you wander
then you seek me, looking for words to squander
a library, an index, the wind howls through
without you it's bare bones mi amor
and nothing more
Are you ashamed, or do you want
to keep me to yourself
your little secret not quite dirty
not quite clean, but I've
grown weary of playing the role
in which you've cast me,
teller of tales, house of words
walls windows and floor
and nothing more
so there's the door :)
a repository for stories
a teller of truths, a chronicler,
a sifter, a winnower
But I feel like a shadowy ghost
I can build a house
windows, roof and floor
four walls and door
I can light a fire
and candles against the night
offer you a place of repose
when your thoughts take flight
But nothing more
You come to me for wisdom
when the world has hemmed you in
when it pushes on all sides
and you look to the horizon
You make me an outcast, a witch
on the edge of what you see
banished to the hovel in the forest
between the village and the sea
The house is empty, bare, unfurbished
a structure you inhabit only when you wander
then you seek me, looking for words to squander
a library, an index, the wind howls through
without you it's bare bones mi amor
and nothing more
Are you ashamed, or do you want
to keep me to yourself
your little secret not quite dirty
not quite clean, but I've
grown weary of playing the role
in which you've cast me,
teller of tales, house of words
walls windows and floor
and nothing more
so there's the door :)
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