Chasing the Sea: Our Unintentional Disaster Tour

Even though there are radiation counters up in all the parks in Fukushima City, they mostly tell me that life is not so far off from normal. The levels are very, very low. But there are times when the fact that we're living in the aftermath of a major disaster feels a little more real. This Golden Week was one of them.

Joel and I wanted to get out and away for the long holiday, so I asked my students where we could go to get to the ocean, knowing that there was still a lot of tsunami damage. They said "Iwaki". That made sense. I had seen friends from Iwaki post about beaches reopening. We set about planning a little two day trip.

I wanted to stop somewhere in between Iwaki and home so that our babies had a break from their carseats and found a camp ground / sports park by the ocean. It had a lovely webpage where all seemed well and up to date. So, we mapped our route and set off our first full day of vacation. I had carefully checked our routes to make sure we wouldn't get blocked by the evacuation zone, but it turned out that two of the major highways, according to some internet news articles, had been opened for through traffic only. We could have driven very close to Dai-ichi if we'd wanted. But we opted for a further west road. Still, very soon it became clear that if we weren't IN the evacuation zone, we were right alongside it. Every home and side road was gated off. And a few mysterious bags began to appear along the side of the road. Soon there were many.

I couldn't guess what was in them at the beginning. But as we saw whole fields filled with bags, and huge piles of something covered with canvas, I knew exactly what they were: the topsoil that had been stripped from schools and parks to get the radiation levels down in areas that are still inhabited. What to do with the radioactive soil is a controversial matter, and the government has been bringing it to the evacuation zone.

We were getting very close to our destination, and I was starting to have an inkling that we were not going to bring Nathan to the park we'd been promising him. Everyone on the streets was wearing a construction worker uniform. Our little family of white people, squinting at our maps and with car seats in the back, drew "what are you doing here??" stares.

When we found our way into the park, everything was gated off and the only people around were doing construction. I hoped Nathan wouldn't see the empty slides and swings as we turned the car around and tried to figure out our next destination. The poor kid had to have known at least a little about what was going on, though, because he began requesting with more and more urgency, "Get out!" We found a gas station, and I explained that I had young children who were tired and hungry, that we had our own food, and that we just wanted to know the closest place to eat it. They gave us a restaurant name. It got us back to the highway we would need to go on to our hotel, though, and so we decided to drive along it and try to find somewhere to stop. We pulled out into one more place that said it was an ocean park. This one was the strangest of all. There were lots of cars parked...and even buses driving through. But there were no passengers on the buses and no people to be seen. I still don't know what it meant, but we gave up without looking further and went to the restaurant.

I felt the loss of human life distinctly when the disaster first happened, and I don't want to minimize that at all. But I felt a totally different sadness going to Iwaki this time around. The loss of the ocean. We drove just a little bit through the actual tsunami zone. The first picture I have here shows a sign along the side of the road that showed that we were in the site of the great flooding. There were still gaps in the houses, but the signs really were necessary to tell you that was where you were from looking at the land. Much of the ocean, on the other hand, seems to be the site of major construction projects. 

One of my favorite things to do is to sit on the edge of the ocean and get lost in infinity. I sit there and look at the boundless water and let the ocean preach the infinite nature of our creator and his love to me. It is rest at the deepest level. 

Now, it's quite possible that if we weren't in a car with two kids, there still would have been a way to be persistent enough to do this. But what I found as we drove along the sea where the water had came in was that much of the ocean now looked like this...

Nathan loved the construction equipment, of course. But rather than turning into a relaxing day to play and rest, the day was a reminder of how much life is still NOT back to normal in many of the places touched by this disaster. 

We ended up checking into the hotel early. I asked them where we could go to see the water and once again got very strange looks. I wondered if I was being insensitive. I thought that people wanting to visit Iwaki's beaches should be a sign of hope, but the hotel workers explained to us rather delicately that people didn't really go to the ocean anymore. They suggested the aquarium, which was our plan for the next day anyway. Our kids really needed to be done driving, so we gave up for the day. Joel took Nathan for a run around outside and I lamented that we had just done four hours of driving to give our son a walk. But we made the most of it. One of the wonderful things about being two years old is that new places are exciting, even if they're just streets and hotel rooms. 

We did have fun the next day at the aquarium. Nathan made me really sprint to keep up with him in the crowds at some moments and left lots of fingerprints on the tanks. 

And he got a little time in the water. The aquarium has created this beach for kids to play in. You can see the boat behind us that is the real water, and the huge pump in the middle of this area to bring the water in. There are tide pools on the side, even, where the kids can go in and touch starfish. It was a fun little tame beach, well bounded and safe. Nathan was in heaven, and carried handfuls of sand to dump in the water for as long as we let him.

I found myself thinking about C.S. Lewis and Narnia and the famous line about Aslan. “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “...Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” 

I can't imagine what it is to live alongside the ocean, that same ocean that preaches the infinite love of God, having seen it sweep in and sweep away houses and lives. What it means to KNOW that the ocean is not safe. I imagine that when they sit and stare at the water, they don't think about love. I don't blame them at all. I don't blame them at all for the concrete barriers being put up, for creating little safe places where kids can play without fearing the waves or the radiation counts. At the same time, I feel sad. Sad because I love the roar of the waves and losing myself in infinite horizons. Sad because I can't believe how hard it is to get to something so big. I wondered how often I've done the same thing with God. I've walked with him enough to know that C.S. Lewis is dead on. God is not safe, but He IS good. And sometimes, walking along with Him, there are Job days where everything we hold dear is torn away the way so many precious lives were in Iwaki. When the One who was our refuge suddenly seems to be the one who is against us, it's so tempting to build those concrete barriers to keep Him out, or to bottle Him up into something that seems much safer to deal with than the open sea or the God of the Universe Himself.

We did finally find somewhere to gaze out on the ocean. We circled around a seaside park until we found a little stairway leading up to a lookout. It wasn't marked, and there was no parking. Certainly it was not a place we could set out lunch as I'd hoped before getting Nathan back to play at the aquarium as promised. But for about two hurried minutes, the scene below was mine. And the ocean still preaches louder than peoples' words to me: He is worth the danger.

Delight

When I first came to Fukushima, what I wanted to say to the Japanese people was that there was hope. A lot of other people were carrying that message too. The Christian version of hope is, of course, a little different from the Japanese word that was scrawled across every business, stretched across bridges...a word that sometimes makes me feel a little feisty. It's the word "Ganbatte!"It's often translated "Fight!" but really has a wide range of meanings. Don't give up. Do your best. Keep at it.

At the worst of times, when I hear this word my heart sinks, because it means, "Nothings going to change, so you just carry on no matter what it costs you." Which is when it makes me feisty...I like to believe things can change for the better. Other times someone tells me to "ganbaru" and I find myself strangely encouraged and realize that somewhere along the line the word has worked it's way into me, and if it's said in the right way, it really does make me feel stronger.

The Japanese people have definitely "ganbaru"ed in response to the disaster. Parks, schools, and riversides have had the top soil scraped away over the years we've been here so that they could be recovered in radiation free top soil. Radiation detectors are usually proudly placed in these areas so we can see the lower levels. Recently my students have been telling me about the government's work to redo their own personal homes. One student had 20 workers at her house over a number of days. They washed her roof and drain pipes, scraped the top soil off most of her garden and built a small concrete tower on her property which they used to contain the top soil. She was told they would pick it up at some point, but she and her classmates chucked at the promise. I suggested she paint it since it might be around for awhile.

I think it's why I've stopped talking about hope. Not because the Christian message of hope has anything to do with getting top soil radiation levels down, but because that's what people think hope is. Over and over I have heard people give their hope: that Fukushima will be normal again. That all will be as it was. And I am left thinking...I don't hope that at all. I hope that in the midst of fear and shame, you'll find a God whose love is so amazing that your lives will never be the same again. I hope you'll find that he's more than one of the shrine gods that you leave wishes for, hoping for their power but not expecting a relationship. I hope you'll learn He's father, savior, living, close and holy.

My message has changed, though it's not one I have very many chances to tell. And it's not just changed from watching the Japanese people, lest I give the wrong impression. I've found that each city I've followed the Lord in there is a different challenge...something that threatens to suck the faith right out of a person. You see it as you watch the people, and you feel it as it pulls at your own heart. The longer I'm with people the more I find that their struggles become my struggle, and as I've lived in Fukushima I find that the battle, the war, the daily challenge is delight. The lesson Fukushima is teaching me is that delighting in God, not just serving him, not just expecting him in the future, not just proclaiming him, is the difference between life and death. Delight knocks down self-pity, defeats "the grass is always greener" mentality, and opens doors for intimacy with him that otherwise feel sealed shut.

I guess that's a long blog to say something really simple, but it's a simple thing that I find I need to remember every day. Delight means He is good and has good things in store with us even when our city is polluted with radiation. Delight means there is Someone beautiful to look at when morning sickness is insanely strong and a little scary. Delight means that no matter how bad things look, we know we are headed for an amazing home, that we aren't there yet, and that every hard moment has a treasure somewhere inside it.

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." ~2 Corinthians 4:16-18

It is for freedom...

It wasn't the finest of missionary moments. The near-fainting spells often come after getting out of a dentist's chair--perhaps because my head has been lower enough than my body that it gets adequate blood flow to panic before then. Since Nathan's birth, my trust of doctors (especially Japanese ones) and ability to show any kind of bravery in medical situations feels like it's at an all time low. And trust me, it's always been low.

When I was slightly more determined to be brave, I could often make a run for it. Many times after painful dentist visits I would somehow murmur my way through paying a bill, making a followup appointment, whatever was necessary, and then walk decidedly to the car or outside step, to finally squat down and get my head between my knees before my vision clouded over too far. Today I tried to do the same at my first visit to a Japanese dentist, but found my thoughts were so fuzzy as my vision was clouding and my head was spinning that the Japanese to schedule a new appointment wouldn't form. I finally gave in, admitted I was dizzy, and had to curl up on a waiting room bench for a few minutes. God is gracious and lunch hour had started and it was a private little moment between the dental hygienist and me (the only thing worse than almost passing out at procedures is when it becomes a scene), but I still left just feeling yucky. I'm going to be thirty next year. I have a son. Isn't this about the time that bravery is supposed to kick in?

I've spent much of the day with my mind spinning. What freaks me out so much? What is a Christian to do when fear is kicking them down so often? When God and angels and prophets and Jesus and disciples all say without ceasing in the Bible: "Do not fear"? My thoughts wandered through all the books of the Bible and wondered if I could think of any that gave a more step by step answer to the "how" of "do not fear"...I couldn't think of one off the top of my head. Of course, it says that perfect love casts out all fear. But it seems like perfect love is often hard to get to during those times. The fact of the matter is that there are still life events that shake my ability to trust God's goodness--which makes it hard to rest in it. So what do I do, being a person who truly believes that He is good *all* the time?

Nathan went down early tonight, and Joel is eating ramen with co-workers. When my internet flashed out, I realized this was starting to look an awful lot like a God set-up. What do you know--even busy moms with little ones clinging to their ankles get dates with God! Amid pouring out of frustrations and time to worship, a book of blessings on my bookshelf crossed my mind for the second or third time. I decided to get it and flip it open and see where it took me.

"Beloved one, listen with your spirit to God's Word for you in Galatians 5:1. 'It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.' Be released into your full freedom in Christ to be entirely whole . . . You are not meant just to survive. You are meant to thrive and be whole, and free, and complete. . . Receive the tender correction of your Shepherd. Sometimes he uses his rod and staff to guide you, lest you stray from his care in paths of righteousness, but your soul resists. Welcome your Shepherd's discipline for your good. He guides you to persevere into full freedom in himself that is your right in him. Persist and stand firm in him. Be blessed with all the liberty of the Lord. It's yours, because Jesus set you free. Be blessed in his purpose for you to live free in full confidence. Be blessed in the name of your Deliverer." (Sylvia Gunter, You Are Blessed In the Names of God).

As I was praying over these words, I realized something. So much of my shame in this fear is that I came to Fukushima to share hope with the fearful. As I watched so many people terrified of earthquakes, scared of radiation, that was what I wanted to give them. But we can't give other people what we don't have ourselves. The thing is, I am fearless when it comes to earthquakes and radiation. I just...am. So, I suppose I felt that meant I could teach people about hope. But, as God has called me to walk through a traumatic birth, processing the possibility and terror of a second child born in the same place (I'm not pregnant--just processing the possibility since we feel for now that God is calling us to stay in Fukushima) and seems to be continuing to push me into painful medical situations where I must trust medical professionals while dealing with a language and cultural barrier, it is obvious that I have so much to learn about hope and trust.

I wonder if this is where a lot of relief work goes horribly wrong. When we step in to try to help a group of suffering people, but we have not yet lived through our own horrors, we have nothing real to say. I don't know if there's anything as fearful to me as being poked and prodded in painful ways without knowing if the authority in question understands what I'm saying, or if I've understood what they're about to do...But I'm hopeful as I look at these experiences and think...when I find God here, I'm *really* going to have found something amazing. I realize more and more that what I really want is not freedom from pain, but freedom from fear. Christ has set us free. I can't wait to know it more deeply.

Raising a baby in Japan...the four month checkup

There are some things that Japan does really well. So, while I'm not in what I would consider an ideal location (for me) to deliver babies or raise kids, I have been very impressed by the public health community here. Nathan's one month check up was back at the clinic where he was born, but the two month check-up took place in our apartment. A woman from the city office called and made an appointment with me, and then came, weighed Nathan, and sat with me for a long time answering all my questions about vaccines and services and the next steps. Parents are given a book at this two month appointment that lists local day cares, mama circles and play groups, obstetrician's offices, and even things like emergency drop off places where you can bring your kid without notice in an emergency and they will receive care. She sat for a long time and explained what was in the book so that I didn't have to fumble around with my dictionary and figure it out for myself. Very helpful!

Of course, there are still many things I don't get. I showed up at a local doctor's office a couple months ago trying to figure out where I do our "three month" appointment. I don't know where I got the idea in my head that there was an appointment every month. But we were all confused, and the polite staff finally managed to communicate that I should go to them for vaccines, but that there were no more official appointments until 4 months, and that one was done by the city.

So, I was a little apprehensive about a health check done "by the city". My image before going was that we would kind of be marched like cattle through a gymnasium...military style shots in the butt as you walk in a line past the person giving the shots...and while I was being apprehensive about this, Nathan's fourth month kind of came and went without me figuring out where and when we could have this city check. We got a postcard right about when he turned five months giving the dates for the next month that it was available. So, yesterday, I got up my courage and we went to the appointment.

You know what? Japan does a few things really well. We were in a large room, but they had intentionally sorted us into small groups so that we had a group of other moms to go through the various processes with and to talk to while we were waiting. I wasn't able to make the best use of this time, because I spent about the entire half an hour we were waiting getting help filling out detailed medical forms that I could only partially read. Three cute young volunteers were assigned to us for this task, and we struggled through words like diabetes and tuberculosis and pre-eclampsia until I could figure out my answers to everything.

After that, we went in where we sat down to talk with a person one on one. The public health lady very simply asked how I was doing physically and how I was doing emotionally and we had a very comfortable and personal feeling conversation about postpartum recovery and adjusting to new motherhood. We went from there to height and weight checks, then for a simple medical exam. Nathan decided he wanted to show off, and when the doctor flipped him over to his belly, he popped up on his hands and knees. We were all in shock. He has been rolling and creeping around, and he does a lot of the pushing up to his hands. But I've never seen him actually on his knees before. Our days of only partial childproofing are coming to an end, I think! Then we sat down as a group with a nutritionist who gave us the low down on solid foods. At the end, they sat us down one-on-one again and went over anything they thought was important and made sure none of our questions had been missed. There were a lot of individualized recommendations...one woman was lectured about vaccines, and I wondered if we would be since we're a little behind schedule...but they just reminded us that we should have checked out his hips by now, and helped us find a doctor close to home where we could make sure they're okay. We ran in and out of that doctor in about 15 minutes on the way home.

It's a little crazy trying to navigate the medical system with a baby for the first time when you're mostly illiterate! And it's a little different here to figure out where to ask questions. I find that there is usually zero time with the actual doctor to ask questions unless you ask for it. So I'm finally learning that, rather than saving my questions for the doctor, to make sure to ask the nurses up front, or to take time with these wonderful public health people to figure out what's up.

Nathan's Baptism

After a LOT of wrestling over what I thought about infant baptism vs. adult baptism, I was surprised when I found myself in tears this morning sitting in the front pew in church with my husband and my son, waiting to bring him up for baptism. More than just having come to a place of surrender, somehow I was actually excited for it too. (I've been raised in churches that do both, so I really wanted to wrestle it through with God before I made a choice for our kids. And Joel, who has never been confused about the issue, was patient enough to allow me to do the wrestling before we went through with it.) Nathan screamed pretty much from the second we stood up to baptize him up until we finished praying for him at the end...and then I was able to settle him down. So, I was glad I had that one reflective moment sitting in the pew before we brought him up and all my attention was on him rather than the words.

We decided to baptize him on Pentecost Sunday. The Japanese churches I've been in usually do baptisms on Christmas and Easter, but Pentecost is another option. I've always thought Pentecost would be an awesome day for baptisms, but especially because it was the day that God said "Yes!" to the prayers for a baby. It felt really fitting to offer Nathan back on the same day a year later that I found out he was coming. Crazy how much can change in a year!

Nathan barely calmed down for a picture

Cindy and Nathan

Suda-san has become one of Nathan's adopted grandmas. Nathan will get to meet his real grandmas this summer, but I'm thankful for adopted Japanese grandmothers!

Me with Pastor Nomura and Nathan

In Pastor Nomura's sermon, he talked about how special the baptism was because it is the first baptism he has gotten to do since the earthquake. He talked about God providing people who are willing to raise their children here, and I was so encouraged. When I came to Fukushima, it seemed like such a strange call . . . like I had so little to give at that time in my life. I remember praying that God would use our presence there, if nothing else, to communicate hope. I often forget, since my words never seem to communicate hope the way I'd hope they would, how much it really can mean just to stand with people in a place. I hope to be able to do more for them someday...to someday have the Japanese and the wisdom to speak more in. But I am encouraged to know that living here with a baby is an encouragement to the Christians who are standing here.

Introducing the little one!

A few days old.

I'm sitting here now with my one month old son curled up on my stomach. Nothing better than snuggling with a content, sleeping baby! Here's the part where I want to write all of you a ten page novel about the birth and life with him. We'll see how long this nap time lasts!

I've wondered if I should write up an entry about giving birth in Japan. I was encouraged to read a lot of different birth stories from foreigners who did just that while I was pregnant. But, I'm not sure that I actually feel like writing up my whole birth story for anyone who stumbles on this blog to read. If anyone ends up here who is pregnant in Japan and wants more info, feel free to comment and get in touch with me. I'd love to help others get more info!

40 weeks pregnant!

What I will say is, the birth was difficult...not necessarily because I was in Japan. I do wonder if it might have been different somewhere else, but that is more because I gave birth in a rural area where the option I really wanted was not available. Someday, I still hope to have a water birth in a birth center supported by midwives instead of doctors. This time, I gave birth in a small clinic with a doctor. There are many women's clinics that do births in Japan. At mine, the first story of a pretty small building is the clinic, the second is where women are hospitalized postpartum, and the third story is labor and delivery. I was so fortunate to be able to have not only Joel with me, but also my good friend Cindy who both helped with labor and translated. I really didn't feel like there was even one moment where I didn't understand what was going on because of language.

Proud daddy with his brand new son!

The short story is that I had moments where contractions felt like they were becoming regular starting on my due date. I went into true labor six days later around noon, just after going to the doctor for my regular appointment. Nathan was born about 13 hours later, right at 41 weeks. What was very amazing to me was that I had no concept of time, and it felt like everything was going very, very fast to me. Unfortunately, it wasn't...at least the pushing stage wasn't. So, after pushing for about an hour and a half, since Nathan's heart was showing signs of distress during contractions and there was meconium in the water, we had to extract him via vacuum.  This was all without pain meds, which was how I wanted to do it, and I think it would have been a good decision except for the vacuum. I don't recommend unmedicated vacuum extractions. ;-) His positioning was a little off...the doctor kept explaining that he had been trying to come face first, and a little sideways. The cord was wrapped around his chest and neck also. But despite the pain and difficult delivery, Nathan is here. He came out a little purple, and not crying right away, but they had him breathing quickly, and his Apgar at 5 minutes was a 9, so all is well. The poor guy had a huge circular bruise from the vacuum on top of his head for a few days, and was a little jaundiced, but by a few days in was gaining weight like a pro and doing great!

One of our great nurses!

A Japanese hospital stay is typically very long compared with America. We spent a week with some wonderful nurses. Joel was able to sleep on a couch in the room. It almost felt like a protected "practice run" at being new parents. Nathan had to stay in the nursery per policy for most of the first 24 hours, but the night after that we kept him...until 5am when we called a nurse to take him. So we were able to ease our way into making it through the night. I was really grateful for the long hospital stay. I really felt ready to go home around day 5, and I can't really imagine how women manage being home with a newborn and healing up just a day or two after giving birth.

Nathan and his buddy in the clinic nursery

The most intimidating thing about going home was just how thin our walls are. After a week in a super climate controlled hospital room, something about our cold bedroom with the winter winds that can make things rustle right through the window panes seemed like a bad place to bring a baby into. We're still waiting our first electric bill, as this is the first time living in Japan that we've left the heat on 24/7.

Our celebration meal at the hospital

Life with Nathan has been wonderful and challenging. I'm surprised at how expressive the little guy can be. I know I have all sorts of new mom hormones raging through me, but even after a month, I can spend hours just watching his face and feel so much joy over him. I have trouble carrying conversations sometimes because being in the room with Nathan is like being in the room with someone I have a crush on...so distracting!

Time just to snuggle and be together

Within the last week or two, he's started making many more coos and baby sounds. He is most happy when I can settle in our rocking chair and he can go back and forth between eating, snuggling and sleeping, and perching on my shoulder looking at the light coming in the window. While he's perched he'll be making all kinds of coos and gurgles and even grinning from time to time...until he remembers that he likes eating pretty much all the time and then it transitions into him making his mouth into a little round "o" and trying to eat my shirt until I take him down and feed him. I was worried about feeling lonely with so much time alone at home with a baby--and I do miss more adult conversations--but there is a lot of peace at just accepting that right now what's best is snuggling with this little guy while he's little.

Up until this past week, we haven't been able to set the baby down without him crying. Luckily, he will snuggle in bed with us, so we've been able to sleep. I'm glad that I had done all the reading on co-sleeping before he was with us and decided I was for it (though I was a little nervous at first), because I don't know how we would have gotten any sleep otherwise. Now I can often set him down for an hour or two during the day and get a good nap in or get a few things done around the house. Speaking of naps, this one is over! But I was able to write much more than I thought. :)

My little man :)

The Story of a Growing Bump

I wasn't sure I would ever be here: sitting with a rounding belly with a set of very, very small toes poking around my insides.

I was 22 and on my way to Japan the first time a doctor told me, "If you want to have kids, you should do so early." Ironically, at this point, I'm fairly certain her suspected diagnosis of me was not true. Five years later, a couple months after my wedding, another doctor looked at an ultrasound and said, "I've never seen someone look like this who was younger than 50 years old!" She was doubtful I could have kids right then, but more concerned that I might have cancer. This made my second move to Japan a dramatic whirlwind of a ride with a quick diagnostic surgery and many unanswered questions about what this would mean about my future ability to be a biological parent.

How do you put into words what God can do during 14 months of longing for someone who has not yet come to be? How do I explain what God did? How can I explain the fullness of blessing that came because we had to wait--and the fullness of celebration at the gift that is being given? I want to try, though the words will probably come up far short.

I must give the disclaimer that I was *barely*, *barely* even able to claim the title of infertile. Part of me cringes saying it because we got pregnant in 14 months (the definition is greater than 12 months trying without success). I feel like I have to lower my eyes to avoid making cyber-eye contact with the women whose stories I've come to know...women who have tried ten years. Women who have miscarried every time they get a glimmer of hope. Women who get poked by needles in infertility clinics every single day in hopes to make their bodies able to have a baby. Women who are mothers to so many babies in heaven while the world around them doesn't even know they are mothers. Women who lost babies big enough to cradle in their arms for a few precious minutes or days as they said 'goodbye'. I ache for these women still, and I am humbled as I watch the weeks pass, my belly grow bigger, the internal kicks grow from small bumps into thumps that move my whole stomach... the awe just overtakes me sometimes: God's kindness...how is God this kind?

The hardest part about the 14 months was that, with what the last doctor had told me, it seemed incredibly likely that I was actually quite able to conceive a baby but not necessarily able to have the egg successfully implant. Let me tell you, this can mess with your head. This means that I would have the potential to be pregnant right in the period of time where pregnancy cannot be detected by a home test, and then the baby would be lost. I was so afraid of this, and every normal PMS symptom usually convinced me that it was happening month after month. What I feared actually happened in November last year when I took a pregnancy test that turned out positive. That pregnancy ended hours later the same day. I'm not sure if it was my only early miscarriage or not, but it was the only one we ever caught.

What surprised me most about those few November hours was that I was suddenly scared stiff. Here I had been crying often about not being able to get pregnant for the past few months, and suddenly, when it happened, I found myself totally shocked and unprepared. I really believe that God allowed us to "catch" this pregnancy because He needed me to switch my mind over from preparing for a lifetime of infertility to actually allowing myself to prepare my heart for motherhood and a baby. I realized that my tendency with anything that hurts, or anything that is disappointing is to push the desire as far away from my heart as I can. But God had finally pushed me up against a desire that I couldn't do that with. It seemed impossible to shake this desire for a baby. The miscarriage in November made me realize that I had to walk forward both trusting God if the baby never came, or if more miscarriages came instead, but somehow to also keep my hands open for Him to give us a child if that was His will. It is the hardest narrow line I've ever had to walk.

My picture of Shadrach et al...forgive the poor quality photo!

I soaked in the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in Daniel 3. I love their response to King Nebuchadnezzar when they're told they will be thrown into the fiery furnace if they do not bow down and worship his statue. They say, "We do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it and He will rescue us from your hand. But if He doesn't, we want you to know, O King, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold." (Daniel 3:16-18) I've always been uneasy praying for physical healing, or praying for greatly desired things, because I'm uneasy with the philosophy some Christians have, which seems to say that if you have faith, you are guaranteed healing and prosperity. But this verse seemed to bring the whole thing into the right place for me. I needed to walk forward believing that God could bring us a baby. I needed to trust that He would give us a baby enough to prepare my heart to become a mother, even if that preparation made the pain of not being a mother much worse. And I needed to continue to serve Him right where I was, outside of the potential mother identity, in case He didn't. I worked to walk forward this way for the next seven months.

In May, I was relieved because it was the first month in my married life I honestly believed that I couldn't be pregnant. I was really ready for a month without thinking about pregnancy, and our timing had been lousy compared to any other month we'd been trying. Lousy enough that I was fairly certain it was impossible. May was also the month of Pentecost and the Global Day of Prayer, which meant that we had our ten days of prayer scheduled from the 17th to the 27th. I was so excited about planning the prayer room and having something like prayer to pour my heart into for an extended period of time.

We got into praying, and a couple days into the prayer week, I was late. Which meant I was wrong. It was possible for me to be pregnant. Very soon, all of my time in the prayer room, which I had had wonderful intentions to spend talking to God about things other than babies, turned into lots of time talking to God about babies. I let Him know that I really wanted an answer from Him...that if He wasn't going to give this to me, I wanted to move on and serve Him and stop being so bogged down in a personal desire. I begged Him just to tell me whether He would ever give me a baby or not, because I believed I could hang on cheerfully for a long time if the answer was 'yes', and I also believed I could pull my heart out and direct it towards better things if the answer was 'no'. His answer surprised me. It was one of those very quiet thoughts that could have been me, or it could have been Him, but it seemed like it might be Him just because of how completely it stopped me in my tracks. That thought was, "Your faith during uncertainty is a precious thing to Me."

I was tempted to keep pushing Him for an answer. But I knew I'd actually been given something more precious than a 'yes' or a 'no'. This self of mine...the one who seemed totally unacceptable in human terms...the one who had moved to Japan and then thought about a baby she didn't have more than she thought about the mission work she did have...the one who burst into tears in public at the most inconvenient times and with strangers and who never seemed to have it together enough to make a good impact anymore...God was looking down at that mess of a child of His and saying, "The fact that you believe I can do this even though it is causing you this much pain is precious to Me." ...and that was more precious to me than certainty. And I felt I had true permission, for the first time, to outright ask Him to give us a baby.

This did not make it a stress-free week by any means. There were many more hours in prayer. And I felt like I was caught in limbo...like the important thing had been settled with God, and now I had to wait for Sunday, for Pentecost, for the last day of the prayer week, which happened to be the day it was acceptable to take a pregnancy test. God does enjoy His flashy timing when He's showing off. :)

Two pink lines on Sunday morning. And unlike the pregnancy test in November, where the "pregnant" line was broken and light...the second line this time was bold, strong, and certain. I had just enough time to go to church and tell my friends who had walked me through this and prayed through this with me before I had to run home to start the first trimester morning sickness thrills.

God's kindness. There have been so many things I've loved that God has said 'no' to, or pulled me away from. It is so easy for me to understand the side of God that is jealous, the side that strips away, that cuts off to bring greater life and greater fruit and growth. I've spent the past five years nurturing my ability to see His very real goodness in the desert and in hardship. And I wouldn't trade those hardships and lessons for anything. But this... This is grace. This is the verse "We love because He first loved us" being poured out. I feel like I am watching Him pour love into me until I could burst. And I'm realizing that this is how He heals the hard hearts. The cross is only the beginning of grace. That grace continues and lives and breathes...love poured out in the wounded places. Redemption that is able to cross any boundary put up by sin and by pain and make the dead places live. This would be true baby or not. But the little wiggles inside me keep making the tangible reminder: He loves us first. It's not our job to manufacture an ability to love, but He pours that love right into us to pour back out to others.

As of yesterday, we've hit 26 weeks. The baby is due January 26th. :)