Tagged: Blogging
The Mother
The baby is not the last thing that will be removed during an emergency C-section. Neither will the baby be last in a planned C-section or vaginal delivery for that matter. The last thing will be the placenta.
****
Attempting to quell some of my new-found, seemingly limitless nervous energy, I quickly flipped through the CD book. I was searching for the one she wanted to hear.
“This is it. This is the last car ride as a childless couple,” I pointed out, hoping to distract her. Her musical request now playing, I put it in reverse and slowly backed down the driveway.
She was ten days overdue.
Almost from the moment of conception, though definitely intensifying during the Lamaze classes, I had witnessed her become more and more terrified by the thought of a C-section.
“Do we have the movies?” she asked, playing along in our little game.
“I put them and the DVD player in the backpack three days ago,” I reassured her, tapping the bag stowed behind me.
****
Having completed the stretching of her skin, the doctor will cease to give consideration to anything or anyone–whether the room’s familiar beeps and buzzing, his assistant’s breathing, or even his own thoughts–as he silently and hurriedly slices through the exposed portion of her tough, clammy, and purple uterus with precision.
Like a consecrated moment of silence, his worth can now be demonstrated solely through execution.
****
“Well, looks like you’re all settled in. This seems silly. We’re going to sit for twelve hours, eh? Just waiting? Do you want me to put on one of the movies? Or I can read to you from one of the books? I brought T.C. Boyle’s new one.”
The hospital room’s television was already on. She was viewing it from her bed as she shifted her attention over to me briefly. I kept talking about random trivialities, but we both knew there was only one thought being entertained.
Guys at work, fathers, had recently reminded us–unhelpfully–how doctors were paid more for performing C-sections. “That’s another reason why there are so many these days,” they would speculate. “But the female body needs to experience a natural delivery if the mom is going to come out of the pregnancy alright,” they would continue, with a look that meant alright in the head. “There’s a lot of stuff going on in a woman’s body during a pregnancy and just cutting her open and pulling out the baby does not let nature take its course,” ran the last theory explained before I noticed her dilated pupils and silenced them.
Back in the hospital, she said, “I can’t eat, but if you want to grab some food like we planned, now’s a good time.” She tried to smile.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” I asked before leaving.
****
Her rushing breaths will never abate even as she unavoidably seeks the eyes of the motherly voice that just announced, “Okay! We’re getting ready to pull baby.”
Four hands will squeeze into her abdomen. They belong to the doctor and his assistant who will have positioned themselves on opposite sides of her. Not even sparing the moment it would take to make eye contact with each other, they will then begin to alternate a violent pulling and tugging. Their pace for stretching her skin will be a mean one–precisely between reckless and urgent. Pull-tug-pull-tug-pull-tug.
****
“Why don’t we see how laying on your left side works again?” nurse number five suggested. I had just finished my burger.
The nurse–like the others before her–mechanically touched the bedding and then my wife as she waited for task completion.
“I’ll be back in a bit, after we see if that works,” she said on her way out the door.
On one of the screens near the bed, I noticed that the green number relaying my wife’s heart rate had climbed ten digits since last I looked.
Only two of the twelve hours we were told we would have to wait before they would induce delivery had elapsed when a tall forty year old doctor that we had never seen before walked into the room.
“The baby’s heart rate is staying consistent through your contractions which is good,” he began. “But the baby’s heart rate is dropping after them.”
Hearing nothing, I turned to her in time to see her hold back her tears by nodding rapidly in response.
“We need to do a C-section to deliver the baby,” he concluded. Then he left the room.
All I could think about was what the guys had said. The doctor is greedy. He knows the baby would probably be fine, and the only reason he told us anything is to justify his payday.
“I can’t believe this,” I began aloud with an undignified tone that feigned a feeling of helplessness. “Can you believe this?” I asked her as she trembled uncontrollably. “This is exactly what everyone told us would happen. I am so sorry. We don’t even know this man and we were supposed to wait twelve hours before even beginning to induce. It has only been two. What the hell is going on here?”
Waiting for help, she cried.
****
These days scalpels under a new name are plugged into a power outlet and cauterize as they cut. There will be no blood.
****
I came into the operating room after being shown how to put on all the disposable sterile gear. The room appeared to still be under construction. A nurse led me to my wife’s side along a path that ensured that the blue sheet hanging over her torso, the sheet meant to obstruct her view of the procedure, would also obstruct mine.
****
Arms and legs strapped down, the woman will lay on a padded table awake though nauseous from the anesthetics.
“How are you doing, sweetie?” the nurse will ask just prior to the doctor making the initial incision. The doctor will not hear this, his thoughts centering instead on getting the baby out.
The hot blade will then slice through her unfeeling skin, fat, and muscle with little resistance.
****
Her restricted hand moved. The finest edge in the room was the courage behind the words that I will never forget. Piercing every form of fear, she filled the world with five syllables.
“Will you hold my hand?”
Surely Colgate Is Aware?
To be clear, this is the working end of H-‘s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles flavored kid’s toothpaste tube. Though more slowly than after brushing with my Arm and Hammer Baking Soda toothpaste on vacation because I forgot to pack hers, she still runs to get a drink of water after spitting because–her words–“Hot!”
(I just wanted to give you something to ponder while you wait, breath bated, for me to complete the first short story I’ve written in 355 days.)
Another One Bites The Dust
I’ve got a killer short story in me that is just needing a few more days to ferment. In the meantime, I wanted to share that I finished my semester today.
Walking down memory lane, last semester I was working full-time and had four finals on my last day of the 15 credit hour semester. I think that day felt amazing because of the difficulty of the task. Tonight, I don’t feel as relieved or accomplished or whatever. Partly, I confess, it’s because I am a bit upset with one of my final’s scores. I read so much for my theology survey class. The problem is that I think I would have gotten the same grade on the multiple choice part if I didn’t read anything. It’s frustrating.
But I think the real reason I feel different this semester is that I’ve hit the sweet spot of learning that is at once joyous and terrifying. I’ve hit the spot where I realize how little I know and how much work I have ahead of me in order to get the degree. It’s also the spot where I realize how my life is at a significant crossroads. I started this seminary thing almost as a joke. I’m not laughing anymore, and that scares me.
****
Tonight, H- and I went to the second to last (15 of 16) Colorado Symphony concert of the season. They played Dvorak’s 9th symphony. One of my professors describes Christianity as glasses. Would you understand what I mean if I said that after two semesters of seminary I have come to see music more clearly? I originally bought the season tickets to force myself to take a break from studying last fall during the insanity. But tonight was something much richer than a break or an escape. I don’t mean something intangible, quite the opposite. I mean that I am starting to see life clearly. The creativity. The fragility. The hope. The despair. The will.
Without God, drowning in Trump, Clinton, netflix, news at 9, work, diapers, dishes, football, email, texting, sexting, fb, tweeting, snapchat, instragram, drudge report, isis, obamacare, processes, nothingness, illusions, spirituality, marijuana, alcohol, and most poignantly, without God, drowning in me seems worthy. Alas, I am not worthy. The triune God, however, is worthy.
Pray; pray that God has mercy on us.
Amen.
Two Reponses: On Love, Belief, and Doubt
Last post I assumed you knew what Paul wrote about love. To be clear, Paul defines love as follows: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres” (1 Cor. 13:4-7 NIV). For myself, I cannot make sense of things without comparisons. In this discussion of love, then, I have to remind myself that nowhere does Paul mention fleeting sentiments or reactions to stimuli. Love is a matter of the will, it appears. This is why we recognize Paul’s writing as the inspired Word of God, not merely a precursor to Webster’s dictionary.
****
Why do I write about faith?
After my second home printer broke some years ago, I vowed to never buy another printer. I told myself I would just head to Staples or illicitly use the printer at work if I ever needed one. Now that I’m living on campus, I just walk over to the library and use the printers that are sure to work.
Why do I write about faith?
The other day when I was at said library I couldn’t help but notice what I normally notice while I’m surrounded by Christians.
Why do I write about faith?
Maybe it’s because I’m used to being around Air Force pilots, or maybe it’s the impression that the manliest men of all–oilfield roughnecks–made upon my person.
Why do I write about faith?
I once worked in a high-end litigation support company who supported the best attorneys in town; maybe it’s that experience.
Why do I write about faith?
You see, at the seminary’s library, I immediately noticed a person because they were obese in a comically disproportionate manner. They were so lumpy and their clothing was as unflattering as imaginable. Their condition was such that they couldn’t rightly walk; God forbid they ever need to get anywhere quickly.
Why do I write about faith?
Next, another individual approached and I was sure to break my stare as their eyes settled upon mine. This person had some sort of physical handicap that resulted in a pronounced limp and what I perceived to be a healthy dose of embarrassment.
Why do I write about faith?
I am not proud of these reactions. I find them repulsive, repugnant, and reprehensible.
Why do I write about faith?
The fact remains, however, that when I take note of the Christians here on campus–the very Christians preparing to lead the faith–I often cannot avoid making the cynical judgement, “These are the people of God? The future does not look bright.”
Why do I write about faith?
Because these are the people of God. Because I can find no greater hope than what is promised to those who respond to God’s relentless pursuit of loving relationship with his creation–you and me.
****
So that I can faithfully count this post as contemplation of humility, let me add that Christian humility involves emptying yourself (myself) of self. Not emptying because self is illusory, but emptying in order that the very real God “may be all in all.” Staring at the coming crucifixion, it was Jesus the Christ who exemplified humility when he prayed, “Yet not as I will, but as you will.”
****
Humility Post 7
A lot of Christians argue that sin is rooted in pride, but I’ve mentioned on here before that I prefer the formulation that all sin is rooted in displacing God from his rightful place.
Humility is apparently the antonym of pride, and that’s why I mention sin here. The book on humility that I’m reading beats a drum of humility is the foundation for Christian virtue because of the fact that pride is the foundation of sin. His point still works for my preference, so I’m just going to run with it. Why is humility so essential?
To support his claim, the author repeatedly brings up the fact that even the disciples disputed among themselves about who was the greatest of them. These were men that walked with Jesus and heard his preaching first-hand. It’s hardly believable that they would do this and yet that this event is included in scripture makes scripture all the more wonderful. The disciples didn’t understand. The disciples didn’t understand. The disciples didn’t understand. Again, the disciples didn’t understand
So the disciples didn’t understand.
This is why humility is so foundational to Christian virtue and Christian character. The disciples saw what we can only read about, and yet they didn’t understand. This reality helps me see that all of my own “understanding life” that was based on ungodly teaching and ungodly people was only an obstruction to God. It also helps me understand the reality of sin. If the disciples didn’t understand, then no one will ever fully understand. We can only put our faith in the hope that God will fulfill his promises.
Specifically, at work tonight a buddy mentioned something about “love” being impossible to define. I said I disagreed and attempted to paraphrase some of Paul’s teaching on “love”. As I believe there is good reason to admit that Paul’s teaching is the inspired Word of God, all that has to happen for God to fulfill his promises is that Paul’s definition is something that I can experience and evaluate. As a divorcee, I can confess that I didn’t “love” my ex-wife. That the relationship divorced is no big shocker then. As a father, though, I now have two responsibilities. I have to work very hard to love my ex-wife in order to prove to my daughter that God exists, moreover when my daughter wants to know what love is, I have to choose how to teach her. Obviously I will teach her God’s definition. Unlike other options, God’s definition is grounded in reality, easy to evaluate its application, and points to a relationship that can only be described as healthy and rich.
Seriously, what are my (our) other options? I guess I could use your definition? Or Hollywood’s? I know that if I try to develop one as I go, I will not succeed. Lesson learned.
Do you see how Christianity isn’t wish-fulfillment or an opiate of the masses? It is simply a religion which confronts reality for what it is. You and I are in a predicament. The predicament is that we can choose humility. The predicament is that humility seems to be at once worthy and suicidal. As for me, I’m choosing humility.
On The Satanic
I’ve shared on here before that when my ex-wife and I were going through our divorce we used a mediator. We were luckier than many couples. Some couples are forced to use a judge. In either situation, however, it is clear that when two people disagree, the best–sometimes the only–solution is for an outside party to make the decisions.
This last week the seminary put on both a seminar and an evening service on the topic of racism. Racism is like a divorce proceeding; except that in racism every single human ever is a petitioner. Who is wise enough to act as judge? Who is impartial enough? Who is not the victim or the perpetrator?
****
I’ve also shared on here that I am in a Christian apologetics class right now. We’ve moved on to Christian ethics, but there is still a heightened feeling of pressure to constantly evangelize. This feeling, for me, has been accompanied by a unique thought. Every once in a while I think to myself, “Boy, this evangelism would be so much easier if I could do it without using the words “Bible”, “God”, “Sin”, “Jesus Christ”, “Resurrection”, and the like. Those words, to most of us, are so hot-button that people can’t think clearly after they are uttered, moreover, people often don’t want to think about them at all .
****
Back to racism as a divorce proceeding involving the entire human race.
Do you understand that there actually does exist an outside Judge and Mediator? Do you understand that sin is the only reason you and I segregate ourselves? Do you understand that a book many people take to be the very revelation of God–the Bible–says we are all created in God’s image and likeness? Do you understand that this necessarily implies that our self-segregation means that we’re willfully looking away from divine beauty? Do you understand that the outside Judge and Mediator–the concretely risen Lord and Savior of you and me, the very Son of God, Jesus Christ–made his ruling on racism known to the world in the Bible? And do you know which race he singled out as worth dying for? The human race.
****
George Clooney has a great line in “O Brother Where Art Thou?” in which he says of the devil, “Well, there are all manner of lesser imps and demons, Pete, but the great Satan hisself is red and scaly with a bifurcated tail, and he carries a hay fork.” To this description, the escaped convicts’ new-found, soul-less, hitchhiking, black companion replies, “Oh, no. No, sir. He’s white, as white as you folks, with empty eyes and a big hollow voice. He likes to travel around with a mean old hound. That’s right.” If I was given a turn in the conversation, I’d describe Satan as Dennis Nedry in Jurassic Park when he is picking up the barbasol shaving creme can with which he’ll steal the dino DNA. Remember that? His entire body jiggles in a giddy laugh at how easy the theft will be.
****
Can you understand post-enlightenment, post-age-of-reason, what the satanic is? The satanic is anything other than the truth. It is lies, distortions, half-truths, diversions, and denials. Take racism. Even widespread knowledge of science’s revelation that “pure” races don’t exist hasn’t helped the problem of racism. The only possible solution to racism must come from some manner of transcendent being. Christianity goes to great lengths to announce that this transcendent being is the triune God who created the universe and sent His Son to die for the sins of mankind some two thousand years ago. Resurrecting from the grave on the third day, Jesus the Christ gave us the victory–if only we choose it.
****
So, no, Satan (the adversary), I am not going to water down the gospel. The good news is only *and precisely* that Jesus Christ is risen. And it is only through Him that humans can be free.
On Freedom
Ever since working at the strip club, I’ve been really struggling with the idea of freedom. For countless reasons related to the nature of the adult industry I began employment there assuming that it exemplified freedom. As a concrete example of this supposed freedom I’ll share with you the following conversation I had with various other men after I became a manager.
“Wait, say that again, you cut out.”
“Sorry. Okay. I was saying that as a manager you’re the one who auditions the strippers. I had never considered that that would be a part of the job.”
“So how do you audition them?”
“Well, they just get up on stage and do their thing and then you tell them yes or no.”
“That doesn’t sound bad.”
“It’s actually just bizarre. The way the whole society is so litigation happy actually affects the way I have to turn them down. I can’t just say “no”. I have to give a reason.”
“A reason?”
“Yeah. Like I have to say, ‘No, because you’re too soft in the middle, not attractive in the face’ or some other true but horrible thing.”
“You’re telling me besides getting to be around naked women all day, you get to tell people the truth? I have to work with people I don’t like and am pretty much unable to tell them the truth all day long if I want to keep my job.”
“Ha. I never thought of it like that. But yeah, I guess it’s nice to not have to lie.”
The question you must ask yourself, the question I had to ask myself after time, is, “Who is more free?” Was it me as the truth-telling strip club manager or my buddies in their seemingly deceit-requiring jobs?
Fast forward to now. I’m finishing up my second semester at an Evangelical Christian seminary that is being funded by the marvelous privilege known as the post 9/11 GI Bill. Over the last seven months I have read enough and experienced enough to pronounce to you here that the Christian claims and beliefs are more real than even the feel of these keys on my fingers. I proclaim this reality with the understanding that it is precisely through honestly admitting the facts of life as being real (that I’m typing this into the internet, or that H- really is in another city with her grandparents because her school has a ridiculously long two-week spring break, or that I feel longing for H-) that allows me to give assent to there being an actual transcendent, though personal, God of the time-space universe.
On the other hand, an acquaintance of mine (possibly many of you) won’t convert because he says modern science has confirmed through quantum entanglement that the laptop isn’t there. We’re not here. The conversation isn’t happening. Words are the scissors that cut through the oneness (nothingness) that is God, he says.
Who is more free? This acquaintance of mine or me?
As I began to reengage Christianity aggressively a little over a year ago, I had the question, “What are we even talking about? What would it mean for me to be a Christian or live a Christian life?” Here’s an example and then I’ll stop for today.
I served as a pilot in the Air Force for eight years. (Hence my Captain-ness.) During that service, I actively took part in combat operations in Iraq (Babylon). I took part in these operations in Iraq because that’s where you sent me. What should I think of this? Should I take pride in my service as most of you think I should? Or maybe I should give in to the remorse I feel over the fact that it is now without a doubt that the men over there who are plotting to attack the West daily, are doing so not because they are freely choosing to, but because I kidnapped or killed one of their buddies or brothers (or at this point dads, really).
And where is God in my war-fighting past? Since I did in fact serve and since part of orthodox Christian doctrine believes God is sovereign, does that mean God wanted me to serve and continue the bloodshed?
Here’s where I come down on freedom. Instead of believing that I have no choice in the matter (which is what those of you who think that modern science tests and approves worldviews categorically believe), I am going to admit that I choose what to believe. Further, I submit that my choice, the option I have chosen, demonstrates the nature of freedom itself. My choice is Christianity. My choice is to repent, to turn, from my inadequate beliefs and their resultant actions. My choice is to submit to the will of God as revealed in the sixty-six books of the Bible. My choice is to relentlessly insist that you–the reader–are a special being created in God’s image and likeness and crowned with glory and honor. My choice is to keep God in all my thoughts as I forge through the journey ahead. My choice is share my life, highs and lows, with you peacefully and truthfully because I want you to consider precisely what it means to exercise freedom and whether it’s true that Christianity, through the resurrection of the god-man Jesus Christ, is the only worldview that offers mankind the ability to be free.
In the end, it seems God won’t allow me to stop fighting for your freedom. From now on, however, I won’t force you to submit at gunpoint. You’ll have to choose to accept freedom as the gift that it is. For your sake and for mine, choose wisely.
Humility Post 5
I have had a couple papers due over the last two weeks and so this post isn’t developing very quickly.
The book on humility that I’ve been reading is written by a priest from some years ago (maybe a couple hundred). I am also doing some reading about Eastern Orthodoxy for a theological synopsis paper.
(Random thought: If you’re a believer and have some time, pick up some systematic theologies and read the chapter on the atonement. Extended thinking on the atonement is, as one says, “Marvelous to relate”.)
Anyhow, taken together (the West and the East), I am beginning to notice something about Evangelicals (or my thought process as an Evangelical) that I think can be more finely tuned. (BTW, I discovered from a friend what Evangelical means as it falls within Protestant. We Evangelicals believe the Bible is true. Apparently there are quite a few “Mainline Protestants” who think the Bible is helpful, but not true. For instance, my sister shared that in KC there was a news story about some 30 or so Methodist pastors who signed something that declared they did not believe Jesus resurrected. Be that as it may, Evangelicals still believe the Bible is true.)
Anyhow, back to humility and the Western and Eastern churches. I’ve mentioned that another exercise I’m doing is memorizing the Psalms. So my big “reveal” in this post about humility is that throughout all these different perspectives it is becoming clear that humility is really just about right orientation towards the one true God. The priest emphasizes this directly. The bishop communicates this by his insistence on mystery. I spent most of the last two weeks pondering the relationship between God’s sovereignty and human responsibility. It appears that that my attempt to solve “the problem” is a feature of my being an Evangelical. The Orthodox church simply calls the sovereignty/responsibility dilemma mystery and keeps its focus on God. Oh well.
The bigger point is that when taken together with David’s psalms, it is becoming clear to me that the very way I have been thinking about God is in need of correction. In the Psalms David never seems to compare God to the way he used to think about him. For some reason we have all these bizarre conceptions of God. I think Sunday school is to blame, but even now I am not following my own advice. See what I mean? It’s easy to get distracted from God, even when talking about him. I am now feeling that I need to eliminate “compare and contrast” past and present out of my walk with God. As in, an ever-vigilant, “Okay, Pete, get a grip. Instead of talking about God, talk to God.”
Finally, as always, when talking about humility and God, I can never forget that gratitude is in order. Put another way: Thank God. It’s almost magical what happens when you thank God.
I Couldn’t Be More Proud
So, remember my anti-bad teachers rant(s)? Only moments ago, H- told me something that *I think* gave me a glimpse of heaven.
She said, “Dad, today I fell asleep at school.”
A bit shocked, I asked, “When? Where were you?”
She said, “While we were watching T.V.”
Yippee!!! Hallelujah!! She’s doing it! Victory!!
I said, “Will you do something for me?”
She answered, “What?”
“Will you fall asleep every time you watch TV?”
(See what I’m doing here?)
“Okay, Daddy.”
So, from now on, if my little ruse works, I’ll have contributed to a problem which proves the problem. I cannot wait for some teacher or administrator to address me about H-‘s sleeping habits at school. The very thought of that moment is, itself, nourishment to my soul.
Brief Note On My Church
Want to know why I love my church? I’ll tell you. On Sunday, as the pastor was wrapping up and about to head to the door in order to greet everyone on their way out, an old lady with a walker–same one as every week–began to be assisted by a younger gentlemen in an effort to get her out of the building before the rest of the congregation was formally dismissed. Nothing special has happened yet. But as she’s heading down the aisle, she, in full conversational volume, starts saying good-bye to all of her friends and offering them “blessings” as it were. So the pastor is talking into the microphone and at the same time this faithful parishioner is distractingly talking out loud to her friends. With me?
I still have an instinct to initially judge the woman and find the behavior inappropriate, but this week for some reason a better angel overtook me. In observing the entire scene from a removed vantage point, I actually gained more respect for the old church and its congregation. The woman’s willingness to talk and the pastor’s steady march to the end signaled that the church isn’t afraid of dying. It’s been there for 150 years, and is going to last at least 150 more. There is no need to act like the woman sinned because she said “good-bye” as she left. Should the Lord tarry, we’re all going to see each other again next Sunday. No big thing.
Maybe this seems insignificant to you, but to me it was yet again a refreshing take on an old, old story.
Captain’s Log 