reflections on life and 2021

Years-in-review are some of my favorite posts to write and to read, but I was surprised to go back over my blog archive and find that I’ve only posted any kind of review for three of the last five years, and each one has looked different. The first was a meticulous month-by-month breakdown that reminds me of coming of age and how simple my life used to be as a 22-year-old newlywed, not yet wounded by traumas I couldn’t have imagined then. The next year, instead of looking backward, I wrote a forward-looking intention to live thankfully—an intention that would be tested beyond my deepest fears. Perhaps because of the rawness of those wounds, I skipped a year and then came back in 2019 with an impersonal roundup of favorite posts. And last year, silence.

In other words, I come to the end of 2021 with no real template to follow and no sure direction to go. So when Tsh Oxenreider (one of my favorite, longtime follows—her current podcast “A Drink with a Friend” is a delight) shared her list of 20 questions to ponder on New Year’s Eve, I was inspired to select a few for what will be yet another different-style year-in-review.

January

February

What was an unexpected joy in 2021?

I’d say “Clara,” because she is a joy, but that was not unexpected. So instead, my short answer is “Parenting.”

It was my first full year of parenting (if you don’t count spending all of 2020 in the trimesters of pregnancy and newbornhood). A woman on a podcast I was listening to earlier this week said something that resonated with me profoundly: “Many people view having children as constricting, but for me it is an expansion.” I was surprised, as someone who once deeply feared how having kids might limit my life, to realize how much I agreed with her. Having Clara has made the logistics of certain things more complicated and limiting, like flying across the country or even just going to the grocery store, but she has allowed me as a person to expand.

She has inspired me to examine my life and make it more of what I’d like it to be. She has reminded me that time is short and living in the past or the future is pointless, but what we do today matters. She has shown me what it is to wake up every day eager to discover and smile and live. And when she’s upset and I comfort her, it’s like I get to return to a moment in my own history where I didn’t experience that kind of compassion, and do it over.

Just the other night she saw me in tears and came over to give me a big hug and share her dear friend, Mrs. Bunny, with me. It was strangely educational for me to witness how she noticed and responded to my emotions—no hesitation, no judgment, no codependency, no trying to fix it or minimize it. Not even an awkward sense of “What do I do?” Just a hug, an open heart, and open hands.

I did not expect that both modeling for and learning from my toddler would be such a joy.

March

April

What was an unexpected obstacle?

Everyone says when you have kids you’ll “never sleep again”—a notion that I strongly take issue with, because good sleep habits start young and we are all created with a biological need for sleep. And Clara has been a fantastic sleeper ever since we got her feeding issues resolved around 3 months old.

So getting clobbered by severe insomnia (something I’ve never had in my entire life) early in 2021 was not the kind of obstacle I expected to be dealing with. It only got more complicated when it turned out to be a flashing red warning sign of my as-yet-untreated postpartum depression, because then I had to navigate around the obstacle of myself, who was living in denial and petrified of trying medication.

But if anything will make you try literally anything, it’s the torment of lying wide awake all night knowing that you do not have the luxury of taking a nap the next day. For the record, Zoloft probably saved my life and my marriage, and I’m glad I finally took it. I’m also glad that now I’m weaning off. :)

May

June

What was your biggest personal change from January to December of 2021?

“Personal” can mean a lot of things, so it’s hard to choose a direction to go with this question, but what first springs to mind is how drastically I’ve changed my approach to exercise over the past year. I’ve been a longtime cardio HIIT person, starting with Jillian Michaels’ 30-Day Shred probably ten years ago. From there I had phases of using PopSugar Fitness, FitnessBlender, Sarah’s Day programs, and many of my own plyometric cocktails, all the way up until the week before Clara was born.

When I jumped (literally) back into it at 2 months postpartum, I realized that in much more profound ways than I expected, my body wasn’t the same as it used to be. My joints and ligaments were still loose, my knee got sore, and everything in my body said “No, thank you.”

It took a few months to figure out where to go from there, but eventually I happened across an at-home weight lifting oriented Instagram account called @built.by.becky, and I signed up for her summer challenge beginning July 4th. I’ve been following her programs for six months now (the next challenge starts on Monday!) and I feel like I’ve found where my body wants to be. I’ve gained more muscle strength and cardiovascular endurance doing this than I ever did with HIIT, and it’s without all the jumping and jostling that my joints hate!

July

August

What was the best way you used your time this past year?

There are so many things I could choose to say here, from the hours I’ve spent reading stories to Clara to the naptimes I spent cultivating my flower garden to the short-but-sweet moments in the middle of the night when I prayed Numbers 6:24-26 over various members of my family. So many seemingly-unimportant activities weave together to make up the most important parts of life. Picking “the best” one is hard.

I guess I’ll say the best use of my time in 2021 has been, and really has always been, learning. It might be by asking questions, reading books, observing situations, taking riding lessons, traveling, trying-and-erring, or listening to podcasts—whatever the method, and whatever the outcome, the time isn’t wasted. I have learned about communication by communicating poorly. I’ve learned about emotions by observing Clara’s, which are (as yet) so delightfully unadulterated by fears of what people might think. I’ve learned where to find resources on Old Testament-era culture by asking one of my pastors, and I’ve learned about that topic itself by reading the books he recommended to me.

For a long time, I had a bizarre expectation of myself to just know everything. I thought I was supposed to know what to do in any given situation even if I’d never faced it before. I thought I was supposed to know the answers to all my questions without needing to ask someone else. I thought I might be looked down on if I got caught not knowing how to act, what to say, how to dress, or what I thought.

It’s been so freeing to realize that I love to learn and was made to learn, and no one is going to berate me for that.

September

October

What was the biggest thing you learned this past year?

That I can make decisions and changes without anyone else’s permission or validation.

I’ve noticed a pattern among new parents that I catch myself falling into at times: the tendency to vigorously share and re-share anything on the internet that agrees with the way I’m doing things for my kid, while also vigorously refuting or mocking or eye-rolling at anything that disagrees.

There are entire Instagram accounts, Facebook pages, blogs, and websites that have been built solely on the furious clicks, comments, and shares of insecure parents who just need someone to tell them they’re “better” for the way they’ve chosen to do things. If you’re afraid sleep training is going to ruin your attachment with your child, there are plenty of people with “Doctor” or “Consultant” in their titles that will reassure you that only evil, selfish people sleep train; if you’re on the flip side, there are plenty of people who will tell you anyone who doesn’t sleep train is actively damaging their child’s growth and development. The same kinds of dichotomies exist for how and when to introduce solids, how and when to potty train, whether or not to use sign language with your baby, using punishment vs. “gentle parenting,” and even choosing to have an only child vs. choosing to have more than one.

And it all comes down to this desperate need for someone to tell us we’re doing it right—usually by telling us someone else is doing it wrong.

I’ve learned, or rather I am learning, how silly and unnecessary this is. Children aren’t mass-produced on an assembly line in a factory, so the idea of one right way and one wrong way to do anything is absurd. As the classic Princess Bride line goes, “Anyone who says otherwise is selling something.”

I can decide what’s best for Clara without getting the input of her pediatrician or a research paper on child development or the whole Internet, because she’s the only Clara in the whole wide world, and only God knows her as well as I do. And when “what’s best” changes (because she’s not a robot—she changes), then I can change it—without having to share ten colorful infographics about why such a change was obviously right.

Parenting is where I’m realizing this most right now, but it extends far beyond. I can disagree with someone’s theology without considering them damned or needing them to change their minds. A person can vote completely opposite me and not be stupid or bad. If my husband and I get into an argument, it doesn’t mean he’s toxic or that we need to get a divorce.

We are all just people, and we’re all different. Sometimes those differences create conflict, but it doesn’t have to be codependent, egotistical conflict. We’re allowed to stand firm and secure in our own thoughts, feelings, and opinions without needing everyone else to get on board.

November

December

Here’s to a new year filled with more unexpected joys, more sleep, and learning more new things. Happy 2022!

just be

At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” And calling to Him a child, He put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

“Whoever receives one such child in My name receives Me, but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.”

Matthew 18:1-6 ESV

One of my favorite things is watching Clara get lost in her own little world of play. She appears to forget all about me as she unstacks blocks, pulls apart puzzles, pretends to burp her baby dolly, or examines the intricacies of a stick of lip balm. She is sometimes silent, but more often chatting softly to herself and her toys. “Bah! Tickatickaticka. Oooh.” Sometimes one of the cats, watching a bird or a squirrel through the sliding door, catches her attention. “Tor!” she might exclaim, and make a beeline to enthusiastically pat him on the head, which he endures with a longsuffering grimace. When he inevitably loses patience and saunters away, she picks up her tiny Lowly Worm Word Book and practices pointing to each little picture, pretending to read the words.

Before Clara, the only real experience I could call upon to interpret a Bible passage like this one from Matthew 18 was my own dim memories of being a young child. That helped some, to be sure, but I obviously can’t remember anything from the purest childlikeness of being just a year old, all my needs lovingly met and not a care in the world except whether I could coordinate putting one block on top of another without toppling them both over.

Now I think I see: Jesus’s disciples wanted to know what kind of rankings exist in God’s kingdom—what kind of righteousness demands the highest reward—and Jesus pointed them to the ones who never would have thought to ask such a question.

Clara’s life is about 60% sleep, 30% play, and 10% food. She doesn’t have any goals or checklists when she gets up in the morning except to grow, to learn, and to let me meet her needs. She’s not concerned with being good at anything or earning her keep or leaving a mark on the world. She’s content to just be.

Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

We get a glimpse of this as God’s initial intention all the way back in Genesis, when He charged His image-bearers to “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it” (Genesis 1:28). They were to be cultivators and keepers, partners with Him in the joy of creating and caring for what was created; they were to increase the numbers as well as the borders of this garden paradise until it covered the whole of Creation.

Obviously, the story went awry, and that was never achieved. But the vision is still pertinent, for the King has come, and He is taking His Creation back! This is not the time for distractions of legalism or delusions of grandeur. It’s time to become children again.

It’s time to rest in the generous provision of the Lord. It’s time to do away with self-important pursuits of individual impact. It’s time to stop asking what more we can do to please God and simply trust Him, for in this, He is pleased.

I think He delights in watching us love our spouses, raise our children, care for our neighbors, and create beauty in the world much as I delight in watching Clara interact with her toys and learn how to be a person. I’m not annoyed with her for not helping me make dinner; her job is merely to receive dinner once it’s done, and to enjoy her little world in the meantime. Likewise, it’s not about what I accomplish in my lifetime to show for the years God gave me, but about what He is accomplishing over the course of millennia as He guides history to its stunning climax: to a New Creation, an everlasting reunion of God and His people who were rent apart by sin. My job is to rest in Him, to receive from Him, and to glorify Him, which in its most honest form is usually a rather un-glorious-looking matter—but nonetheless beautiful.

mothered

As I expected, being a mom has opened up an entirely new dimension of God to me—but in unexpected ways. I never expected that one of the questions that would keep nudging me in the middle of the night would be “Why are we so slow to see God as both our Father and our Mother?”

I don’t exactly mean this question in the sense of “God is genderless”—although I would venture to suspect that, considering Genesis 1 & 2, the masculine half of the gender binary is at best an incomplete representation of who God is. What I mean is, why do we (or maybe it’s just me) habitually fail to see the character of God in the role of mothers?

When Clara was a newborn, I didn’t know what to dread more: the days or the nights. The nights were fraught with the fear of hearing her cry again, as she awoke hourly or more to eat (I didn’t know until much later that this was not normal, and that she wasn’t feeding efficiently). The days were spent in an all-out war with her constantly-tense and alert little body to get her to sleep. I can still feel her tiny self rigid in my arms, sometimes screaming in protest and sometimes just wanting to interact with me—but never, ever sleeping.

Now, after eight months of doing all the small things that nurture a baby—changing wet diapers, feeding when hungry, holding when frightened or tired or sad, building comfortable routines, constantly communicating love and safety in both words and actions—I sway and sing three short verses of “O The Deep, Deep Love of Jesus” in her dark room, and she immediately rests her head on my shoulder in submission. I lay her down and she sleeps.

And I wonder: Why do we so rarely notice God in this?

Like our mothers, He knows what we need even when we are protesting it with every fiber of our feeble being.

Like our mothers, He holds us and comforts us even we are screaming in His face.

Like our mothers, He provides for every seemingly insignificant thing that, over time, becomes a firm foundation of His trustworthiness to us.

This passage from the Psalms comes to mind:

Because Your lovingkindness is better than life,
My lips will praise You.
So I will bless You as long as I live;
I will lift up my hands in Your name.
My soul is satisfied as with marrow and fatness,
And my mouth offers praises with joyful lips.

When I remember You on my bed,
I meditate on You in the night watches,
For You have been my help,
And in the shadow of Your wings I sing for joy.
My soul clings to You;
Your right hand upholds me.

Psalm 63:3-8

God’s lovingkindness might be the most mother-like attribute He possesses. It is sometimes called His mercy, or His faithful love; my favorite way to describe it is “a love that will not let me go.” A love like a mother’s—a love whose steadfastness is decided by the identity of the giver, not the worthiness of the receiver.

And God’s help is no ordinary help, either: this comes from the very same word used to describe the woman as man’s “helper” in Genesis 2. It’s a word for deliverance and rescue. For filling a desperate need that no one else can fill.

Loved like this, we can rest our heads on God’s shoulder in submission. We can trust in Him to satisfy and to protect. We can sleep.

After Clara’s 4am feeding, when she is fully satisfied and resting limp in my arms, another favorite verse from the Psalms often surfaces:

“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”

Psalm 46:10 ESV

I have studied this verse many times before, and what I always come back to is the meaning behind the phrase “Be still.” To me, worded like that, it has always sounded like an admonishment to a fidgety child—as if the intent is just to stop moving, to sit in rigid silence, like a kid might do in Sunday school. But it actually means “to sink, to collapse, to relax, or to become helpless”—to go limp, and know that God is God, and His will shall prevail.

Like Clara does now when it’s time to sleep after her midnight snack: no tension, no anxiety, no fear. Just perfect trust, perfect satisfaction, because I’m her mommy and she is safe.

How much more perfectly we are all mothered by our God—so may we learn to do the same.