invisible

There are so many new experiences that come with being a mom, many of which I expected (or, at least, was told to expect)—and some of which I didn’t. I expected my priorities to shift, even though I didn’t know exactly what that would feel like. I expected to have less time for myself. I expected I would be stretched physically, mentally, and spiritually.

The most unexpected experience, however, has been this sense of a complete change in—what should I call it, social class? position? status?—that is palpable everywhere I go.

It’s a running joke with too much truth in it: When you’re a kid, everyone asks you what you’re going to be when you grow up. When you grow up, everyone asks you why you’re still single. Once you’re in a relationship, everyone asks you when you’re going to get married. After you get married, everyone asks you when you’re going to have a kid.

In my experience, once you have a kid, the community response splits: They begin to ask the husband when he’s having another one, and they begin to ask the wife…nothing at all.

People smile at me when I carry Clara into church on Sunday mornings. Sometimes they say hello to her, or they remark on her pretty eyes. They’ll chuckle as they watch her race between the pews after the service, with me close on her heels; they’ll stop to talk to her if she slows down long enough. Somewhere on the other side of the sanctuary, my husband is in a group conversation about work or construction or pigs. Maybe they’re even asking him when he’s going to have another kid.

Meanwhile, I wonder if I accidentally wore my invisibility cloak.

Church is far from the only place I’ve felt this way. In fact, I’ve walked into my workplace with Clara and had the exact opposite experience: My coworkers chatted me up like they usually do, but they acted like Clara wasn’t even there. When I work my weekly shift, almost no one ever asks me how my daughter is, or refers to her at all. It’s as if she doesn’t exist—and I wonder, did I wear my invisibility cloak again? Because if she doesn’t exist, I’m not sure that I do; she is such an enormous part of who I am.

It makes sense to me now why women who become mothers often turn wholeheartedly to “mommy culture” for their community and validation in some way. They become mommy bloggers, “momtogs,” and members of unofficial Instagram clubs like #girlmom or #boymom. This is where they can feel like equals, like human beings with voices still worth hearing, like they can bring themselves wholly to the table. It’s also true that things often have to be mom-specific in order to be mom-friendly: We go to young moms’ Bible studies because they’re usually the only ones that offer childcare, or that don’t take place during the bedtime routine.

And there is a lot of good that comes from moms of young kids enjoying, empathizing with, and learning from relationships with other moms in a similar boat.

But the dark side is that it can be incredibly isolating, and it can rob the community as a whole of a wealth of wisdom and opportunity.

When I’m at church, wrestling my squirmy 19-month-old and my giant Bible in my lap and hoping she doesn’t yell “Puppy!” when her stuffed dog falls on the floor, I often have no idea why I’m there—a sentiment which only intensifies when I don’t get to say more than hello to a single soul after the service is over. When I’m at work, trying to hold a conversation with my childless manager about Formula One racing or build rapport with my college-aged coworkers, I often feel like a fish out of water—flopping all over the place trying to get some oxygen, but all I can find is air. And when I’m at home, cycling through the daily routine of mealtime and playtime and naptime and bedtime, I often just feel alone—like I’m the only mom who has been both completely changed by motherhood and is also still the same person who wants to have winding Bible-nerdy conversations, who has interests outside of her child, who needs friends.

I can’t help but think that our churches and workplaces and neighborhoods and nation would be a lot richer if we welcomed mothers in a way that goes beyond a potted plant on Mother’s Day. If we treated them like whole people with thoughts, opinions, voices, desires, dreams that both include their children and extend beyond them. If we asked them to participate and contribute, even if the answer will most likely be, “Sorry, I can’t, I have the kids” or “Sorry, I can’t, that’s naptime.”

There’s so much I want to do and share and be a part of. There always has been. Having a baby hasn’t taken those things away—it’s actually added to them, clarified them, made them more urgent. It just seems like now there’s an extra barrier to overcome in doing so, because now I’m invisible.

Is a lot of this on me? Definitely. I’m shy and quiet already, and a cute toddler is an easy shield to hide behind. I was working hard to break out of my shell and put down roots in my church when pregnancy and the pandemic came together as the perfect storm of excuses to stay in my comfort zone. And there have been many weeks I’ve skipped out on community-building activities just because wrestling the squirmy 19-month-old seemed too overwhelming.

But I’m trying, and I’m going to keep trying. Thankfully, my Jesus is famous for being the One who sees the invisible.

of kingdom and curse

One of the hardest parts of reading through the Bible for me and for many people, especially the first several books, is the question: Why didn’t God fix this?

There are laws permitting the ownership of slaves in Exodus. There are provisions given for jealous husbands to accuse their wives of adultery in Numbers, but no similar provisions for wives. Throughout the Pentateuch, we’re reminded many times over how helpless women were if they didn’t have a father or husband to provide for them—why? God could have made any laws He wanted for Israel; why didn’t He make laws that would set everyone free?

It’s a maddening reality to face: We have a God who is utterly omnipotent, and who yet rarely uses His omnipotence to snap His fingers and fix the things that need fixing, even if those things are perpetuating injustice and destroying lives.

What He does instead is far more subtle and, both fortunately and unfortunately, far less instantly effective.

There is no question that the patriarchal system in the Bible, and indeed in all of history, was oppressive to women (and anyone in a state of comparative powerlessness). From the moment Adam and Eve rebelled and God’s curse fell on them, this has been the woman’s lot:

I will intensify your labor pains; you will bear children with painful effort. Your desire will be for your husband, yet he will rule over you.

Genesis 3:16b HCSB

While the man’s struggle will be against the same earth from which he came—a struggle against Creation for survival which he must ultimately lose (Genesis 3:17-19)—the woman’s struggle will be against the very survival of the human race, and interlaced with her most vital relationships. Woman, who was created to be Man’s co-equal image-bearing Garden-keeper in the presence of God Himself, will find herself exploited, tyrannized, and made into little more than property by the one who was supposed to be her partner and protector.

And when the Law of Israel, written by the very finger of God, doesn’t rebuke that behavior and demand better for His daughters, it’s a difficult reality to stomach.

But here’s the truth: God is not a tyrant. He doesn’t make it His business to overthrow every evil regime, to instantly execute every sinful leader (though that does happen a few times in the Bible), to fundamentally alter human culture when it doesn’t reflect His values. Whether it was ridiculously stupid or ridiculously gracious, He gave the first humans a choice, and they chose.

Now they (we) are living with it.

What God does, instead, is write a legal system for Israel that encapsulates His vision for how His people could reflect His wisdom, even within their sinful nature and wrongheaded culture. He shines the light of true justice and compassion into the pitch-black of the Curse, and though that light doesn’t chase the Curse away completely (yet), it does reveal the first stepping stones on a path called “This is the way.”

Let’s return to the example of the jealous husband from Numbers 5.

The LORD spoke to Moses: “Speak to the Israelites and tell them: If any man’s wife goes astray, is unfaithful to him, and sleeps with another, but it is concealed from her husband, and she is undetected, even though she has defiled herself, since there is no witness against her, and she wasn’t caught in the act*; and if a feeling of jealousy comes over the husband and he becomes jealous because of his wife who has defiled herself—or if a feeling of jealousy comes over the husband he becomes jealous of her though she has not defiled herself—then the man is to bring his wife to the priest. He is also to bring an offering for her of two quarts of barley flour. He is not to pour oil over it or put frankincense on it because it is a grain offering of jealousy, a grain offering for remembrance to draw attention to guilt.”

The priest is to bring her forward and have her stand before the LORD.

Numbers 5:11-16 HCSB

*If she had been caught in the act by more than one credible witness, according to the Law of Israel both she and her fellow adulterer must be executed (Leviticus 20:10, Deuteronomy 17:7). Numbers 5 only applies if there is a possibility that the husband’s suspicion is unfounded.

This chapter goes on to outline the exact steps the couple must take, under the authority of the priest, to either convict or acquit this woman of her husband’s charge. She must let down her hair as a symbol of total openness to God’s searching eyes; she must hold in her hands the grain offering of remembrance; she must take an oath to drink the holy water, embittered by the dust of the tabernacle floor and the written curse-consequences of adultery, and let it act as the judge.

If guilty: “Her belly will swell, and her womb will shrivel. She will become a curse among her people” (Numbers 5:27b). In other words, she would be barren—which, for a woman in her time and place in history, may have been a more grievous punishment than death.

If innocent: “She will be unaffected [by the bitter water] and will be able to conceive children” (Numbers 5:28b). Her husband would not be penalized for putting his wife through this humiliating ritual (Numbers 5:31).

It’s difficult from our side of history to understand how this law could be pointing Israel in the direction of compassion and justice. It sounds like a law that props up the worst parts of the patriarchy—that hearkens back to the earliest days of the Curse, when Lamech can be found bragging about “taking” two wives for himself (Genesis 4:19) and “killing” a boy who struck him (Genesis 4:23).

But let’s imagine for a moment that Lamech came to believe one of his wives had been unfaithful to him with another man. How do you think he’d behave in that scenario, given the following speech?

Lamech said to his wives,
“Adah and Zillah,
Listen to my voice.
You wives of Lamech,
Give heed to my speech.
For I have killed a man for wounding me;
And a boy for striking me;
If Cain is avenged sevenfold,
Then Lamech seventy-sevenfold.

Genesis 4:23-24

Lamech is essentially the archetype for Man’s abusive rule after the Curse. He threatens and silences his two wives by bragging about his own power and cruelty. If he would kill a man for a nonlethal wound, or even murder a child in retribution for disrespect, to what lengths would he go to “avenge” a possible adultery in his marriage? If he became even slightly jealous that such a thing had occurred, wouldn’t you fear not only for the lives of his wives, but also for whomever he might suspect to be the other half of the crime?

Sadly, such behavior was pretty typical of the Near Eastern cultures contemporary with ancient Israel. In Mesopotamian law under King Hammurabi (1792-1750 BCE), the mere suspicion that a woman had committed adultery was enough to put her through an “Ordeal”—to throw her the river and let fate (or her swimming skills) decide whether she was innocent or guilty. If she survived, she was innocent; if she died, she deserved it. In short, the law treated her husband’s ego as more valuable than her life.

Can you see it now—the small, yet powerful, flicker of light in this darkness?

No, God didn’t carve into the Law, “Thou shalt not perpetuate the patriarchal Curse.” But He did say to His people, through rule after rule, “You do not have the right to take justice into your own hands. You do not have the right to oppress those who are socially ‘beneath’ you. You do not have the right to treat My people as less than people.”

In Numbers 5, what may look like an outrageously sexist law that leaves all the power in the husband’s hands is actually a stunningly gracious protection for women, particularly in its time. God knew that, right or wrong, husbands would struggle with jealousy over their wives, and so instead of allowing that tension to fester or leaving a void where the husband might feel free to arbitrate justice himself, God put in place a specific legal structure in which He could have the final word.

With God—who is not only compassionate and gracious, but also utterly pure and just—as the Judge, the woman had a certainty of being treated like her husband’s equal, a fellow image-bearer. She would be condemned or vindicated by the One who knew exactly what had transpired and whose perception was unclouded by jealousy, prejudice, or power dynamic. This law was more about creating a system where a wife could be declared innocent than it was about finding her guilty—as evidenced by the fact that the ritual only goes ahead with her cooperation (“And the woman shall say, ‘Amen, Amen,’” (Numbers 5:22b)).

And this system was not free of charge for the husband to use at will: he had to be able to pay the grain offering of remembrance along with his accusations; he had to be prepared to endure the publicity of the trial; and he had to be willing to accept that, if his wife was found guilty before God, he would lose the future of a family with her.

Like so many of Israel’s laws, this one did not cut the deep roots of the Curse that grip every one of us, but it did empower the men and women of Israel to exchange their divisive struggle against each other for a common struggle against the Curse. It opened the door for husbands to set aside their “rule” over their wives and let God be the deciding authority instead. Slowly, subtly, it began to teach God’s people how to envision a life defined by the vitality of God’s wisdom and the goodness of His ways, not dominated by sin and selfishness and shame.

The Bible and history and our day-to-day experiences tell us that God’s people have not learned this lesson well. When Christ came to be the perfect fulfillment of the Law, He found that good rules like this one had been twisted into hideous strongholds of merciless injustice by the power-hungry Jewish elite (Matthew 5:17-20), and sadly, the same can often be said of churches and other Christian institutions today. But the vision is still there, made clearer and better through Jesus—the vision of a Kingdom where the humblest is exalted highest, where weakness is strength, where the tiniest seed grows into the mightiest tree. This world’s poverty is that world’s riches. And God Himself is the Advocate of the powerless.

But God has never sought to pursue this vision by force. He will not tyrannize the Kingdom of Heaven into reality. Just as in the Garden of Eden He positioned humans as its “cultivators” and “keepers,” so He longs for us to invest with Him in this mission—to share with Him in the joy.

No, He doesn’t make a sweeping law that says, “Thou shalt not perpetuate the patriarchal Curse,” nor does He strike dead anyone who falls short. Rather, He invites us into the much slower, subtler, heart-level work of undoing, recreating, cultivating, and keeping. He shines the light and says “This is the way,” and then walks with us while we learn to follow the simple but narrow path that travels between the twin pillars of Law which bear up the foundations of the Kingdom:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and most important command. The second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commands.”

Matthew 22:37-40 HCSB

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.

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.

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. :)

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!

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.

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.

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