Behind the Name: RVD

Before each one of our children has been born, I have taken the time to write them each a letter, telling them why we selected the name that we did for them.  What follows is parts of the letter that I wrote to R -

Dearest Ruthlyn,

Little one, you won’t know this when you are first born, but as you grow up, you will quickly learn two things about your mama.  One, I am solidly a feminist, and firmly believe that women, while we are different and unique from men, should not be treated as secondary or less than men.  You can be or do, whatever you want, and I will fight with you and for you, for you to be treated with the respect that you deserve, regardless of your achievements.  But second, and more vulnerably, you will learn that being comfortable in my own skin has been a long journey for me – I have often struggled to feel feminine enough or beautiful enough or woman enough.  The messages I have received of what a woman “should be” have been convoluted at best, and I have wrestled with that a lot, in figuring out who I am.  God has been incredibly gracious to me, and has freed me tremendously to be the woman that He created me to be, and no other.  But I was afraid for many years, of having a daughter, because I didn’t want to transfer my insecurities and struggling to her.   I am not (too!) afraid anymore, because I am slowly learning to hold tightly to Jesus’ hand, and ask that He will continue to grow bigger for me, as I mother and care for you.  May I teach out of my vulnerability and God’s grace, rather than my own strength.

In naming you, we wanted your name to reflect who you are – a woman who is free to be who she is.  One who is known for her character and her wisdom, not merely for her external beauty.  One who is strong and capable and courageous.    And one who relies on the strength of the Lord for her strength, not on her own strength.

Ruthlyn, your first name, is a combination of two names  - Ruth and Lyn.  Ruth means “beloved friend.”  Lyn has a few different meanings, depending on its origin, among them, “beautiful,” “lake” or “near water” or “pool.”  Ruth, one of my favorite matriarchs in Scripture, and one of the first women mentioned in Jesus’ line, is a woman who is known first and foremost by her faithful friendship and loyalty to her mother-in-law, Naomi.  She is a woman known not just for her faithful friendship, but also her resourcefulness, and the respect that she earns from her husband (see book of Ruth).  She is one of the only women in the Bible who are referred to (Ruth 3:11) as an Eshet Chayil, woman of valor, a woman of noble character, Wisdom exemplified – one who does all that she does with integrity and honor (and whom Boaz considered his equal).  She is given this title as a foreigner, a penniless gleaner, and as as a childless widow - it nothing to do with her accomplishments, her marital status, or any role that her society would say determined her value as a woman.  She is known more for how she does what she does than what she does.  This is our prayer for you – that you would be a beloved and faithful friend, and a woman of character, integrity and honor – indeed valor – that is visible to all who know you.  And that this friendship, this character, would flow, not from your own strength, but from your proximity and reliance on the source of Living Water.  May God teach you, lead you, and guide you, in all that you do, and may His strength and character flow freely out of you.  Even as He continues to be and do that for your mama.

Valor, your middle name, means great courage, especially in opposition; daring, fearlessness, boldness, spunky and brave.   Many people will tell you that as a woman, you need to be quiet, submissive, and meek to be “womanly” enough.  Baby girl, that simply is not true.  We all are to practice gentleness, yes.  Kindness, yes.  Willingness to learn and listen, yes.  But our prayer for you is that you would be fully blessed to be the strong, beautiful, courageous woman that you are.  To lead, if those are your gifts and desires.  To be fearless, in the face of opposition, because you know who you are, and where your strength comes from.  As I have thought of Scriptures that I would pray for you, I keep coming back to the book of Joshua (ch. 1), where God commissions young Joshua to step into a bold and courageous leadership position, saying to him:

7 “Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. 8 Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. 9 Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

Baby girl, this is what I pray for you.  That you will be strong and courageous.  That you will not be afraid.  And that you will know the Lord your God is with you, wherever you go.  We love you so much, Baby Bean.  And we are so honored and blessed to be your parents.

With all our love,
Mommy and Daddy

Birth Tale: Ruthlyn

[this is mostly for my own memory, reflection and processing - but I like reading birth stories, so I'll share it so that if it's your thang, you can read along as well... just be warned, it's long, without apology!]

Ruthlyn's official due date was October 30th, but going into our 40th week, she was high, comfortable, and not seemingly in any hurry to make her exit. At my 39 week appointment, I was a tight 1cm dialated, with no progress from the previous week - and my doctor told me that 40-41+ was easily a possibility.   I had an incredibly uncomfortable, itchy (and not clearly diagnosed) allergic reaction rash, was not sleeping, and in general, just very ready to be done being pregnant.  Poor Jon and kiddos were hearing multiple times a day my very firm belief that this little girl was planning on staying in there forrrrrevvvver.   [Jon will tell you that my despondency increases as we get closer and closer to (each) due date... he bases his predictions about when baby will arrive off of it.]  I had a few contractions that week, but nothing regular, and they quickly went away, so I continued to self-sooth with copious amounts of ice cream and prepare for being (despondently) very large and overdue.

On Wednesday the 26th, we had our usual morning - dropping S off at preschool, E and mommy having a little quality time in a coffee shop for special treats and then at the playground, and then on to Bible study at church.  In honor of operation Evict Ruthlyn, we did a little extra walking, and prayed with friends that she'd make an early appearance (please please puuuuulease), but nothing out of the ordinary.  

That afternoon, as the boys napped, and I was working on a few sewing projects, I started to feel the first few (back) contractions, just before 3pm.  Didn't time them because that's just stressful when they dissipate - but loosely noticed that they were happening about every 10 minutes.  After about an hour of this, I told Jon that something was going on, so "just a heads up."  I am told that this commenced a comical series of deliberations, emails, etc for him, as he was right in the middle of planning a whole slew of meetings, plus a website launch, in the next several days.  I started timing, and they were between 7-10 minutes apart, nothing intense, and all in my back.  We texted our friends who would watch the boys and basically said "Hey, so I don't know... but maybe baby sometime-ish? Like yeah.  Maybe."  And we called Jon's mom to let her know to *maybe* look at flights for the next day.

*Bear in mind, in labor with E, we went all the way to contractions every 2-3 minutes, went to the hospital, were stuck at 3cm, weren't progressing, and then contractions stalled out entirely, for like 6-7 hours and we had to go home again [before coming back later that night].  ::insert K's shame face here:: So we were cautious to make any definitive statements.  If you really want to read the boys equally long birth narratives, you can find them here.*

Jon got home around 5:45p, and by this point, contractions were 5-7 minutes apart and lasting about a minute.  I was having more trouble talking through them, but still non-committal to this being "really it."  We made dinner, and ate together, bathed the boys, and cleaned up, trying to explain to the boys why mommy was starting to sound like a lowing cow every 3-4 minutes.   I frantically tried to package up Etsy orders to get them ready to ship, becoming increasingly frustrated as the printer ran out of ink and squatting to fix it made contractions worse...  Jon laughed at my insistence in carrying on with "business as usual," but told me, "pretty sure we're in labor for real now."  I was still non-committal.

8pm - Boys go to bed, and we tell our friends, pretty sure this is happening tonight.  Contractions are every 3-5 minutes and intensifying, still all back labor.  We tell Jon's mom it's go time, and she buys a plane ticket for the next day.

9:30pm, we text our friends to say time to go to the hospital, contractions every 2-4 minutes and lasting for a full minute - since this is our third baby, and they say come in when they're 5 minutes apart and lasting a minute, we decide okay, time to go.  I debate whether we need to start one last load of laundry "just in case."  J, quickly taking over as the rational one, assures me that it can wait.

9:50pm friends arrive, we head out - contractions are 1-3 minutes apart - very painful back labor still.  The ride to the hospital is 30 minutes and very bumpy,  and the hormonal shakes from transition start taking over.  At this point, I acknowledge, that this is probably actually for real.  Maybe.  And tell Jon that slowing down for potential speed traps is not really super necessary.  We call family to tell them that we're en route to the hospital - my mom wanted to have a conversation comparing this labor to previous labors, and I'm pretty sure I still need to apologize for how that went down.

10:30pm Walking into the hospital, I am pretty sure I looked exactly like the movies portray women in labor looking - sweaty, shaking, swearing, etc etc.  Shockingly, no one questioned that I was in labor (although no less than 2 people did show shock and awe that this was our third child and ask if we're done after this?? Because yes, having another child is exactly what normal people contemplate while in the throws of transition) and within about 3 minutes, I was in a labor and delivery room - fastest intake ever - with the doctor proclaiming me 6-7 centimeters and in "very active labor" and "once your water breaks, it'll be very fast."

Labor, intake, labor tub, ouch ouch yadda yadda for another hour and a half - I am checked again at midnight, at 9.5 centimeters, just a small cervical lip to go, baby is at position 0, waters still haven't broken, and still exclusively back labor.  At this point, I am exhausted and we're fairly confident that baby girl is posterior, or sunny side up - meaning she's head-down, but facing my belly, in the less than ideal way to labor down.  Labor slows down - contractions space out a bit - but are still exclusively back labor, and extremely painful through my back and radiating down through my pelvis and legs.  The doctor tells us that she will probably need to rotate before she can come out, and we need to stay moving and in different positions to help her do that.

My legs are barely supporting me by this point, and I, on more than one occasion considered whether I needed to ask for intervention at that point - although also know that it will probably be harder to help her rotate if I cannot keep moving around.  I had back labor briefly with S, but for only a very small portion of the labor, and now 10 hours in with exclusively back labor, I just wasn't sure that I would be able to sustain my own weight long enough for her to turn.  After trying a few different positions, I finally settled for hugging the birthing ball, on my hands and knees on the floor, rocking and rotating.   I should note at this point, that Jon was a pro and our nurse was fantastic, and both of them are kept me going and sane as I was quickly losing perspective and focus - vocabulary limited to "noooooo" and "I don't knowwww...."

2:05am, my water finally breaks - projectile explodes would probably be a better approximation - I might have been able to hit a target on the far wall, and I haven't seen Jon move that fast in a while.  I am checked again, and baby is at +1, still posterior, still with the lip of the cervix to go, but I'm starting to feel the pressure to push soon and the back pain is excruciating.  We hop back into the labor tub to try and hold out, but within just a few minutes (as Jon took his first and only 2 minute break to use the bathroom), I can't control the need to push, so back out we go again and the doctor prepares to see if he can manually assist me in pushing past the remaining cervix.

2:35am, I start pushing and 8 minutes later

2:43am Ruthlyn Valor was born, with her hand and arm coming out at the same time as her head (compound presentation - only about 1 in 1000 births - makes the surface area of the exiting baby bigger, possibly explaining why pushing was just a leeetle more painful this go-round), finally turning from posterior to anterior, only as she exited my body into the doctors hands.  Screaming and red, but quite possibly my cleanest looking baby yet, she was finally here and all the feels and emotions and hormones flooded over me - not enough to keep me from noticing the pain of being stitched up (I can handle a completely non-medicated back-labor birth, but I'm a huge baby when it comes to them sewing me up again) but amazing nonetheless.  She was laid on my chest for immediate skin to skin and I'm pretty sure that I just whisper-wept "hi baby... oh hi... hi" for way longer than any normal person, but I do not even care.  We were just so glad to finally have her in our arms.  No matter how many times I go through labor and delivery, there is nothing like the euphoric, spiritual, emotional high of holding your baby for the first time.   After a little while, Jon cut the cord and baby girl rooted her way around and started nursing of her own accord, before they got her cleaned up, weighed, etc.

Just under 12 hours of labor (my shortest labor yet - S was 17 hours, E was 23 hours) - exclusively back labor - but like the others, thankfully able to be unmedicated, with no interventions needed.  So very very many blessings and I am so thankful for all of the little details that worked out to bring this little lady safely into our lives.

Welcome, Ruthlyn Valor - we are so glad you are here!  [And stay tuned for an equally long post on how we chose her name!]

My husband is not the man I married... and that's a good thing

As I began mentally drafting this post, I was standing in the kitchen, literally barefoot and pregnant, cooking dinner for my family, as the full-time stay-at-home homemaker and child-chaser.  Me - a firmly feminist-y, solidly egalitarian, educated-and-career-driven, more-liberal-than-my-family-realizes woman - momentarily embodying all of the stereotypes of traditional womanhood.

The irony was not lost on me - and I had to laugh, because in so many ways, this life, this day-to-day, is so radically different from who I was, who I thought I would be, and, in some ways, who I am - while at the same time, being exactly right for this season in my life and our family's life.

My husband and I got married 5 years ago, at the ripe, sage old ages of 26 and 24.  We considered ourselves "more self-aware" than many of our peers who had gotten married right out of college, "rational" and "not delusional" about the difficulties of melding two separate lives together.  Our premarital counseling reassured us that our "rose-colored glasses" score was relatively low.  All these things included, plus two (so long! ha) years of dating/engagement, I was fairly confident that I knew myself, and the man that I was marrying, and was set up well for marriage.

Ignorance is a funny thing, in hindsight, is it not?

Now, 5 years later, I can confidently say, my husband is not the same man that I married... and that's actually a really good thing.  Now, there are many similarities - he's still funny, he's still my favorite person to talk to, and he's still kind and compassionate, and deeply committed to me and to our family.  But he's way less extroverted than I thought he was - and needs far more non-talking time that I thought he did.  Running, which I thought he was into, is not really his thang.  At all.  The job that he has found that he loves, is very different than the job that he was in when we got married.  The things that he was passionate about then have shifted now - many of them stem from the same values, but the actual passions have been refined and refocused.  His gifts that I thought I knew, weren't necessarily the ones that he actually shines in now.

And lest you think this is a complaint about my husband, it's not.  I actually think it's a really good thing.  The same things could be said for me.  Who I am has also morphed, changed, and shifted (c.f. above).  And we're just babies on this marriage journey!

We should know each other well, when we get married - by all means, take the time to do so and do not use this as an excuse to hide yourself from your future spouse - but identity and self-awareness are not static; they have to be dynamic, because we as people are not static.  Who we are naturally grows and changes as a result of circumstances, life-events, challenges, and revelations.  We hopefully mature, and continue to grow.  That doesn't change simply because you hitch your life to that of another.  And while, yes, married, you do grow together, you also continue to grow and evolve individually.

Five years later, we have friends who are separating and divorcing because the person that they find themselves married to is not the person that they thought they were. Others who are deeply unhappy in their marriages, because the person that they thought they married is radically different from the person that they are currently married to.  And if I'm honest, there have been moments when I too have found myself lamenting, rather than celebrating, those changes that have occurred since we wed.

And yet.

And yet.  The beauty of it is that this is where the life in a marriage is.  New life - new adventure - comes from new growth, challenging though it is at times.  If we remained exactly who we were when we got married, we would stagnate, wither and fade over time.  Growth and change, individually and corporately, are absolutely necessary to cultivate a healthy marriage.  There is deep, deep joy in seeing someone else come more fully into themselves - and we never see that, if we fear growth and change.  I am so grateful for the beautiful gift that growing and changing together is!

What matters then, is how we grow and change.  More specifically, how we do that together, with grace.  Cultivating one another, allowing each other a "spacious place" to grow and develop, while not "uncoupling" ourselves from the other in that process.  Maintaining a synergy and covalent bond, as opposed to merely an ionic attraction.

How do we do that?  Well, that's what I'm still learning.  Any wisdom that I have therein is merely in process.  But the closest I can come is - to grow together requires grace for the changes that are happening in the other, and a continually willingness to engage in understanding, challenging, and blessing those, rather than just reacting to them.  Be a student of your spouse.  An observer, a scientist, and an excited participant in the process.   Expect metamorphosis, in yourself and in your spouse.  Sometimes there and back again.  Sometimes changes that transform.  Expect it anticipating a butterfly in a chrysalis, not a werewolf in a full moon.  Seek the beauty and the good,  expect that it's there, and seek to refine one another with that in mind.  And continue to seek out ways that you together can invest in and engage in your union - see it as something needs to be cultivated, fed, and focused on, in order for healthy growth to occur.

My oldest son went through a phase this fall, where he loved the song, "Lord Prepare Me."  The lyrics go something like this:

Lord please make me, to be a sanctuary
Pure and holy, tried and true.
With thanksgiving, I'll be a living
Sanctuary, for you.

Picture that sung in three year old eloquence, with all the lisps and pronunciation skills therein, and it's adorable.  But I've had the thought, several times, as I listen to him blast it out, that this should be my prayer in life and in marriage as well.

In the midst of all our changes, growth and development, Lord please make me, to be a sanctuary - a safe place, a haven - pure and holy, tried and true.  Help me to be a living - growing, changing, re-finding and refining - spacious place of shalom, welcome, and home.

the [sometimes] beautiful chaos of parenting, mom shaming, and village be-ing.

I'm baaaaaack.  Now for an overly verbose update on the last 7 months of life.  J to the K, nope, we're just jumping in.  Oh and by the way, if you didn't know already, we're preggers again.  Baby #3, a little girl, set to join us in 9ish weeks.  One of many reasons for my long hiatus. But I digress...

Yesterday, I was at the [fully fenced in] playground with S (3.5) and E (2) and my fully-loaded seven and a half month pregnant body [that looks closer to nine months].  And, as usual, the boys had tons of energy, which they were delighted to exercise by running, climbing, and jumping on everything.  I was sitting on the ground in the shade because *7.5 months pregnant* *hot* and *ninety degrees* - plus I am a little free range-y, and while I watch diligently and look after their safety, I also trust my kids to be able to play somewhat independently, without me two feet away, and think that's healthy for them. [and stand by that].

Lo and behold, both boys run in different directions and E makes a beeline for the gate, totally making a break for it [out into the still-fenced-in park path outside the actual playground], so I get up and waddle/run after him.  Turns out he's faster than I thought these days, and I'm, well, waddling, so it took me almost half a block to grab him [at which point he turns around and says to me in his sassy and tart way, "what?" like "Why are you upset, mom? Isn't this fun?"]  So I'm mildly freaked out, slightly peeved, but it took all of three minutes and S was safely in the farthest most fenced in part of the playground where he would have had to pass me to get out the gate, so we're okay.

I'm not the only one this has happened to, right?

I'm carrying him back as fast as I can waddle, trying to discipline him well and you know, stay upright, when I am met by another mom at the gate, who I don't know, carrying a crying S, who then berates me for not watching him, telling me that he has been wandering around crying and looking for me for over ten minutes [not true, I double checked later with another parent there].  As she berates, I am now holding over 65 pounds of boys on top of my pregnant belly - and I just snapped.  I was ugly and rude to her, told her exactly what I thought of her "helpfulness" and exaggerated story.  And then walked away.

Later, I heard her talking to her friend about me, and wondering out-loud, "How is she ever going to handle having another if she is already so negligent?"

I came home and sobbed, texting a wise friend, "It's true, how am I ever going to handle three when my two can already out-smart me and out-run me?"  - because that's how mom shaming works - it verbalizes what we're already afraid is true, or what we're already worried that others are thinking.  [At this point, my three year old helpfully asked, "Mommy, why is your face leaking out of your nose?" and then slid his Sunday School paper over to me, that said "God is my helper."  His empathy is complex.]

But now a day later, and a little bit calmer [thanks hubby and wise friend] - here's what I want to say:

"They" say that raising kids is a beautiful chaos - and it is that - both fully beautiful, and fully chaotic.  Sometimes a healthy combo of both.  And some days, it's just pure chaos.  And you can do everything right and your kids still out-smart you and out-run you and overwhelm you.  Or sometimes you mess up.  And so you chase them down, try to discipline well, reassess, ask for help where you need it, shorten the leash appropriately, and wake up for another day.  Possibly squeeze in a glass [or two] of wine [#thingsimisswhenpregnant] and some Netflix binging in there somewhere.  Because parenting doesn't demand perfection - it demands faithfulness, and willingness to press in, even when you want to run and hide.  Shame does not good parenting make; repentance and growth sure as heck do a better job.

"They" say that raising children takes a village - and it's true.  But village, we have to be for one another.  Not shaming one another, not shutting each other down or out because of our own shame.  To that mom on the playground - I owe you an apology.  I was not your village yesterday. I was so embarrassed and ashamed of our chaos, and my error, that I lashed out at you - and didn't see the good parts of what you were trying to do.  And I'm sorry.  Thank you for trying to make sure my child was okay.  But in all respect, your berating of me, and then discussion of me with your friend [and believe me, if I'm honest, I've done that too], served only to shame me and not to make me a better parent.  You are not my village, if those are your ways.

A true village speaks prescriptively of who you can be and will be, not descriptively of who you are in the chaos of the moment.  It endeavors to bless with hope, encourage with truth, and build up not tear down.  It shares tools, not judgment.  And it holds you up, rather buries you in what you already know, when you are at your lowest point.

#shithappens .  Especially when parenting young children.  Let's be honest and allow that some days are just purely chaos - not beautiful in the slightest - even as we look for the beauty in the every day moments, and seek to improve our parenting through faithfulness and repentance.

And let's be a village, and surround ourselves with a village, that speaks life and not shame into that chaos, beautiful or not.

You're doing a good job, Mama.  Hang in there.  We're hanging there right next to you.

xo,
KD