Letting Go?

“Train children in the right way, and when old they will not stray.” Proverbs 22:6

There’s a commercial that gives warning on the consequences of drinking and driving that always makes me sad. It’s the one where a baby is lying in a crib, crying frantically, and then a message appears on screen that says that the baby’s mother was killed by a drunk driver.

It makes me sad because I know that it is the reality for many families out there. Not just the babies who have lost their parents to drunk driving, but to anything. I read it in the news every day. And now that I have one of my own, the sadness I feel is even more acute because I don’t even want to imagine Nathaniel ever losing his mommy or his daddy. The fear sometimes surfaces when I go to Nathaniel first thing in the morning and he greets me with sheer excitement, or when I tuck him in at night and there is a peacefulness and contentment in his face that brings tears to my eyes almost every night.

These thoughts come to me as I contemplate whether to take a course next semester in seminary. The decision sounds so simple—but as I think about being away from Nathaniel for more than just a few hours, I am overcome by worry and guilt.
When the pediatrician tells you that Separation Anxiety starts to kick in at about six months, I didn’t realize that this included the mother. I’ve only left Nathaniel for more than an hour on two occasions (once, to get a haircut, and the other, to attend a bridal shower). The whole time, my mind was focused on whether he felt abandoned by me or not. Of course, on both of those occasions, I returned to find him perfectly fine.

It’s not just when I leave him that I worry and feel guilty. It’s also when I go through a day that isn’t “typical.” I can finally say that Nathaniel has been trained to sleep (an amazing feat, considering it takes almost five to six weeks of training and great patience and faith!). In fact, he has been trained so well, that now, he protests for his nap time as soon as he begins to feel drowsy. The car seat, stroller, other people’s houses—all are no longer good enough: Nathaniel wants to be in his own crib when he wants to sleep. When he’s in the crib, he naps anywhere from one to three hours (when he’s not, the longest stretch he can do is a half hour).

Now imagine—a mother having trained a baby to sleep regularly, and then suddenly, irregular schedules come up from time to time—that takes the baby away from the regular schedule that he has grown comfortable with. My worry and guilt come in, because when I am unable to give him the schedule he needs, I feel like I am responsible for his discomfort and distress. Sometimes, having gone out with a friend or visiting a family member, or going shopping for too long (which I rarely do anymore), I feel so accountable for his tiredness that I even vow that I would stay home the very next day to make up for it.

I voiced my guilt to my sister once, who’s a mother of three kids, and she said plainly, “Don’t worry. You have the rest of your life to feel guilty about everything you do with the children.”

Believe it or not, her statement actually put me at ease—because I realized the truth in it.

On any given week now, I go out once or twice for more than few hours, but I limit myself to that. My priority is Nathaniel’s wellbeing—and, at this point, I am still unwilling to compromise such for my own needs.

My sister chuckles when she hears me talk about how much easier life is with Nathaniel now that he’s been sleep-trained. “I told you,” she says (since I had been unwilling at first to go through all that intense training—just read my previous blog entries!). Outsiders have asked me and my sister, “Don’t you feel that you’ve lost your freedom?” They are referring to our having to be home all the time in order to accommodate the kids’ sleep schedules. My sister and I understand each other’s amusement in response to their incredulity. With the kids sleep trained, we have MORE freedom. That freedom comes as a result of the time we have from being without the kids—to do household chores, to rest, to read, to converse with friends, to spend with the husband, to watch movies, to spend quiet time with God, to anything, really.

I’m getting side-tracked. My point is that perhaps I am not ready to let go yet. When I am away from Nathaniel, I become anxious about his happiness. I wonder whether his needs are being met. If he wakes up from his nap expecting to see me, and he doesn’t—will he be okay? If he wants to be held by mommy and mommy is not there—will he be okay? If he wants milk and has to take it from a bottle instead of in the comfort of mommy’s arms—will he be okay? If he wakes up in the middle of the night and cries for mommy and mommy is not there—will he be okay? If another person takes care of him, one who doesn’t know what makes Nathaniel happy, sad, scared, or excited—will Nathaniel be okay?

Whenever such questions come to mind, I sometimes ask myself, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Of course, the answer to that question could go very terribly depending on how far my imagination takes it. And when I finally calm down, whisper a prayer to God to ease my fears, I start to think—Nathaniel has to learn… Mommy has to learn.

Experiences like this allow me to empathize with my parents who were quite protective over us. I remember, in grade six and seven, being one of the few students who wasn’t allowed to go on overnight trips. I remember, all three of us, my sister, my brother, and I, not being allowed to choose a university that was out-of-town. My mom wanted us to be at home. I don’t regret decisions like these—because my going to a university in town gave me opportunities that I wouldn’t have had had I gone away. At the same time, I know that one day, God willing, when Nathaniel is that age, though I know I will be filled with worry when he’s not in my presence, I will have to let go. I will have to cast my cares upon the Lord and be sustained by Him.

I have a few weeks to pray about whether to enroll in that course in seminary. It’s amazing how a decision like this could catapult me into so much reflection. Dr. Dobson concludes his book Bringing Up Boys like this:

“… The door must be opened fully to the world outside. This can be the most frightening time of parenthood. The tendency is to retain control in order to keep your kids from making mistakes… The simple truth is that love demands freedom. They go hand in hand.

No matter how much you prepare, letting go is never easy… It’s an exhilarating and a terrifying moment, and one that was ordained from the day of your child’s birth. With this final release, your task as a parent is finished. The kite is free, and so, for the first time in twenty years, are you.

My prayers will be with you as you discharge your God-given responsibility. Cherish every moment of it. And hug your kids while you can.”

Nathaniel has awakened. Over the baby monitor, he’s babbling to himself again. Sniff sniff. Gonna go hold him tight now...

Mommy’s Daily Pleasures

“Children are a heritage from the Lord.” Psalm 127:3

1. After a good night’s sleep and some delicious milk—Nathaniel is utterly JOYFUL in the morning. Lying on my bed, his hands flap up and down in delight, his eyes meet mine—he smiles, squeals, babbles, sticks his tongue out—the works.

2. Grocery shopping with him in the stroller: With the bundler enveloping the car seat and Nathaniel wrapped in a fluffy coat and a hat on—the only part of his body that peeks out is his chubby face. It’s so cute that passersby can’t help laughing and staring at the little one.

3. Nathaniel squeals in excitement upon seeing Daddy return home from work.

4. Nathaniel waking from his afternoon naps or nighttime sleep: he babbles to himself (which I can hear over the baby monitor). Sometimes, it can last up to a half hour.

5. Nathaniel grunts to express his displeasure. When I am out, with him in the stroller, whenever I stop to look at something, he grunts, as if to say, “I didn’t say anything about your being allowed to STOP the stroller, Mommy. Keep moving.”

6. When I’m holding Nathaniel and he reaches out his hands to touch my face. When I’m hovering over him and he reaches out to play with my hair.

7. When I’m bathing Nathaniel and he turns his body over in an attempt to drink the bath water or chew on the towel. When I’m bathing him and he kicks his legs, splashing water all over Mommy.

8. When he seizes all movement and concentrates on doing “number two.” He stares at me, as if in a trance, and when he’s done, he shudders, as if thinking, “What was that?”

9. Though Nathaniel is full of smiles—whenever he’s confronted by new faces, he adopts a very serious demeanor, as if sizing up everyone in the room.

10. Baby feet. Baby bum. Baby hands. Baby hair. Baby belly. Baby ears. Baby smell. Baby… everything.


11. Feeding Nathaniel—with each approaching spoonful of pureed baby food, he smiles and jiggles in excitement. What can I say—the little one loves his food.

12. Nathaniel is brought to a standstill whenever Holly, the cat, ambles across the room—it’s like he’s still trying to figure out why one of the objects in the room is able to move from one place to another.

13. Nathaniel puts everything in his mouth—even during worship service on Sunday’s, when I’m holding the Bible in my hands, he’s ready to devour God’s Word.

14. When Nathaniel is in my arms while I’m lining up at the cashier’s, he looks at the person who’s behind me and tries to make a sound, as if trying to make conversation with a stranger.

15. Nathaniel tries to assert his independence: When I put a pacifier in his mouth for fun, he takes it out of his mouth and tries to put it back himself.

16. Nathaniel always has to suck on the same two fingers to soothe himself when he starts to feel tired.

17. Nathaniel enjoys being around other children and their laughter makes him laugh.

18. When Nathaniel is scared or sad, he suddenly shuts his eyes and begins to cry desperately—and the moment he’s in Mommy’s arms, the crying instantly ceases.


19. When Nathaniel glimpses his own reflection in the mirror, he smiles and tries to touch his own reflection.

20. When I’m holding Nathaniel as I’m working away in the kitchen, he’s got to reach out his little hands and try to touch everything I’m touching.

21. When Nathaniel wakes up for a night feeding, I have to try to resist playing with him so that he'll immediately go back to sleep in his crib--but his smiling and talking makes it virtually impossible to maintain a disinterested composure.

22. At night, after I tuck Nathaniel under his covers, his little fingers pull the covers even closer to his chest.

23. Watching past video clips of Nathaniel brings tears to my eyes as I witness how quickly he is growing. The video clip that stirs up the most nostalgia—when Nathaniel is one-week old and he's sleeping on my chest (if he did that now I would not be able to breathe properly).

24. The way Nathaniel can pass gas that leaves me asking the husband, "Was that you or Nathaniel?"

25. Nathaniel looks at me, his face expressionless; I smile at him, seconds later, he smiles back.

26. Nathaniel talks to toy animals. When they make sounds, he squeals back at them.

27. Nathaniel sticking his tongue out; Nathaniel sticking his tongue out, then playing with his saliva, and making a gurgling sound.

… I COULD GO ON AND ON AND ON…

Recollections

My Gong Gong passed away last week.

I remember when my grandmother passed away six years ago. I was at church practicing for worship. I got a phone call from my sister who said that Mah Mah had been admitted to the hospital and that she had been diagnosed with Cancer. I cried immediately upon hearing the news.

Mah Mah had immigrated to Canada when I was one-year-old. We had spent countless family occasions together, and during our childhood, she would often babysit us or we would sleepover at her house. That short month and a half that was spent visiting her at the hospital as she grew weaker and weaker, and then that final night when we had gone over to her house after she had just passed on, brought an immense sadness over our family. At the cemetery on the day of the funeral, it was also the first time I had witnessed tears coming down my father’s eyes.

It’s a different story with my Gong Gong. He lived in Hong Kong. He visited us a few times during the first two decades of my life. If it were not for old pictures in our family albums, I would not even have remembered most of those times. As a result, I have few and sparse memories of who he was or my relationship with him.

Last week, when I received the phone call that he had passed away, I felt a pang of sadness. No tears, just sadness. Two years ago, I had visited Hong Kong with my mom and my husband. We stayed at Po Po and Gong Gong’s place. It was the same place they had lived in for the past fifty years, only renovated. Upon our arrival, my mom had just begun to hire help for Gong Gong to relieve the burden off Po Po. Her name was Cindy, and she came from the Philippines. She cooked for us, cleaned, bathed Gong Gong, even helped him cut his nails, pick his nose, down to the nitty gritty.

Even sharing the same flat with them, I did not see Gong Gong much. He stayed in his room most of the day. Everyone encouraged him to take walks outside, but having experienced an injury during his last walk outside—after falling—he developed a fear of it, and stubbornly stayed indoors.

Because Gong Gong was on medication, his Alzheimer’s was not immediately apparent—although I knew it was pretty severe. I guess when you don’t know someone well to start with—it’s not obvious when he acts like he doesn’t know who you are.

Dinnertime was when his deteriorating physical condition was the most obvious to me. He wanted to feed himself. Po Po would scoop food into his bowl, give him the portions that were easy to chew. I watched as he slowly brought the spoon to his lips, his hands shaking, his lips quivering, some of the rice making it into his mouth, but most of it falling onto the table. It was like watching a toddler feed himself, but worse.

When I was in grade eight, my homeroom teacher gave us an assignment. We had to write a biography on a family member. It was probably one of the most valuable assignments I ever had to do in elementary school. I chose to do it on my mom. It wasn’t until I did that biography that I realized how little I knew about my mom’s history. My mom never really volunteered information about her past. We had to ask. We had to probe. And a lot of the time, it never occurred to me to ask such specific questions. It was when I was thirteen-years-old that I learned that my mom was not supposed to be the oldest of five children in the family. A boy had been born before her, a stillborn. My mom said that this was the reason why she was not treated inadequately, even though she was a girl. The fortuneteller had told her parents that having a boy would have brought bad luck. She also had another sister once, but she had died due to ill health. They were very, very poor, my mom told me—rice and soy sauce for dinner; clothing was used and reused for the seasons, sewn and resewn; accusations at school were always directed at her when theft took place.

Gong Gong was absent, my mom told me. He smoked. He drank. He gambled. He had extra-marital affairs. Po Po took care of them. Even when she was going into labour, Po Po had to walk to the doctor’s by herself.

As a child, I was taught to pray for Po Po and Gong Gong’s souls. Po Po accepted Christ over a decade ago (God worked sovereignly in her life and her story is an amazing one too, but this entry is about Gong Gong). After Mah Mah died, my mom realized how little time she had left with her parents, so she began flying back to Hong Kong once a year. Starting then, she shared the gospel with Gong Gong again and again, but to no avail. Even in his physical and mental condition, he was still able to give a resolute “No” when she asked him whether he knew he was a sinner and needed to be forgiven.

Gong Gong accepted Christ in 2007. My mom gave a testimony of her experience during one of our church services. After the service, many people her age came up to me and told me that her testimony had made them cry—made them realize that they needed to work on trying to bring their parents to Christ.

Though I did not know Gong Gong well, I knew of his dark past, and I feel at peace knowing that just last year God forgave him for that dark past because Gong Gong finally saw that he was a sinner before God. That last week, he had breathed his last, but because somehow, beyond our understanding, God had managed to reach out and touch an old man's soul (even in his mental illness he was able to say, "I believe"), his death does not cast a somber shadow over our family but a hopeful one. This is the beauty of the Christian gospel: it is never, never too late.

A couple of days ago, I was reading John Piper’s Suffering and the Sovereignty of God. I came across a passage that talked about what I had been thinking about the past week since I learned of Gong Gong’s death.

"We all die, if Jesus postpones his return. Not to think about what it will be like to leave this life and meet God is folly. Ecclesiastes 7:2 says, 'It is better to go to the house of mourning [a funeral] than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart.' How can you lay it to heart if you won't think about it? Psalm 90:12 says, 'Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.' Numbering your days means thinking about how few there are and that they will end. How will you get a heart of wisdom if you refuse to think about this? What a waste, if we do not think about death."

I had said earlier that I had felt a pang of sadness upon hearing the news about Gong Gong. Let me emphasize pang. This pang of sadness actually made me feel a bit melancholic. It would have been really "nice", I thought, if I had felt an overwhelming wave of sadness, like the way I felt about Mah Mah when she passed away. But I didn’t know Gong Gong well enough. We barely had a relationship.

As a result, I decided to actively recall my moments with him. At first, I pictured him lying in his bed in the hospital—the tube attached to his body which provided him nutrition. I called to mind the sound of his voice. And always, for some reason, I couldn’t stop evoking the image of his trembling hand bringing the spoon of rice to his mouth.

Then I began to conjure up flashbacks, which I recorded in my journal on November 18, 2008:

“I remember their living with us during their visits from Hong Kong. They stayed in a room in the basement at Hampstead. Gong Gong used to smoke (until his health just couldn’t take it anymore) and mom would give him a dish to be used as an ash tray).

I remember the mornings. Each time he visited, he would boil milk, add an egg and sprinkle in some sugar. That was his breakfast. (There was a time in my early twenties when I made this breakfast too because I thought it tasted pretty good.)

I remember seeing him hold us as toddlers when he was here—in the old photo albums.

I remember his voice. Low, hoarse.

I remember his fragile, helpless state when Lee and I stayed with Gong Gong and Po Po just a few years ago. His bedwetting. His disorientation. His taciturnity (inability to talk).

I remember when Mom told me the story of how she brought Gong Gong to Christ—during a puzzle activity—at this point, Gong Gong having the mental capacity of a six-year-old.

And then I remember how we, as children, would pray and pray for his salvation and the Lord answering our prayers.

(Grace reminded me today of how Gong Gong used to write verses of poetry at Kensington and stuck the verses on random walls around the house—out of sheer boredom he wrote them.)

I wonder if Gong Gong is scared where he is, or whether, in his mental state, he’s thinking about where he is going.”

On the night of Gong Gong’s passing, I waited for Lee to come home from work so that we could pray. That morning, I had not known that Gong Gong was going to die that day, and had intended the prayer time to be for his health. It turned out to be a different prayer time.

Lee and I talked. He asked me, “What are you thinking? Feeling?” We talked about death. Then about how he and I would have to go through the same experience with our parents one day. We talked about how hard that would be. How sad we would be. And then we prayed. Much of the prayer was thankfulness and praise that God had blessed this family—his and mine—so much.

My sister and I are taking the children to see my Yeh Yeh today, my grandpa in Toronto. I am looking forward to the visit. My grandpa is an amazing man, and his contented state is a mystery and great testimony to those around him. The number of people who have approached me in church to praise Yeh Yeh’s character—is unbelievable—yet when they do, I nod in agreement, knowing exactly what they are referring to. Yeh Yeh is the epitome of JOY. No exaggeration. If you met him, you would be thinking the same thing. I have much to learn from him.

Life seems to be like that. At one moment you celebrate life, and then another moment, you are forced to contemplate death. For the believer or non-believer, we all have to come to grips with this inevitable outcome. As John Piper's statement reminds me—are we willing to look death in the face and determine what it means for us? A time of mourning. A time to savour every moment we have with our family and friends. A time to search for concrete and genuine meaning. A time to consider whether eternity really exists—and if it does, how can we go on living as if it didn't?

The Reason for God

I am sitting at my writing desk again. The shutters in front of me are open; the master bedroom is dimly lit by the white radiance coming from outside. The snow is falling fast, like rain. A quiet house, a forest of naked trees gradually being draped by snow, the calmness of a lonely birdhouse in the distance—such beauty never fails to rouse the reader and writer in me. And knowing that time is hard to come by, I rise (a bit reluctantly) from under the soft covers of my cozy bed and begin to write.

It has been snowing since Nathaniel’s crying woke me up at 7:30 a.m. He is sleeping again. When he went down for his first nap, I decided to finish the book I had started a few days ago, Timothy Keller’s A Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism.

I had expected that a book dealing with apologetics would be a harder read. I had expected that, like other similar books I’ve read, I would be rereading paragraphs or slowing down because of information overload. I had expected that I would have trouble finishing the book (since I picked up this book not for school but for leisure reading—I was under no obligation to finish it). But this book by Timothy Keller was a joy to read.

The book’s chapter titles immediately grab my attention—which is why I bought the book in the first place (actually, I’m buying it for my brother for his Christmas present—so let’s hope he isn’t reading this entry): “There Can’t Be Just One True Religion,” “How Could a Good God Allow Suffering?”, “Christianity Is a Straitjacket,” “The Church Is Responsible for So Much Injustice,” “How Can a Loving God Send People to Hell?”, “Science Has Disproved Christianity,” “You Can’t Take the Bible Literally.” But the book doesn’t end there. Keller knows it’s not enough to dispel skeptics of their doubts purely with explanations, no matter how complete or convincing they are. The second part of the book addresses reasons for the faith, with such titles as, “The Clues of God,” “The Knowledge of God,” “The Problem of Sin,” “Religion and the Gospel,” “The (True) Story of the Cross,” “The Reality of the Resurrection,” “The Dance of God,” and perhaps most importantly, “The Epilogue: Where Do We Go from Here?”.

First, the book is written in a voice and style that is very easy to read. While Keller uses a wide range of evidence to support his points, he presents them at a pace that allows the reader to easily digest the information. The ease of reading is reinforced by frequent subheadings (each section is no more than a few pages long, which gives the reader time to think and “breathe”) and striking analogies.

The beginning of the book addresses the Christian as well and his or her need to tackle such difficult questions, as he states, “Only if you struggle long and hard with objections to your faith will you be able to provide grounds for your beliefs to skeptics, including yourself, that are plausible rather than ridiculous and offensive. And, just as important for our current situation, such a process will lead you, even after you come to a position of strong faith, to respect and understand those who doubt.”

Moreover, Keller’s explanations also deal with problematic texts that have only recently surfaced, including Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code, Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion, and such Gnostic gospels as The Gospel of Thomas. The premises for such texts crumble in the face of Keller’s arguments.

As mentioned earlier, Keller incorporates effective illustrations in his arguments, which is what makes this book ideal for the lay reader. In the chapter “The Clues of God,” Keller discusses the incredible and miraculous way in which the universe is held together—“the speed of light, the gravitational constant, the strength of the weak and strong nuclear forces…” The author then offers a pertinent analogy for one who might believe that the universe had somehow come to be by chance: “The philosopher John Leslie poses a similar illustration. He imagines a man who is sentenced to be executed by a firing squad consisting of fifty expert marksmen. They all fire from six feet away and not one bullet hits him. Since it is possible that even expert marksmen could miss from close range it is technically possible that all fifty just happened to miss at the same moment. Though you could not prove they had conspired to miss, it would be unreasonable to draw the conclusion that they hadn’t… Although organic life could have just happened without a Creator, does it make sense to live as if that infinitely remote chance is true?”

Of course, being the aspiring artist, though Keller’s earlier arguments quench the thirst of my mind, it is when he discusses the clues of God—when it comes to LOVE and BEAUTY—that revives my gratitude for being a Christian.

“If there is no God, and everything in this world is the product of (as Bertrand Russell famously put it) 'an accidental collocation of atoms,' then there is no actual purpose for which we were made—we are accidents. If we are the product of accidental natural forces, then what we call ‘beauty’ is nothing but a neurological hardwired response to particular data… though music feels significant, that significance is an illusion. Love too must be seen in this light. If we are the result of blind natural forces, then what we call ‘love’ is simply a biochemical response, inherited from ancestors who survived because this trait helped them survive.”

Being an individual who aspires to become a writer, I admit that I sure don’t exercise a whole lot of discipline. Deep down, I know that if I were really the passionate and genuine writer I claim to be, I would be writing and reading a whole lot more than I am doing right now. At the same time, I know that every time I feel an urge to write in my journal, spend days and months finishing a story, or savor how another writer is able to combine words together to form striking image after striking image—it is precisely this LOVE and BEAUTY that flows from my Christian faith that act as the catalyst. Without the truths that Christianity offers—about LOVE and BEAUTY, and then about SIN, DEATH, and REDEMPTION—what I see out there, is empty of all meaning. And without meaning, for what reason would I pick up my pen?

And last, before I run out of time (Nathaniel has begun to whimper), it is Keller’s description of the beauty of the Christian gospel itself that compelled me to write this entry in the first place. What is so wrong with the other beliefs of doing good works and relying solely on personal merit as our goal for living? I believe Keller nails it with his personal sharing below:

“When my own personal grasp of the gospel was very weak, my self-view swung wildly between two poles. When I was performing up to my standards—in academic work, professional achievement, or relationships—I felt confident but not humble. I was likely to be proud and unsympathetic to failing people. When I was not living up to standards, I felt humble but not confident, a failure. I discovered, however, that the gospel contained the resources to build a unique identity. In Christ I could know I was accepted by grace not only despite my flaws, but because I was willing to admit them. The Christian gospel is that I am so flawed that Jesus had to die for me, yet I am so loved and valued and that Jesus was glad to die for me. This leads to deep humility and deep confidence at the same time. It undermines both swaggering and sniveling. I cannot feel superior to anyone, and yet I have nothing to prove to anyone. I do not think more of myself nor less of myself. Instead, I think of myself less. I don’t need to notice myself—how I’m doing, how I’m being regarded—so often…

This means that I cannot despise those who do not believe as I do. Since I am not saved by my correct doctrine or practice, then this person before me, even with his or her wrong beliefs, might be morally superior to me in many ways. It also means I do not have to be intimidated by anyone. I am not so insecure that I fear the power or success or talent of people who are different from me. The gospel makes it possible for a person to escape oversensitivity, defensiveness, and the need to criticize others. The Christian’s identity is not based on the need to be perceived as a good person, but on God’s valuing of you in Christ.”

To go back full circle, in his final chapter, Keller offers relief for the individual struggling with the question of whether he or she should become a Christian or not. What shall become of his or her doubts? Should he or she wait until they have all been appeased before taking the plunge? Oh, I must remember the analogy he gives here:

“Imagine you are on a high cliff and you lose your footing and begin to fall. Just beside you as you fall is a branch sticking out of the very edge of the cliff. It is your only hope and it is more than strong enough to support your weight. How can it save you? If your mind is filled with intellectual certainty that the branch can support you, but you don’t actually reach out and grab it, you are lost. If your mind is instead filled with doubts and uncertainty that the branch can hold you, but you reach out and grab it anyway, you will be saved. Why? It is not the strength of your faith but the object of your faith that actually saves you. Strong faith in a weak branch is fatally inferior to weak faith in a strong branch. This means you don’t have to wait for all doubts and fears to go away to take hold of Christ.”

I was, as a result, pleasantly surprised to arrive to this final chapter of Keller’s book. It is this final chapter that demonstrates that his intent in writing this book was not simply to fiercely tackle all the arguments out there against Christianity. It wasn’t simply a scholarly display of intellect or understanding. Bringing together the academic, the creative, and the personal, Keller offers more than just a religion. He urges the individual to decide on what is Truth, as he emphatically lays bare at the end of the book, where he includes excerpts from an interview with Bono and a short story by Flannery O’ Connor to drive home his point (another distinctive feature of this book is the incorporation of diverse secondary resources).

I must go now. Nathaniel is awake. I can hear his voice over the baby monitor—little high-pitched squeals. Somewhere deep down, I knew God would give me enough time to finish this entry.

True Quality Time

Gloomy day today. I’m sitting at my writing desk, which is in front of our master bedroom window. It looks out into a forest. I haven’t stepped outside, but I can tell it’s windy. The leaves are filling the air like a mass of birds in the sky.

Just put Nathaniel in the crib. He cried for about three seconds before beginning his self-soothing (fingers in mouth, head turned to the side). At night now, he falls asleep fuss-free about 80% of the time. Every night, I am hoping that he won’t cry because it is so painful to listen to. Sometimes, I start crying myself. But I heed the advice in the book I’m reading and the amazing results I’m already seeing, and I let Nathaniel cry on.

One case study in Dr. Weissbluth’s book, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, has a mother saying this about letting a baby cry himself to sleep:

“You, as parents, have to understand and believe intellectually that it is the right thing to do. Otherwise feelings of guilt will overpower you, and you will give in. You must have the support of your spouse, as it will be too much of a strain to bear it alone.

You are doing what is best for your baby. It seems cruel and unacceptable as a loving new mother to let your baby cry. But it is a fact of parenting—many, many things will bring tears and protests in the years to come.” (p. 303)

Dr. Weissbluth also provides this helpful suggestion:

"When your child is crying and she is not hungry, say to yourself: 'My baby is crying because she loves me so much she wants my company, but she needs to sleep. I know the value of good sleep, and I love my baby so much that I am going to let her sleep." (p. 262)

Last night, Nathaniel was so tired he was sleeping even as I was burping him. I put him down at 7:30 p.m. (the sleep-training is working so effectively that his bedtime is naturally becoming earlier and earlier—I don’t even have to impose it, he just shows signs that he wants to be put in bed at an early hour). The baby monitor goes off at 8:00: Nathaniel is crying intensely. I go to him after 15 minutes or so because I can’t bear it. He burps shortly after I pick him up (he didn’t burp earlier because he had fallen asleep). Unfortunately, though he fell asleep successfully on his own the first time around, he is frustrated the second time around, because he is overtired now and self-soothing isn’t going to do it. He cries for 45 minutes before falling asleep again, but he doesn’t wake up until almost six hours later.

This morning, I tiptoe into his room, thinking he is asleep because the house is quiet. From six feet away, I peer into his crib. His eyes are open. He’s just staring into space. At this point, I can hear my mom’s voice saying to me, “If he’s not complaining, just leave him.” I know I should, but he looks so “delicious” at that moment, playing by himself in his crib, I can’t help but approach him and give him my morning smile. He smiles back, then opens his arms wide, ready to be picked up. Oh—the joys of motherhood!

Thanksgiving weekend. More time with Daddy. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday morning, when Nathaniel awakens, I bring him to the family bed. Here I am, lying beside the two most cherished boys in my life: Lee on my right and Nathaniel on my left. Nathaniel turns his head back and forth, touching Mommy’s face, then Daddy’s. With me, he smiles. With Daddy, he’s got almost a pensive look, as if studying him, as if knowing, “You’re not normally beside me in the morning.” I guess that’s why he tries to reach for him.

In Dr. Dobson’s Bringing up Boys, there’s an observation that is sadly true about today’s families:

“Most of the time [children] spend with their family is what you call ‘family and time’: family and TV, family and dinner, family and homework, etc. The lives of each family member are usually so jam-packed that the opportunity to spend time together doing unique activities—talking about life, visiting special places, playing games, and sharing spiritual explorations—has to be scheduled in advance. Few do so.”

In one way or another, I’m hoping that Lee and I don’t fall into this trap. That the time we spend with Nathaniel is true quality time. That he doesn’t become secondary to the activity we are engaging in.

As Dr. Dobson concludes in the same chapter:

“Your task as a mother, in conjunction with your husband, is to build a man out of the raw materials available in this delightful little boy, stone upon stone upon stone. Never assume for a moment that you can ‘do your own thing’ without serious consequences for him. I believe this task must be your highest priority for a period of time. It will not always be required of you. Before you know it, that child at your feet will become a young man who will pack his bags and take his first halting steps into the adult world. Then it will be your turn. By all expectations, you should have decades of health and vigor left to invest in whatever God calls you to do. But for now, there is a higher calling. I feel obligated to tell you this, whether my words are popular or not. Raising children who have been loaned to us for a brief moment outranks every other responsibility. Besides, living by that priority when kids are small will produce the greatest rewards at maturity.” (p. 108)

This is a good reminder to me. I’ve always been a multi-tasker, very often engaging in multiple responsibilities at once—usually, doing two academic programs simultaneously, meanwhile teaching and serving in church. The sleep-training is going so well, that not only am I happy for Nathaniel’s growth, but my thoughts are wandering to the things I can accomplish now—my thesis, my remaining courses for my seminary degree, my short stories, my journaling, my leisure reading. All these things are also great loves of mine—but I must remember Dr. Dobson’s words and always put Nathaniel first.

Well, it has been forty minutes. Lately, Nathaniel’s naps have ranged anywhere between 1 hour and 3 hours. I want to move onto one more task before he wakes up.

Bit the Bullet, Took the Plunge

Well, I moved Nathaniel to the crib three nights ago. The first night was a fluke. He appeared fussy at 7:00 p.m., so I put him down for a “nap” (he usually goes to bed at 9:00 p.m.). He wound up waking at 1:30 a.m. This made me realize that he was, indeed, ready to be placed in the crib.

The first official night was rather successful. He fell asleep both times with no fuss (that is, every 6 hours, after a feeding). The past two nights, there was some intense crying, though no more than 20-30 minutes.

Might I recommend the book Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, by Marc Weissbluth to new parents who want to sleep train their baby? The methods didn’t work so much for the first two months, but now that I’m rereading this book and applying it once again, his methods seem to be working. My sister recommended that I read Baby Wise when I was still pregnant; that book was helpful, but Weissbluth’s book is much more detailed and pragmatic—offering up strategies to correct the poor sleeping habits of a baby.

He’s very much an advocate of protecting a baby’s sleep schedule. As I confessed a month ago, I was taking “shortcuts” to put Nathaniel to sleep (i.e., taking trips to friends’ houses, to the mall, so he’d fall asleep in the car, in the stroller, in the swing, etc.). To add to that, it was rather “boring” to be at home all the time, and the weather was so nice, it was hard to lock myself indoors. My sister told me that this was what was required if I really wanted to sleep train the baby. Stay home for a week at least and focus only on sleep training. I have done so more or less the past two weeks, and seriously, there is a drastic difference in Nathaniel’s sleeping habits.

Now, my life is all about Nathaniel’s schedule, not mine (once or twice a week, I go out for a few hours). Scheduled feedings (3.5 to 4 hours). If he wants to be fed, I try to entertain him, play with him, take him out to distract him. These are periods of wakefulness, which Weissbluth says should be no more than 1 to 2 hours. Then, when the baby shows signs of tiredness (he has a list of these signs in his book), it’s time to begin the soothing period and put the baby in the crib (drowsy, but not asleep).

One obstacle has therefore been eliminated. I no longer feel the pressure to “nurse” him to sleep. That is, once he’s fallen asleep in my arms, I no longer have to worry about—If I get up, is he going to wake? Even if he opens his eyes upon my standing up and placing him in the crib, 75% of the time, he does not protest—he opens his eyes for a brief second, then drifts to sleep. (The only time he complains is when he is overtired or he isn’t as tired as I suspected that he was, in which case, I keep him awake a bit longer, then try the whole putting him to the crib thing again).

The main problem I have now, which I have to figure out how to eliminate, is that though Nathaniel sleeps through the night in his crib, he seems to wake at 4:00 a.m. every night and stays completely awake until 5:15 a.m. Playing, crying, fussing… on and off, on and off.

(I write this as Nathaniel is napping. I didn’t even mean to put him down for a nap; I put him down so I could wash the dishes this morning, and the next thing I knew, he fell asleep in the playpen and it’s been an hour!!!)

There have been some nice changes already in my life, though I miss having him sleep beside me. It’s the best feeling to wake up with him next to me in the morning; he looks over, wide-eyed, smiles, begins talking to me, and reaching out to touch my face. My eyes tear up knowing that those moments will be gone in a short while.

At the same time, I can sleep without being self-conscious about whether I will wake Nathaniel with every movement that I make. Plus, before sleeping, I have time to read now, since I can turn the light on, and ruffle around the pages in a book. At odd hours of the morning, when Nathaniel is crying and I can’t sleep (since I’m listening intently to the monitor to hear if he’s okay), I have time to write in my journal or read. My husband and I are able to spend time without Nathaniel during dinner (twice so far). All this knowing that Nathaniel is developing good, healthy sleeping habits and growing more independent. Biting the bullet, taking the plunge—the results were gradual, but oh so worth it! I can’t describe the joy I feel as a result of such a simple achievement.

Weissbluth’s schedule for the five to twelve month old is as follows:

Bedtime 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. (for Nathaniel, it’s been between 9:00 and 10:00 p.m., but I’m hoping this will change. Before, it was because I had him in the kitchen playpen with me while I cooked and so he could play with Daddy when he came home from work. Soon, however, I’m going to “protect the sleep schedule,” and put him down whether Daddy comes home on time or not.)

First awakening (for Nathaniel, he wakes up at around 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. for the first feeding)

Second awakening (for Nathaniel, he wakes up at around 4:00, but I don’t go to him until 5:30 or 6:00; I check on him, and keep turning on the mobile – without his seeing me – but I don’t feed him. If he sees me, he’ll actually wind up crying louder and longer)

Start the day at 7:00 a.m. (for Nathaniel, it’s been between 9:00 and 10:00 a.m., since he’s up for almost two hours between 4:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m.)

First Nap (for Nathaniel, this is anywhere between 12:00 p.m. and 1:30; initially, it took me as long as two hours to put him down for his first nap; he kept refusing to sleep; I kept picking him up, holding him for 10-15 minutes, then putting him back down again; he resisted less and less as I continued to consistently put him down for a nap)

Two hours of wakefulness (for Nathaniel, it’s 2-3 hours of wakefulness, which includes play time, going out, grocery shopping, or my doing chores with him in the carrier when I can)

Second Nap

Two hours of wakefulness

Third nap (varies)

Two hours of wakefulness

It’ll be another several weeks before I’ll see how Nathaniel learns. But as EVERY experienced parent has told me, a baby/child learns best with consistency. Last night, Lee saw me so exhausted from the previous night, he suggested, “Why don’t you bring him to bed tonight, so you get some rest?” I shook my head, though it was tempting. “I have to be consistent. I just put him in the crib—there is no turning back now.” If the crying gets too bad at night (which I know it will at times), maybe Lee will have to get ear plugs, if he wants to get his much needed rest for the next work day.

If anyone is reading the past entries of this blog, my subject seems to be focused on Nathaniel’s sleep habits. That’s because this is my life now. I’m enjoying it—seeing him grow, even sleeping on his own, makes me tearful when he starts to do other things on his own. As my sister warned me yesterday, “Wait till he learns to crawl away from you…”

Lessons from the Young and the Old

I went to my sister’s house today. While all of us were sitting around the kitchen table eating lunch, Charis, my four-year-old niece, posed a question to her parents: “How old do I have to be before I know when I’m eating too much candy?”

Her dad then replied: “You’re old enough now, Charis.”

It was cute.

It also made me consider whether we, as adults, have ever asked ourselves when we have indulged in too much ____________ [insert your vice here]. Have we exercised enough self-control when what we have been guilty of indulging in has robbed us from time with God, time with family, time with friends?

~~~

For the past week, Nathaniel has gradually learned to sleep on his own. God has been so good to this family. I didn’t have to suffer too much. Just a few nights of crying, but the crying, with time and patience, was consolable. I’ll study his behavior for another week or so to see if this amazing behavior keeps up. When he’s tired now, it’s almost like he wants me to put him in his crib. All I have to do his put him there, turn on the mobile, and leave the room. Within ten to twenty minutes, when I go back to check on him again, he’s usually asleep, with little or no fussing.

It’s remarkable how good it makes me feel to know that Nathaniel is learning this one act of independence. I can’t imagine what will be ahead—when he begins to learn other things. To be honest, I’m the one who has to let go. At night, I feel comforted when he’s lying next to me: then I can hear his breathing, put covers on him when he’s kicked it off, hold back his arms when he’s scratching his own face in his sleep, etc. When he’s in the next room, it’s almost like I have to “trust” that he’s okay, even though I’m not there watching him every minute.

About a month ago, I emailed one of my seminary professors for parenting advice. I inquired about when discipline of a child begins. I had doubts about whether it was too early at this stage—or was I simply too scared to make sacrifices for Nathaniel’s own good? I wanted counseling from a Christian/biblical perspective—as that is the only perspective I can really trust. His response was what affirmed my resolve to begin training Nathaniel right away. God showed his grace by allowing me to witness results almost immediately. This gave me the impetus to persevere in doing what I was doing. And as I described above—the discipline was and is still working. (Praise the Lord!)

For any new mothers reading this blog, I am going to paste his advice below in case it might help you as well (my goodness, it’s almost 6:00 p.m.—Nathaniel has been sleeping since 2:30 p.m. I hope that doesn’t disrupt his sleep tonight):

Each child is unique, so no ready made formula will fit Nathaniel. However, if you stick to the basics, I cannot foresee any problems with him growing up to be the man he should be.

1. Infants need lots of interaction: conversing, playing, embracing, kissing, etc. You cannot overdo this.

2. Some structure should be in place early in the life of the child. We fed, changed, and played with them regularly; however, we also gave them a routine. We made them sleep at set times in the day when they were tired, established a regular bedtime at night, and yes, after a while we encouraged them to sleep through by refraining to pick them up, even though they cried. Bear in mind, first, we made sure that they were not sick, hungry or wet. Once we eliminated all of these, we resisted the urge to pick them up or let them sleep in our bed, a bad habit that is hard to cure! This latter decision caused us great angst, since the natural inclination is to respond immediately to the cry of your offspring. But we realized that children want constant attention, day and night, and that crying is the primary means of getting what they desire. So we had to make the painful choice at times not to respond, just because they cried.

Parents must balance their responsibilities to their infants, with their responsibilities to their spouses, extended family, and society as a whole. This structure, worked excellent for them and for us. We maintained our sanity! And by 7:30 at night, we could entertain in our homes or spend time as a couple, because our children were in bed asleep. As soon as our children realized that they would not get what they want just by crying, they gave up, slept or played with the toys in their environment. They also learnt that life was not all about them.

Now although there seems to be some benefit to this approach, it is only one approach. Thus, if you are uncomfortable with the advice you received, regarding feeding and sleeping through, you should explore other approaches that may be more acceptable to you.

3. The key to parenting, however, is consistency. Once you have established a set of rules, you should endeavour to abide by them. This will be useful for Nathaniel throughout his childhood years.

4. At the end of the day, this is your baby, not mom's, dad's, aunt Jane or uncle Ben. He is God's gift to you both; therefore, consult His Word for principles and trust His wisdom in tricky spots to guide you.

5. Remember, all parents make "mistakes" in parenting. Generally, these are overcome over the long run, if we love our children, instruct them in the right way, and live consistent and exemplary lives before them.

Bottom line: don’t stress yourself about getting it right. Enjoy your baby, encourage and reinforce good habits, trust him to the Lord in prayer, and just use plain old fashion common sense.

I am well aware, that this is more advice, precisely the problem you are having. Therefore, please feel free to discard all the above, except the part about the Lord!

My professor’s advice made me realize that I had to keep a bigger perspective in mind—and that included my family (especially my husband) and my spiritual life. Last night, Nathaniel fell asleep at 7:15 and woke at 12:05 a.m. As a result, Lee came home, and for the FIRST time in four months, he and I were able to spend time together in the evening without Nathaniel. In addition, for the past few days, I’ve had so much more time to read the Bible and write—two things I’ve been itching to do but had difficulty doing because of the short, short windows of sleep Nathaniel was getting.

I shall wait for what is to come in the next few weeks, but I shall give everything over to my God. Every step I take in parenting Nathaniel, I will hand over to my Father in Heaven. I offer all my thanks to Him, for He has proven Himself faithful again and again in my life.

Comfort in the Steadfastness of His Word

Just finished reading the book of Isaiah this morning.

Last night, when Nathaniel woke up only two hours after his last feeding—3:30 a.m.—I was determined not to feed him. I put up with an hour and a half of his crying before feeding him. The pacifier failed me. So did singing him a lullaby (although it had worked the night before). He was resolute in wanting to suck to sleep. My sister was right: the older he is, the stronger his will is. At least at three months, I had a chance of distracting him with some other activity, offering him an alternative.

Lying in bed, tired and exasperated by Nathaniel’s persistent crying, I find it easy to become skeptical about whether this is the way to go. It would be much more simple if I just fed him when he wanted (not need, want—there is a reason why he’s over 15 lbs at four months). If my job was simply to gratify his immediate demands so as to keep him happy all the time (as in, not crying), I wouldn’t have to be tormented by his howling discomfort. But I am relying and trusting the advice of my mom, my sister, and my close friends who are also new mothers: Nathaniel needs to learn to fall asleep on his own.

So as I was lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, I thought about the connection between what I have been reading in Isaiah and what I am experiencing. How God is unchangeable, always faithful, true to his promises. That amidst the darkness and chaos of sin, we can anchor our hope in his divine promises.

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out form my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, and it shall accomplish that which I purpose and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” Isaiah 55:10-11

And as such, we can walk in obedience to God’s Word, even when we are facing challenges, temptations, self-doubt, and wonderment about whether we are going in the right way. Even when it is inconvenient or uncomfortable for us to do so. God’s Word provides magnificent assurance of what direction we are to head toward, what steps we are to take.

If it were not for some of the baby care books that I am reading or the advice of family and friends, I would, without hesitation, give in to Nathaniel’s demands (I’m pretty sure I will on the days when I can’t bear to hear his crying). One of the baby care books actually places emphasis on the necessity of teaching/disciplining a baby to fall asleep on his own: “If [the baby] isn’t able to fall asleep by himself by six months of age, the window of opportunity for learning this skill may not be open again for several months. After six months, he is likely to begin a normal phase known as separation anxiety, in which a mighty howl may erupt when you are out of his sight, especially at bedtime. As a result, if after six months he’s still used to being nursed, held, and rocked through several rounds of ‘Hey Diddle Diddle’ until he’s sound asleep, you can plan on repeating this ritual for months on end unless you are prepared to endure a vigorous and prolonged protest.” (Focus on the Family: The First Two Years, page 119-120)

Not that their words are anywhere close to the authority of God’s Word—but because of their expertise, their years of experience, their wisdom as mothers—their words do mean something, and as a result, their words give me the much needed strength and motivation to press on, though I lack the experience to discern and understand what lays ahead.

When I finish feeding Nathaniel on the rocking chair, and I look down to see a peaceful, sleeping baby resting on my lap, I can’t help but sigh and tell myself, Okay, get up. You have to put him in his crib, even if he wakes up and doesn’t go back to sleep, even if he has to cry himself to sleep. He can’t sleep on your lap forever. Oh—how much more simple it would be if I could just let him sleep on my lap, so he would get his much needed rest for the day.

I get the feeling that this is a snapshot of what disciplining a child will be like. It will require firmness, consistency, and love—coupled with a vision of Nathaniel’s future—that this is good for him, even if it is hard for me.

Lee and I pray every day for Nathaniel’s wellbeing. That God grant us wisdom and strength to raise him right. Oh how much we need his guidance.

Must stop blogging now. Nathaniel has been crying in his crib for the past forty minutes (as I am finishing this blog, he has just gone from crying to whimpering to silence... better go check on him...)

Night Wakings: No, Me

Fed Nathaniel at 11:30. He fell asleep on my lap for a while, and at around 12:35, I took the plunge and put him to sleep in the crib. He opened his eyes for several seconds and started to cry, but I stuck a pacifier in his mouth, shushed him, and helped him close his eyes. He fell back asleep. So far, it’s been a miraculous 15 minutes.

For some reason, the past few days, I’ve been hesitant about putting him in the crib. At four months, he seems to be going through “separation anxiety” of some sort. He’s crying much sooner when I put him down, and his lungs are much stronger now, because he’s crying much louder too. When I’m cooking or whatnot, I watch him—tears are streaming down his face and he’s got a serious, desperate look on his face. When I’m well-rested and healthy (as in, no blocked ducts), I feel like giving in and holding him.

His sleeping habits have been awful the past week. He’s waking up on average every two to three hours for a feeding. I’m beginning to wonder whether this is God’s way of telling me that I need to put him in the crib for the night. That Nathaniel is getting too used to having my being next to him that he thinks that “nighttime” means he gets an Open Bar for the next ten hours. I have to keep reminding myself of what my mom said about determination and persistence. I have to tell myself that I need to make short-term sacrifices for long-term gain. Sigh. Am I ready?

I have awful memories of swimming lessons during my younger days. Besides being made fun of by this one boy while I was doing the front crawl (I was always swimming too slowly and he always caught up to me from behind), I hated it when it came time to take turns to jump off the diving board. Because once you went up that ladder, there was no turning back, because all your peers wee waiting their turn. Then you walk up to the edge of the diving board, look down, down, down, at the waters below, and you pray hard that you don’t do a belly flop. This is the picture in my head when I think about putting Nathaniel in the crib permanently. “X” number of nights of crying, crying, crying. No sleep. No sleep. No sleep.

Since I’m continually being awakened by Nathaniel when I’m in deep sleep, I am remembering my dreams more. I can usually recall them during the day, and remember them vividly enough to share them with the husband. Lately, I’ve been having a lot of dreams where Lee is in “physical” trouble, and I do my best to try to save him, but I can’t. Last week, I told Lee that I had a dream that a big, muscular guy forced himself through the window on the driver’s side of our car and began strangling him. I was sitting on the passenger’s side, screaming, trying to pry the guy’s arms off Lee’s neck, but it was to no avail, Lee fell unconscious. Then Nathaniel woke me up. It was the scariest thing—because the dream had been so real. Then, the other night, I had a dream that I was in battle. All of us were clad in our armor. This fearsome soldier circulated the field, looking for Lee, ready to decapitate him, and here I was, running after the solider in an attempt to save Lee. I’m not sure, psychologically, what these dreams mean, but I’m supposing that it’s because, ever since Nathaniel has been born, I’ve grown much more dependent on Lee, and such dreams may be a manifestation of my fear of losing him.

Being awakened every few hours isn’t fun, especially when I can’t fall back sleep. On the bright side, as long as Nathaniel can fall back asleep, I can’t complain too much, I guess. Better him than me. During those insomniac moments, however, my mind wanders a lot, and I always hope that the next day, there might be a window for me to write it all down. Rarely does this happen, so since Nathaniel is sleeping, I’m trying to maximize my opportunity (though I really should be using this hard-won moment to shower…).

I just finished Dr. James Dobson’s Bringing up Boys today during my last feeding. I got so much insight from this book that it’s hard to know where to begin regarding expressing my response to it. I’ve been sharing a lot of it with Lee, and underlining the parts in the book that I hope Lee will pay attention to (he started reading it last night). It’ll also be interesting to hear his take on it when he’s done since he’s the BOY.

But since my time is always limited and I predict Nathaniel will wake up soon (whoa—he’s been sleeping for 40 minutes already!), I shall respond to the points Dr. Dobson makes in the order which he makes them in the book (so if I don’t tackle a point in this entry, it shall resurface in a future entry). I shall bring up the points that hit home regarding my own childhood upbringing.

My parents were “followers” of Dr. Dobson’s parenting principles as well. I remember in high school, I found Hide and Seek on their book shelf and went through it out of curiosity—in the book were my parents’ pencil marks on points they found important. So here I am, decades later, doing the exact same thing they did.

Chapter Five is entitled, “The Essential Father,” in which Dr. Dobson writes, “Let me emphasize again that boys suffer most from the absence or noninvolvement of fathers.” [Nathaniel awakens] He continues later by saying, a Father’s “legacy is like that of countless fathers who were too busy, too selfish, and too distracted to care for the little boys who reached for them… When a father is uninvolved—when he doesn’t love or care for his kids—it creates an ache, a longing, that will linger for decades.”

It’s this last part that hits a soft spot in my heart because I have come to experience that aching and longing. Thirty years old, and I still have trouble letting go of the fact that my dad didn’t spend enough time with us when we were kids. Enough so that the pains of my dad’s absence during my childhood years inspired many scenes in one of my short stories. I turned a painful truth in my past and gave it a fictionalized setting.

Granted, I have come to understand that perhaps my dad communicates his love to me differently. Perhaps providing for the family financially is his love language. Never did our family ever have to worry about shelter, food, education. My dad was (is) an ambitious, hard-working man. His being a visionary and successful businessman has led to his success in starting two big companies in the past two decades. He’s appeared in the Globe and Mail and the front cover of some magazine whose name I’ve already forgotten.

Perhaps one of the most heart-wrenching questions that haunted me during my childhood was this, “Did my dad love his work more, or me?” As a child, I never knew. He spent enough time at the office to make me think it was the former.

It is with this skeleton in the closet that makes all sorts of emotions surge inside me as I read Dr. Dobson’s words on the importance of a parent’s role in the home.

Of course, even before reading his book, I’ve always grown up wanting something different for my own future family (that’s what we all do, right?). When I was single, I was careful about which guys I was interested in. The one who appeared overly ambitious was the one that I tried to stay away from. I’m blessed to have Lee. He works hard—because he has to (as he says). But most of the time, when he comes home, I have no doubt that he’d rather be spending it there with me than anywhere else.

More on these thoughts later… Nathaniel’s crying is intensifying…

Baby and Marriage Snapshots & Lessons Learned

The other night, at 4:30 a.m., Nathaniel awakens. It’s pitch dark in the master bedroom, and I deliberately do not turn on the lights in hope that Nathaniel will fall back asleep. Instead, for a good 45 minutes, even though I’m crouched silently at the edge of the bed (so he doesn’t notice I’m there—because any sight of me will make him cry for milk), I listen to him suck his hands, excitedly kick his feet, and talk. Yes, talk (night time is usually completely quiet in the bedroom unless Nathaniel wants milk—never is it play time). And he talks loudly. And since he can’t see me in the darkness, or anything else for that matter, I have to wonder what he’s thinking all that time when he’s making all sorts of sounds. Normally, I would have been more stressed by his waking, but I found myself attentive and amused.

Even worse (grin), I decided to turn my “lemon” moment into “lemonade.” Nathaniel manages to turn his body all around, 90 degrees so that his feet are now kicking my back. I wind up edging myself closer to the bottom his feet, and I get a good twenty-minute massage out of it (he kicks pretty hard). After 45 minutes, when he finally starts to whine, I turn on the lights. I LOVE it. His big eyes gaze into mine. Blink. Blink. Smile. I melt. Okay—let’s not follow the rules of the baby care books tonight (no social interaction with the baby in the nighttime)—at 5:15 a.m., I’m talking back to the baby and tickling him, and having fun with him until six in the morning. Luckily, we sleep in that morning until eleven.

At the moment, I’m also breaking another rule. He’s sleeping on my lap right now (his fingers are twitching while he’s sleeping, it’s so cute). I know I should be hoisting him up and putting him in his crib and letting him cry until he takes his morning nap in his crib—but this morning, I don’t feel like doing that to him. I guess my mood changes from day to day. Sometimes I’m totally fine with disciplining him, and on some days, I can’t help but indulge him a little (often, this has a strong correlation to the amount of energy I have and how much I slept the night before).


Lee said something sweet to me the other night. During dinner, as I was serving him Beef, Potatoes and Carrots in Coconut Curry Sauce on Rice, he comments, “I have my chef back.” I smile. Month three was when I began to cook regularly again. I learned to split up my dinner preparation throughout the day to minimize Nathaniel’s crying (yes, he cries still every time I put him down to do household chores). First window: Wash and chop up vegetables. Second window: Marinade the meat. Third window: Cook rice, fill pots with water or what not. Fourth Window: Put dishes in dishwasher. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Now that I’m sleeping more, I’m back to taking joy in making Lee a nice, welcoming dinner. I know he works hard during the day, and I imagine it’s a great relief when he comes home and is greeted by the aroma of food cooking on the stove, slow cooker or oven. On my lazy days, of course, I’ve got frozen M & M’s in the freezer, frozen dumplings with instant noodles, or marinated meat for Lee to cook on the barbeque.

I heard a sermon in chapel last spring about the importance of looking for evidences of grace in our brothers and sisters. I have to remind myself quite often to do so with the husband. Sometimes, without knowing it, I wind up spending more time telling Lee what he should or shouldn’t do instead of raising him up. (The most popular phrase since Nathaniel came into the picture, “Shhhh… quiet, the baby’s sleeping!” It gets frustrating for the husband at times because he complains that it’s impossible to stay completely quiet all the time. Then I get frustrated at times because it takes so much effort to put a baby to sleep.) Of course, he says, now and then, he finds that I nag him, and I say, in my defense, that it’s “not” nagging, because if he remembered to do _______ (INSERT TASK) the first time around, there wouldn’t be any need to tell him again.

With a baby in the picture now, the frequency and need for both he and I to tell each other what to do (i.e., regarding household chores, errands to run, budget concerns, etc.) has increased—but we’ve learned better how to communicate to one another over the past several months—we express our wishes with much more courtesy, and have also learned to withhold our grievances when we realize it’s really not necessary to utter them.

During the first two months, for example, when Lee returned to work after two weeks of vacation, I became much more in tune with Nathaniel’s habits. Then, when Lee came home from work and I handed Nathaniel to him (while I began cooking dinner), I would hear Nathaniel crying and fussing. Lee would do his best to do this and that, but initially, at times, it was to no avail. During those months, here and there, I would give Lee specific instructions, thinking I was helping him (i.e., “No, hold him this way, not that way—he doesn’t like that,” or, “Don’t let him look at the television,” “Don’t diaper him too tightly,” etc.), until it came to the point when Lee snapped at me one night, “Stop criticizing me with everything I’m doing with the baby.” Then he had marched out of the room with Nathaniel in his arms.

I was upset at first, because I felt my intentions were good. But it was then that I had to learn to give my husband the freedom to learn for himself how to take care of Nathaniel. Now that Nathaniel is four months old, I realize even more the benefit of doing so. There is a special bond that Lee is capable of developing with Nathaniel that I cannot. First: a lot of the time, all I remind Nathaniel of is that I’m his source of food. Second: Lee can play with him in ways I cannot. I notice during his play with Nathaniel, that he’s a lot more “rough” with Nathaniel (at first, this scared me and I would keep telling Lee to be more gentle with him), but then I realized that it didn’t really bother Nathaniel (it bothered me more than it bothered him). Having learned this fact, I’m enjoying watching Father and Son play together a lot more. This was one of the crucial lessons that I learned these past months: keeping silent, learning to relax, letting the husband be his own when with his son. Since then, the doors have opened between he and Nathaniel—there are things that Lee does that makes Nathaniel laugh which I can’t do—and it’s that very fact that makes me enjoy watching them so much. (I'm in the middle of reading Dr. James Dobson's Bringing up Boys, which discusses the Father and Son relationship... more on this book when I'm done.)

Last night, as Nathaniel and I retired to bed at 9:30 p.m., I say good night to my husband. I say sweetly to him, “Can I get a hand massage before I go to sleep?” My husband, then says, “Say something nice about me first” (he likes to say that playfully to me whenever I ask him for services such as these), so I say, in an equally playful manner, “You’re really good-looking.” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not genuine. I want something genuine.” “Okay, okay,” I pause, and think about it. Then I say, “I’ve noticed in the past two weeks, you’ve grown a lot more patient.” When he begins massaging my hand, I know that he deems my statement genuine.

Making Time for Worship

Twenty minutes ago, Nathaniel fell asleep in my arms while I was sitting in the rocking chair. I waited for enough time to pass before setting him down in the crib. I was unsuccessful. He opened his eyes, began to pout. I rubbed his tummy and tried to shush him back to sleep but was unsuccessful. He has been crying intensely for the past ten minutes. I thought I would give it twenty before tending to him. Enough time for a short entry.

Ever since Nathaniel has been born, it has been a challenge to sit through a complete church service or fellowship gathering. Only once in the past four months has he fallen asleep during an entire service. As a result, it’s hard to feel like I’ve “worshipped” on Sunday’s. Initially, I borrowed my dad’s CD series of Rev. Charles Price sermons to listen to in the car during the week to make up for it. It has helped somewhat—at least I feel I’m still learning about God’s Word.

Lee and I have been trying to attend our career fellowship, but it’s the same—the weekend evening start time no longer works for us when the baby gets fussy as soon as it nears eight or nine in the evening. Plus, I don’t think it’s very fair to Nathaniel to impose our “adult schedule” on him. Babies take comfort in familiarity and routine.

It’s a bit better when the fellowship program is at our house. Lee and I used to lead Bible studies together, but now it’s all him while I’m busy keeping the baby quiet as he is leading (boy do my arms and wrist hurt by the end of the evening!). This past Saturday, he led a Bible study on Joshua 23 (we’ve been focusing on the book of Joshua since the winter).

I have to admit—one of the things about breastfeeding now is that, on the occasion, I feel cut off from the rest of the group. I love a good conversation, and I love a good discussion during an interactive fellowship program—so to have to leave mid-way to feed Nathaniel for half an hour—takes some getting used to, especially since I love listening to my husband whenever he has to lead a program. Which is what happened again this past Saturday. I sat on the rocking chair upstairs in the master bedroom and tried to listen to the discussion going on downstairs, but couldn’t make it out. All the while, I’m looking at Nathaniel, hoping he’d eat faster so I could go back downstairs again. I had to remind myself at that point that Nathaniel comes first now, and for me to focus on feeding him rather than tending to my own yearnings.

As it grew closer to nine, I put Nathaniel in the crib, hoping he would fall asleep so I could join the final portion of the Bible study. Of course, it didn’t work, he was crying his head off, which I’m sure probably vexed some of the fellowship attendees (his crying ringing throughout the house—really no need for a baby monitor). When I sat down in the family room to join the group, I realized Lee’s Bible was closed already. “You’re finished?” I asked. He looked at me. “Pretty much,” he said. I put my hand gently on my husband's back, then whispered, “Can you get Nathaniel ready for bed then, and I’ll lead the prayer portion?” He nodded and went upstairs. The group then began to share our prayer requests and praises.

The reason I felt a need to blog was that, in these short twenty minutes of prayer sharing and group prayer, I had felt a deep sense of spiritual intimacy with the group—which I hadn’t felt since before Nathaniel was born. I appreciated it so much, and valued the spiritual thirst of the brothers and sisters there.

One of the couples who attended are expecting a baby in January, and it came to me that perhaps we could start our own small group with them next year (an English speaking small group for “new parents” does not exist yet in our church). I shared this with Lee that night and he concurred. The next day at church, I spoke to the Father-to-be, and he said that the idea came upon them as well after Saturday night’s program. Of course, both of us have to pray about this possible new direction—but I am amazed at how quickly God has answered my prayer.

Nathaniel’s intense crying has turned to fussing. Let’s hope he’s beginning to fall asleep.

Sipping my tea...

Believe it or not, I’m sitting at my writing desk, enjoying chocolate biscuits and tea while Nathaniel is asleep in his crib. So far, the scheduling of his nap times is working—he cried a lot yesterday, but only fussed for fifteen minutes or so today before falling asleep. Of course, his naps range anywhere from 20 minutes to three hours (average time is 35 minutes), so this blog is going to be brief.

I’ve been feeling guilty about not being disciplined in working on my master’s thesis. My topic is on Anne Steele. During Nathaniel’s first month, I was so excited about getting started, I had ordered a number of books online for research and even have a copy of her poetry and hymns now. Three months have passed, and I should have read more than I have. I’ve successfully cut daytime television-watching while breastfeeding (though I can’t help but check my email, surf on facebook, and read the daily news every morning)—and yesterday was my first attempt at doing 45 minutes of reading of J.R. Broome’s biography of Anne Steele during Nathaniel’s nap. I know that with these incredibly short naps of his, it’ll take me forever to make any headway on my thesis—which is why the daily discipline is so necessary. O God, please keep me disciplined.

I just want to share about the quality time the husband and I are finally having since Nathaniel was born. Not that it wasn’t there before, but I’ve witnessed a drastic difference in the past couple of weeks, mainly as a result of Nathaniel’s decrease in crying and fussing. Most noticeably, dinners are accompanied by less crying now that Nathaniel is spending more time trying to socialize with us. It’s the cutest thing—he alternates sitting on Daddy and Mommy’s laps during dinner, all the while making all sorts of sounds, trying to join in on our conversation.

Of course, given all the time I spend with Nathaniel, he naturally sticks to me or his gaze most often follows me when there are many people in a room. But now that he’s become more observant, he watches Daddy a lot, while he’s shaving, gelling his hair (the change table is in our master bedroom ensuite, so it can be pretty busy in the bathrooms in the morning when all of us are in there).

Last night, I transferred a sleeping Nathaniel into Daddy’s arms so that I could cook. Daddy sat in the rocking chair for half an hour in the darkness, sipping his Pepsi until I finished. Then, before bedtime, as Nathaniel laid on our bed, he stared at Daddy, and talked to him in long, extended huh’s and coo’s.

I must admit, when other mother-friends visited us during the first month, and saw our then six-pound son, they would let out an “Awwww,” then give a yearning look to their husbands, whispering, “I want another one” (funny, the husbands aren't usually as enthusiastic, their look is more one of anxiety). I was perplexed at first, wondering why they would yearn for that challenging first month, when my husband and I were completely sleep-deprived and had few moments to enjoy to ourselves.

Not that I have forgotten all the pain associated with labor, nor those sleepless nights, nor the splitting headaches, listening to hours of Nathaniel’s crying—but, after three months, I am already experiencing nostalgia. I look back at the photos and can’t believe that it has only been three months. The past few days, I have felt a surge of sadness, realizing how quickly Nathaniel is growing, and how quickly he will grow out of this stage and move onto the next, asserting more of his independence with each day (crawling, walking, etc.).

I just feel so blessed to be a Mother. I have no idea what God has planned for me, whether He plans on giving Nathaniel a sibling to play with one day—but I’ve enjoyed the process so far, and I find it amazing that this is how God has everything designed. Everything is a process that is to be unraveled, and we humans, with limited vision, are granted the chance to be part of these miraculous moments, watching them unravel ever so slowly—enough so that we appreciate the process.

Let’s see what time we have left of Nathaniel’s nap for me to do some more reading…

A Lesson on Motherhood

Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled. Titus 2:3-5

Nathaniel is past three months old. When my husband and I attended baby care classes prior to his birth, the nurse had stressed that a baby three months of age could not be spoiled. The same message was found in many of the baby care books that I had been reading.

I realized that as tiring as these past three months have been—to be told that I am to meet every need of Nathaniel’s— whether he was hungry, whether he needed to be held, whether he needed to be played with—was, in some sense, the “easier” part. Now the question is: What happens after the three months?

That is, now that he is 14+ pounds, is “too many feedings” possible? Is “holding him too much” possible? Is pampering him too much possible? Could I no longer rush to tend to his every need—that any of these indulgences might interrupt his sleeping patterns, learning, and overall behavioral development?

These questions and self-doubt creep in upon a deluge of advice from family, friends, relatives, even strangers. One extreme advice I received recently: to leave Nathaniel in his crib at night and ignore his cry for hunger, and after one week, he is certain to sleep through the night. Such a thought frightened me—as I could never think of doing such a thing.

I confess that Nathaniel has been sharing a bed with me since Day 1. He has usurped his father’s place, and the husband is waiting patiently to get it back. Right now, the husband is sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa bed in the next room. Of course, initially, it was more convenient to have the baby close to me—no need to get up at wee hours of the morning to feed the baby. Simply turn over. When baby was done, turn back over. But I have been warned by experienced mothers of the consequences of prolonging this practice—expect Nathaniel to be sleeping with me until he is two. So right now—I am gathering up the energy to return him to his crib very soon… this means more crying in the night time and less sleep for me. When am I ready to endure such hardship for long-term benefits? Oh… not yet, I confess. Just a little bit longer, I say, not wanting to dwell on the possible consequences of my actions.

I included the passage from Titus because I believe I genuinely witnessed it yesterday. My mom had called me Monday morning to ask me how I was. How was taking care of Nathaniel? We had had a celebration dinner of Nathaniel’s birth on Saturday, the sixteenth, and she said she had observed that I hadn’t been able to eat my dinner in peace, as I was constantly tending to Nathaniel. My reaction to her observation was one of surprise since this disposition has become the norm for me. Even when I am conversing with friends or eating a meal, my eye is always on him, whether he is crying or happy.

Then my mom invited me over to her house the next day. So on Tuesday, I wound up spending the entire day at her house.

My mom had been holding Nathaniel for some time, and then she had put him down in the play pen. No complaints after 15 minutes. I was watching him, as I was eating an apple pie my mom had baked. He’s going to cry soon, I think to myself.

Nathaniel whimpers now and then while lying in the play pen. Though tired, my instinct is to rush to his side. But my mom tells me to leave him alone. I do so. After about 45 minutes to an hour, Nathaniel falls asleep without any real complaint or crying. I’m flabbergasted. I say to my mom, “There must be something about your house—because he doesn’t do this at home,” I say, not having witnessed such “good” behavior.

“Maybe there’s something you’re doing that doesn’t make him feel at peace,” my mom says.

At first, I’m offended. “No, he’s at peace with me. I put him to bed like you do—but first he cries his head off and then he falls alseep.”

My mom advises me to start putting him in the crib--for Nathaniel’s own good, and for my marriage. She admits that she made that mistake with my younger brother. "I let him sleep with me for too long in the beginning. He refused to leave my room until he was four. Do you remember that?" She advises me that I have to remember to care for Lee too. So I say to my mom, “Okay, I’ll try to do it.”

“No,” my mom corrected, “Not ‘try.’ You have to be determined to do it. You have to have the mindset to do it—and then you execute it, consistently,” she says. And then she begins to recount the difficult days when she had to discipline me and my sister. “Do you know how exhausting it is to have to consistently exercise discipline? But you have to do it.”

Another confession. I’ve been going out almost on a daily basis with Nathaniel for the past month. First, because the days pass by more quickly for me. Second, because the stroller rides put Nathaniel to sleep (easier to push a stroller than to hold a 14 pound baby for an hour). To be determined not to go out, and to stay home and be ready to listen to Nathaniel’s crying, and tend to him for hours on end without any external props--car rides, stroller rides, etc.--(except the crib), would require much more effort. My mom was right: I had to be determined to do it.

Today, Nathaniel and I wake up at 8:00 a.m. I spend the morning having a conversation with him, until he gets bored and begins to cry. I put him on the changing station and then give him a bath. After I eat breakfast, I feed him, and shortly after, I put him in his crib.

He looked at me initially, with that adorable pout and those needy eyes, as if saying, “No, you’re not going to leave me here are you?” I touch his tummy, smile at him, and then I leave the room, closing the door behind me.

Yesterday, my sister advised me that when you start sleep training the baby, you have to find something to do while he fusses and cries—otherwise, it becomes too heart-wrenching to sit there and watch and listen to him cry. So I do. I start cleaning the kitchen—all the while with the baby monitor on. He whimpers now then, but no intense crying. Forty-five minutes later, after I’ve finished cleaning, I go check on Nathaniel. He is sleeping peacefully in his crib.

Praise the Lord. I had begun to pray more intensely regarding the decisions I make with Nathaniel. At first, it was simply that God might save Nathaniel’s soul—and if it was in God’s will, that He do so early. Now, I had begun to hand over even the most trivial items to Him. “God, can you even care for the little details in this family—things like blocked ducts, Nathaniel’s sleeping patterns, and the attention I must pay to my husband?” So quickly God has answered my prayers. Brought people into my life that are able to teach me.

I’m not saying that tomorrow I will be just as successful at putting Nathaniel to sleep. But I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again—I believe these moments are evidences of God’s grace. He gives you just enough to help you keep going, to deliver you from any sense of helplessness or insecurity.

So for the first time, I am not blogging with Nathaniel sleeping in my arms or in my lap. He is in his own room, in his own crib. Halfway through this blog, half an hour into his nap, I had heard him crying, but I pressed on, continued to type, tried not to rush to his side right away. After ten minutes, Nathaniel fell back asleep.

I've decided to begin sleep training Nathaniel a little bit at a time--for his benefit and mine. We'll start with the morning nap first and perhaps slowly ease into the afternoon nap, and then the night time sleep routine. It'll be tempting to steer away from this schedule, so I'll have to recall my mom's wise words.

Oh Lord, thank you for this teeny tiny victory. May you watch over me and Lee. Teach us how to train our son well. Thank you for the enormous love you have for our family—that you pay attention to even the little decisions in any given day. May you teach me and Lee to be a reflection of your love to Nathaniel.

Thank you for blessing me with my mom and my sister who have given me so much support these past months. Thank you for your Holy Word. That it stands the test of time. That it speaks to Mothers even to this day.

Random Reflections on a Friday Morning

July 11. Nathaniel is two-months old today.

The other day I was going through our computer, sifting through the pictures and video clips we had taken of Nathaniel. How much he’s grown. Even though very little time has passed, it’s amazing how easy you forget just how small he was (especially before the baby fat came in—he’s gone from 6 lbs 14 oz to 13 lbs now… he’s got two chins and no neck).

One of the baby care books that I read had said that Week 6 was when it would become easier. So I remember that in that first month, I was anticipating for Week 6 to come. What made it easier, besides longer stretches of sleep during the night (still not long enough though!), was that in Week 6, Nathaniel began to smile and talk. Tears filled my eyes, when one day, lying on the change table, Nathaniel began to talk to me, making noises in response to the questions I regularly posed in my high-pitched voice.

“Do you think you’re the cutest baby in the world?” I asked him, as I stared into his big eyes and bright smile.

He let out a baby grunt, “huh.” Which I translated as, “Yes.”

Then came the aah’s and the coo’s after every question I asked him.

Such beautiful music to a Mother’s ears.

Two days ago, I woke up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose. I was also trying to get over my third blocked duct in the past two months—which caused me to develop a fever. My initial fear was that Nathaniel would catch my sickness, and I instantly prayed to God that He would shelter my son from my germs. The other difficult task was taking care of Nathaniel when I had barely enough energy to feed myself. His crying was giving me a headache—so much so that I resorted to laying him on the crib for 40 minutes, where he cried non-stop. When the guilt kicked in, I went into his room and picked him up again, and his crying instantly stopped, but he was still breathing hard and whimpering, as if still reliving his feeling of abandonment in the crib.

It moved me when I considered Nathaniel’s absolute trust and dependence on me, even when it was me who had laid him on the crib in the first place. All those times I set him down, left the room, so that I could cook, vacuum, or do whatever household chores I needed to do—he would cry and cry and cry, but would just as easily stop when I came to his side.

I love the setup in our master bedroom. I’ve got three bookshelves against the walls, lined with hundred of books. A writing desk positioned against the far wall, by the window, which overlooks the backyard and a forest. For my birthday, Lee had bought me a rocking chair (at my request), which sits next to my writing desk, which makes feeding Nathaniel all the more comfortable. I’ve got all sorts of books laid out next to me, depending on what “reading mood” I’m in—the Bible, an anthology of short stories, Anne Steele’s collection of hymns (for the thesis I have to begin writing soon), and my journal. I started reading Frederick Buechner’s Telling Secrets two days ago, and finished it this morning (I was able to because Nathaniel fell sleep in my arms after feeding). It was upon reading his memoir that gave me an inclination to blog again. His recounting of his personal journey of dealing with his father’s suicide when he was a child and his daughter’s anorexia when he was a Father stirred many thoughts.

For one, Death. I remember during those first few weeks of taking care of Nathaniel, I would stare at him with so much intensity that I began to fear what might happen to him as he got older. To what extent I would protect him, never let him out of my sight. Then I thought about the Holly Jones and the Cecilia Zhangs, and the two friends from my past high school church fellowship that never made it past their twenties. I was deeply saddened—so much so that I began to pray for their parents, for their healing. I imagine that time itself may lessen the pain, but I can’t imagine the pain ever disappearing. And just as Buechner had touched upon it in his memoir, such fears and experiences of suffering inevitably lead the Christian back to God’s sovereignty. As he puts it:

As I understand it, to say that God is mightily present even in such private events as these does not mean that he makes events happen to us which move us in certain directions like chessmen. Instead, events happen under their own steam as random as rain, which means that God is present in them not as their cause but as the one who even in the hardest and most hair-raising of them offers us the possibility of that new life and healing which I believe is what salvation is. For instance I cannot believe that a God of love and mercy in any sense willed my father’s suicide; it was my father himself who willed it as the only way out available to him from a life that for various reasons he had come to find unbearable… I can speak with some assurance only of how God was present in that dark time for me in the sense that I was not destroyed by it but came out of it with scars that I bear this day, to be sure, but also somehow the wiser and the stronger for it. Who knows how I might have turned out if my father had lived, but through the loss of him all those long years ago I think that I learned something about how even tragedy can be a means of grace that I might never have come to any other way. As I see it, in other words, God acts in history and in your and my brief histories not as the puppeteer who sets the scene and works the strings but rather as the great director who no matter what role fate casts us in conveys to us somehow form the wings, if we have our eyes, ears, hearts open and sometimes even if we don’t, how we can play those roles in a way to enrich and ennoble and hallow the whole vast drama of things including our own small but crucial parts in it. (pp. 31-32)

Then I began to think about my own parents. My mom’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and my dad’s birthday is in two weeks. But it isn’t their birthdays that make me feel like time is passing by too quickly—it’s mine. I turned thirty last month. The sound of “thirty,” I realize, has an awful ring to it, at least to me. I quietly said “thirty-one” to myself the other day, and even that number didn’t sound as bad as “thirty.” Upon thinking about my age, I thought about Nathaniel, when he turns twenty one day (God willing), and suddenly my life flashed before my eyes. I began to picture myself at fifty, then I began to think about my parents’ age when I turned fifty… and then I grew sad again, grappling with the fact that, one day, just as Buechner had lost his parents, that one day, I would lose mine.

Of course, this thought has come to me before—but always—the thought is so horrible that I don’t dwell on it for long. One thing I do think about, however, is how or what, in this life, I could do, to prevent any regrets when that day comes. Spend more time with them. Engage in deeper discussions. Reminisce on the past. Stir up buried memories, unspoken ones, honest ones (one of the themes in Buechner’s memoir). Is it even possible to prevent regrets? With death—given that we are human and therefore fallible—are regrets inescapable?

The thing is—my parents are faithful Christians—and so—when the day comes—I know it will not be the end. Yet even so—I nonetheless feel sadness. Sometimes, I wonder whether my inability to let go of those who have passed away who have put their faith in Jesus Christ is a reflection of how small my faith still is—as if, even during such times when Heaven should be ever so close to my heart, that it is not enough to assuage such devastating loss. God forgive me. I do believe. I do.

Motherhood has altered TIME completely. How it’s spent, that is. While in seminary, the majority of my time was spent relishing in the lectures in my classes, listening to sermons in chapel, conversing with my classmates, passing quiet evenings with my husband—and of course, studying and writing papers.

While Nathaniel is taking up all my time now, and I have to live with the fact that the dark circles under my eyes aren’t going to go away any time soon—there is much more opportunity to enjoy leisure reading, watching movies (most recently, August Rush and Atonement, which I really enjoyed), and seeing family and friends. At the same time, with these little “windows” here and there to choose what I want to do, I realize it is also very tempting and very easy to “waste” those windows (i.e., watching useless programs on television during the day.) After two months, I reminded myself that I better make wiser decisions regarding what to do with my time—because you never know when that time might be gone. With a baby, your schedule is unpredictable.

Some people have asked me how different my life is now compared to before. What is more tiring—seminary or baby? I have to say—while the deadlines in school are stressful—the conditions are at least controllable. With a baby, you cannot control the variables. You are at the mercy of the baby’s schedule (I love you, Nathaniel)—even when you try to impose a schedule—you can only do so much (so far, at two months of age).

But God is good. There are days when taking care of Nathaniel are really difficult, the worse was, of course, this week, when I was sick. But there are also good days, though they are few, when there is minimal crying, and a lot more sleeping, smiling, talking, and other unexpected surprises (i.e. Nathaniel staring cross-eyed at a stuffed animal, Nathaniel looking at himself in the mirror and smiling as if he knows what he’s looking at—“Man, that’s a good-looking baby,” he must be thinking— Nathaniel falling asleep on his own for an extended period without the aid of rocking or nursing). I believe that these moments are manifestations of God’s grace—His way of reminding me in my tiredness and frustration and fear of inadequate mothering of the beauty of raising one of His own.

We believe in God—such as it is, we have faith—because certain things happened to us once and go on happening. We work and goof off, we love and dream, we have wonderful times and awful times, are cruelly hurt and hurt others cruelly, get mad and bored and scared stiff and ache with desire, do all such human things as these, and if our faith is not mainly just window dressing or a rabbit’s foot or fire insurance, it is because it grows out of precisely this kind of rich human compost. The God of biblical faith is the God who meets us at those moments in which for better or worse we are being most human, most ourselves, and if we lose touch with those moments, if we don’t stop form time to time to notice what is happening to us and around us and inside us, we run the tragic risk of losing touch with God too.

Frederick Buechner, Telling Secrets, pp. 35-36