A Sunday Afternoon Buffet

This week has been a good one. Brandon and I joined the YMCA, which has both an indoor and outdoor pool. I've started swimming laps, which feels incredible, weightless, and cool. I wonder if that's how the baby feels, weightless and cool. Another perk of the Y: daycare while the parent is working out, starting at 6 weeks. So, while I'm off work this fall, the little man and I can spend an hour or so at the gym.

Brandon's still incredibly busy with his work at the Barter and finishing up this semester at King. He's "making hay while the sun shines," which is great. Still, I miss having him around. At least it's only another month.

This weekend's been a good one too. Productive. I cleaned the house Friday night, mowed with Brandon Saturday, and chaperoned prom last night. I'll have to tell the little boy that I was his first prom date.

What Made Me Sad About Prom:

This fall, a student in my senior homeroom had a baby boy and took maternity leave. We had a little shower for her, complete with cookies, a card signed by the class, and a gift card. She later brought the baby by the class to show him off. I don't know where the dad is, but I don't think he's around. She is raising the child in her parent's home.

Well, I haven't seen this student since before Christmas, until last night while working the prom check-in table. She came in with a group of kids, but her name wasn't on the list. She told me that she had talked to the assistant principal, and that it would be okay. While I went to track down the assistant principal, she went ahead and let herself in. The assistant principal offered to let her pay the ticket price and stay at the prom, but the principal said that if we let one in, we have to let in anyone who wants to buy a ticket at the door. On principle, the principal said it was wrong to let the girl in.

So, for the next few hours, this girl, whose parents refused to pick her up and whose friends remained inside the dance, sat in the lobby and cried. Her parents called the school board, but in trying to stick it to the principal, they hurt their daughter by forcing her to remain in an uncomfortable situation. The girl said that she didn't know about prom until the last minute, since she graduated early.

I almost wish that I had ignored the fact that her name wasn't on the list. I feel sorry for her, wonder what kind of home-life she has, what kinds of prospects she has for her own personal success or work, and what kind of life her son will have. I want her son to be the kind of kid who will be a pleasure to teach one day down the road when I'm a seasoned, middle-aged English teacher, but I'm pessemistic. Perhaps it is this pessemism that creates crotchety old teachers. Or perhaps, as in cases where mountains are moved, this little baby will grow up to be a loving, hard-working young man with integrity. But what role, really, am I playing in making that happen? Was this really a situation where not grace, but "tough love" was the better tool?

Education. My two years of teaching in this high school has been that for me.

Speaking of Pregnant Students:

Two former students and two current students are pregnant, and all five of us are sharing our pregnancy together--well, not consciously as a group perhaps, but they're in my mind about every day. I think about my child and his future. Even in love and marriage and a supportive community, I feel apprehensions. I can't imagine what these young girls are going through.

We swap ultrasound pictures, trade stories about going to the doctor, talk about how our bellies are growing, and smile at the excitement of new life. Still, I can't help but feel that I am advantaged over these girls. I wish that they had what I have, because I know that I'm blessed. Maybe they have enough, and surely there are people with more advantages at the get-go of parenthood than me. I just want good futures for these girls and their children, and they want that too. God, bless them just as you've blessed me, exceedingly, abundantly above all we can hope and imagine. God's hand is in their lives, and I pray that it moves lovingly and with stength to bring His Kingdom of peace more into the world.

Sunday School:

The college Sunday school class that Brandon helps teach and I attend as a guest will wrap up next week. We've been reading the book of Mark since August, and are only now on chapter 13. Needless to say, we've taken it slow, chewing on it verse by verse, making conversation and prayer out of little chunks of scripture. It's been my weekly meal, more than I eat during the week. We read today about the pharisees and their lack of social justice to people such as the widows, and consequently about the widow who gladly gave all she had to the Lord.

I didn't speak up then, but I was thinking about my Dad. More and more, he stands out in my mind as a man who gave all he had to the Lord. By the time he was my age, he was living in the Philippines, learning a new language, and by the time he was ten years older than me, he had led people to Christ and founded a church that is independently Filipino now. By the time he was fifteen years older than me, he found out he had cancer, and had to deal with the dark night of the soul. In that dark night, he gave his most expensive inheritance to the church, while he struggled to work and make ends meet during chemo. When he was twenty-two years older than me, weakend by chemo, he gladly reached out to hurricane Katrina victims who were refugees in his town. He died two months later. He abandoned care for his own health to show love to other people. He abandoned love of money for love of a heavenly kingdom. My dad was flawed, but he is the kind of person I want to be. I miss him.

Existential Non-Crisis:

I'm 27. I'm married. I'm about to be a mom for the first time. I teach high school English. I used to want to be a famous writer or singer or songwriter, but I only touch the guitar every now and then these days. I feel ill-suited to be a public school teacher and ill-disciplined to be a writer or musician. I'm happy in marriage and family. I'm happy in stability. I don't know what I am. That God has called me, I'm sure. Of what that calling is, I can only see as far as a flashlight's beam. Thankfully, I'm coming to peace with this.

Anticipating Childbirth:

Earlier this week, doula Patty dropped off a book, "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth," and once I fished it out of the mailbox, I couldn't stop reading it. From the stories of women giving birth naturally to the connections between one's mind, emotions, and body, quite a lot of what I read rang true to me. The strategies that she recommends, it seems, would work best in a home setting, but I'm comfortable with my half-and-half plan at this point--to labor at home for a while with the doula, and then drive the ten minutes to the hospital for delivery.

It seems strange, but the more I read about childbirth, and the more videos I watch, the more excited I get--the more confident. Something may go wrong or it may be more excruiating than I can handle, but by the same token, what good does it do me to think about that? If I go into the situation, knowing I'm in the hands of people who love me and care about me, knowing that I am that much closer to meeting my son, knowing that many women have delivered safely, knowing the techniques and being willing to let my body do what it can do, I believe I can relax and have a safe and healthy natural birth.

I'm inspired by the stories, by the thought that there is redemption in the midst of the curse of pain in childbirth, and maybe it doesn't have to be a shot in the back. That sounds hippy-dippy. Still, I feel less fearful about the whole thing, and that seems good.

In Conclusion:
I teach my students never to end a paper with "in conclusion." I hate it. It's an easy way to wrap up things that don't connect, because if they did connect, one would be able to find a more apt transition. I want the ideas in their papers to connect. I'm using it for the very reason that I dislike it, because I'm not sure if these ideas connect. But heck, this is a blog and people can get away with anything on blogs. This entry has included several courses, and my plate is full, and the food isn't all Indian or Southern or fast. It's just a little bit of this and that. If it were connected, it would relate back to this preparation for motherhood, this search for personhood that I find in myself as I hope to be someone my son will find strength from in his own search.