The Paris Project

Philippo and Flanders Go to Church (edit: use of pseudonymns is to respect the anonymity of those who have not yet agreed to be blogged about)

KP suggested Flanders as the name of my second twin, reasoning that the name would aid in the fetus’ spiritual development. Indeed, the twins leapt in my womb at church, more than they had all day. If kicking the person who gave you life is a sign of enjoyment, then they really liked Let The Name of the Lord Be Praised, Subjects of Change, the announcement about the New Covenant Participants Meeting (they might like to join), and the announcement about the clothing drive (after all, they’re quite naked). The invocation and the Nestorian Hymn of Praise did not go over so well – a chilly silence.

Hints

In my times of despair, I go to God like the disciples when they said, “Where else can we go? You alone have the words of life.” Or like Jesus, “Take this cup from me.” Or like the kind of wife I am when marriage is hard. I’m committed, and I won’t leave, but only because there’s nowhere else to go. My life is here with you, my devotion of resignation.

In times of happiness, I’m Samuel bolting from bed at the sound of what might be God’s voice, saying, “Here am I!” I’m Moses climbing a mountain, sure that my God is both with me on the hike and waiting for me at journey’s end. I’m my best wifely self - arms, smile, body, and life wide open to the one I love.

I’m in the home stretch of this pregnancy – two hints of happiness in my belly that wallop me during worship. I hope I have it in me to be really, really happy. It’s been years.

In grief, I didn’t learn to trust God in a way that makes me care less about future losses. I don’t see His purpose in suffering, and I don’t see His hand orchestrating the traumas of this world. Christianity (not God, mind you) promises reduction of painful symptoms associated with life. With Jesus, your lows won’t be so low, your losses won’t be permanent, and you’ll experience gratitude for it all. He’s in charge, so how bad can it really be? Jesus seems more like the ultimate consumer good than our suffering Savior. I can put something like that kind of faith in Lexapro, but not in God.

Instead, I saw that God loves life. He sustains life before, during, and after its run on this earth. But He doesn’t seem highly concerned with making life easy or even necessarily long. If I have to grieve more of my children, it will be just like last time – deep, hard, and everlasting. I’ll be like the monkey mother I saw on Animal Planet. One of her babies died, and she ran around chirping, carrying the dead baby in her arms, demanding that others notice her. After days, a naturalist had to take the baby away so the decaying body wouldn’t infect the mother or other monkeys.

The other day someone suggested that I “just trust God” in this pregnancy, because “He will do His will.” I said to her, "Well, look at the great job He did for me last time!" I don’t trust God to sustain the lives of my twins. He can’t be trusted for that. Every single life God has created so far has expired. I hope my twins will live long lives and die dignified, timely deaths. (At some level, I just hope they outlive me so I don’t have to be so sad.) Instead of trusting God to keep safe my loved ones, I just trust Him to love them, and me. I thank Him for making me like the monkey mother. I’ll hold those I love until they’re pried away from me. And then one day I will die, and those who love me will mourn.

Today I give myself over to my hints of happiness. If I mourn tomorrow, it will be because I loved so much today.