Ready to fight

I listened to a fascinating discussion today on some of the chapters of Isaiah. It was good timing, because just this morning I was "reading" through some of it, feeling frustrated that I was merely reading words and not getting anything from it. I'm not talking about deeper understanding or allegory - I really felt like I was reading words that made no sense together. I'm sure it's a common feeling when reading this fascinating biblical book. The man was brilliant, eloquent, inspired of God and spiritually sophisticated. I feel like a 2 year old when I read much of his writings.

The discussion (with four scholars) was enlightening. As they went through and added some historical context, the images became so clear, I wondered how on earth I hadn't understood it before.

The most powerful image that stuck with me was about the idea of fighting a battle. One scholar noted how many hymns we have that are about going into battle, getting ready to fight, standing strong and going forward. The words of Isaiah did not mince the truth of the terrible battle being fought between good and evil in this life. He wrote words of action, inspiring readers to truly understand the importance and ferocity of the battle waging. I truly go out each day into a world that is fighting against everything I believe in.

And then came the caution: would I dare go out into battle unprepared and without armour? No soldier would even consider it, so why would I? Why would I step out into this world each day without the protection of prayer and God's word?

I had never considered it in this way before. I have always prayed and read the scriptures - generally when I can find a moment or two during the day. But for the first time I understood the importance of starting my day with these practices. The imagery of the battle came to life and I understood the reality of leaving my sanctuary that is my home and putting myself out there onto the battlefield. I better be prepared for what I will face.

Breathless

Much of the time, I feel as though an elephant is sitting on my chest. I struggle for every breath, never feeling I really get my lungs filled with air.

At times during the day, I get the sensation of being scared out of my wits. This shock starts in my heart and emanates out to the tips of my fingers and toes. After the initial jolt, I am left with my heart pounding and breathing heavily. Really - it's just as if someone scared the daylights out of me, except that it happens while I'm just lying in bed.

Some of the time, I have the illusion of being perfectly fine. Except that if I talk for more than a few minutes, or walk to the next room, I feel as if I just ran the 100 metre sprint in the Olympics. It winds me to the point that I'm struggling to get enough air, breathing hard and fast.

Pregnancy does the strangest things to me. Whatever happened to nausea and morning sickness and food cravings? Come on - at least it would be fun to have a reason to send James out for ice cream at 10 at night.

Mantra

"Live simply so that others may simply live."

May I always be content with that which I have been blessed.
May I remember those who struggle and go without.
May I never confuse needs and wants.
May I recall that sacrifice is not a giving of what's leftover, but of what is beyond.
May I act knowing that all that I have was given me by the grace of God, and may I use it for Him.

Sadness

For someone who has lived a fairly charmed life, I find it hard to feel justified in sadness or depression. I have been blessed with much happiness and support, and been touched by little tragedy and sadness. Maybe that's why I'm finding this time in my life so hard right now.

For one who is always up and at 'em, being confined to my house is numbing. I haven't been able to leave the house in weeks. I have good days when I can make an appearance downstairs for an hour or two. Then I have days where it takes everything in me just to get to the bathroom. Some days I can manage to read a bit, others I can even get onto the laptop. Then there are hours that go by when all I can do is lie in bed staring at the wall. My garden is overgrown and I will not get to plant this year. The kids play table that is nearly finished is standing against the wall in the kitchen - I was just about the put the last coat of varnish and nail on the legs when I fell ill. A baby blanket is half sewn and stuffed into my sewing drawer. Nothing I've started will get finished, and nothing I planned will get started.

The illness is taking its toll. Just feeling sick drains energy, and so feeling sick day in and day out zaps even more from me. It's painful just to be sick.

But worst of all is having to just listen to my boys downstairs. These eight weeks I will miss out on them completely. I will miss out playing with them. I will miss out on Caleb's first words. I will miss out on Colin's preschool graduation and tour of his new school for next year. I will miss out on the mornings of running in the backyard and adventure hikes around the city. I will miss out on just getting down on the floor and playing trains and cars and cooking. I will miss out on singing and dancing. It's all going on just within earshot downstairs, and I don't get to be a part of it. It's so heartbreaking.

I know it's only eight weeks - two months. In the grand scheme of life, that's not very long. But eight weeks can mean so much change in kids so young - especially for a toddler. With Caleb's pregnancy I missed out on Colin learning to walk. When I fell sick he was crawling. by the time I was better he was running through the park and going for long walks with his grandma. Now I'm missing Caleb as he learns to talk. He's got a few sounds that we can make out as words, but over the next few weeks I know it will all explode into real communication.

Now I feel sad about being sad. I feel like I want to just kick myself to get going, tell myself to buck up, cheer up, and just get through it. I know it won't last forever, and in the end I will be blessed with a beautiful little baby. But really - why can't I just have one of those pregnancies where I've never felt better, have energy to spare, and burn through the nine months as happy and cheerful as ever? Come on.

3 month food storage

Having a working, stocked, useful three-month food storage has been a continuous struggle. I know the benefits of having one, the security blanket it can be. The primary purpose of it is to have a good stock of food in case of a real financial struggle; at least we would be assured of having three months worth of food stored away and would not have to worry about that expense. But these past few weeks when I've been sick, we've come to realize a food storage is useful in more ways than one.

Laid up in bed, I've been unable to do the menu planning, grocery lists, shopping and cooking. James is already working 12+ hours a day at his job. That leaves one ill parent and one exhausted parent at the end of the day, neither with the time or energy to be able to see to the food area properly. James darts out once a week for milk, eggs and produce, and inevitably checks in with "what else do we need this week?" before he goes. As he is the one preparing meals, I always suggest he buy whatever he can handle making. But, in the end, if things are chaotic, I'm always able to say: just pick up the milk and we can cook from storage this week. It's been a wonderful blessing, making all our lives so much easier.

But, I still struggle. Most people who have their storage in tip top shape, filled with more than 24 jars of spaghetti sauce, 10 boxes of cereal and 15 bottles of BBQ sauce (which doesn't' make for a balanced diet!) rely on pre-set menu plans. I see all sorts of people with their handy little charts of this week's breakfast, lunch and dinner already laid out. Personally, that much planning doesn't work for me. I usually have ingredients on hand for 6 or 7 dinners. Breakfast and lunch are always up in the air. But we like it that way.

And I seem to have made our storage work for our lackadaisical way of life. Over the past year I have built up enough variety of meats (frozen in the freezer), canned fruits and veggies, pasta, sauces, cereal, beans, crackers, soups, and toiletries. I also have one shelf that has a couple each of those specialty things like pickles, condiments, baking goods. All I did was pay attention to the things we ate most often and stocked up when they were on sale. (Yes, I got a very strange look from the cashier when I laid down 96 cans of vegetables - but they were half price, and vegetables NEVER go on sale!)

Hmmm. I started writing with the intention of muddling out some new ideas for how to make our food storage work better for us. But I think my conclusion is - it already is working for us! Just because others say "this" is the best way, doesn't mean it's the only way, or that it is best for you. This past few weeks we've seen our food storage working for us, and it's doing a mighty fine job!

My Nana's constitution

As it turns out, my Nana (grandmother) gave me more than just her red hair.

I've also inherited her constitution. In one way, that's a fantastic thing. She has always has an amazing amount of energy. While I was growing up, she would take my sisters and I camping for a week or two in every summer. I always remember her right there beside us, running and playing and walking and fishing. I'm glad I'll have that seemingly everlasting youthfulness to look forward to.

I also inherited much of her physical make-up. We both suffer migraines, and have a strange reaction to the binding in all pills which severely upsets our stomach. And we both have terrible pregnancies.

We spoke on the phone yesterday, and as she spoke of her three pregnancies I felt as though she were describing my own experiences. She even used the exact analogy that I use in regards to illness in the first 4 months: that it is as though our body were fighting something foreign inside, that our body thinks the baby is incompatible. Everything inside - every system - is upended and out of sorts. She actually spent a lot of time in hospital during the first two pregnancies on an IV, and only avoided this during the third pregnancy by spending most of her days lying completely still in bed. I've avoided hospitalization by naturally taking this same measure - before I even knew my Nana had done the same thing.

Nana mentioned my mother's cousin, who also suffered in the same way during pregnancy, had been reading a little on blood types and pregnancies. There is no research in the area, but questions have been posed about possible problems with the mother and father have different positive/negative elements in their blood (which is the case for James and I). I wonder if my body really is fighting something foreign, and only sort of settles in after 4 months of dealing with it, as a sort of truce. I also wonder if there might not be something that could be done about it, similar to blood/organ transplants cases in which drugs are administered so that the body doesn't fight the foreign element.

I feel that too little research is done on the first trimester of pregnancy. Doctors are so quick to write things off as "morning sickness" and I've never felt a doctor feel any inclination to look further into why my body takes this so badly. As someone who has always been in tune with her body, I know something deeper is going on, I only wish I could figure it out and do something about it!

A break with C.S. Lewis

Well, I have come to the end of the massive first collection of his letters. I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed this format. Having followed his letters from the age of 6 until 33, I feel as though I almost know the man. Admitedly he has not written everything about himself down, and certainly some areas (romantic) of his life are left out. But I watched him grow from a boy to a man, witnessed changes in character, ideas and ideals, morals and ethics. I saw the hubris of youth give way to the humility of adulthood. I followed his rather logical conversion to Christianity. I discovered his likes and dislikes in literature. I saw the things that influenced him as a writer. There were times I couldn't spend enough time with him, and others when I was bored with his company. But in the end, I feel as though I have made a friend.

There are two more volumes of letters, of equal length. I own the second volume, but do not think I will start it right away. I think I need a bit of a break and variety. I realized this morning how influenced I currently am by him, as I found myself wondering how I might get my hands on some 17th century writings...