This past Sunday saw St. Paul's words about marriage from the Letter to the Ephesians make their appearance again. (For non-Catholics, our Lectionary, which contains all the Bible readings for Mass, runs on a three year cycle. If you attend Mass every Sunday for the whole three years, you hear about 90% of the Bible. If you add in daily Mass, you get up past 95% of the Bible. The only part left out is all the "begats." Remember that next time someone tells you that the Catholic Church isn't a "Bible believing" church. Grr.)
Anyway, the part that gets people all riled up, of course, is the part about wives being submissive to their husbands. I will quote, from Ephesians 5:21-30.
Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is head of his wife just as Christ is head of the church, he himself the savior of the body. As the church is subordinate to Christ, so wives should be subordinate to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her, cleansing her by the bath of water with the word, that he might present to himself the church in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. So [also] husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one hates his own flesh but rather nourishes and cherishes it, even as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body.
This was immediately followed by the Gospel reading, which was from John 6, the Bread of Life discourse. After Jesus tells His listeners that He will give them His flesh to eat, people start to leave Him and call Him a blasphemer. (Tangent: if Jesus meant this to be only a symbol, don't you think He would have called back His followers and explained, corrected their misperception? But He didn't do that, He let it stand.....hmmmm......) Another quote:
Many of Jesus' disciples who were listening said, "This saying is hard; who can accept it?"
I chuckled inwardly, because that could just as easily apply to modern attitudes toward the second reading as to Jesus' declaration of His Real Presence in the Eucharist. While I am happy to report that another deacon at a different Mass than the one I attended apparently gave a great homily that did address this reading, I waited in vain to hear it addressed at my Mass. (Usually priests give the homilies, but deacons can do it too, and at our parish there is usually one Sunday a month when the deacons preach.) In different years, I have also heard a deacon tell the congregation that he has never and will never preach on that Scripture, because his wife told him he'd better not. I remember thinking, "Wow, you are an ordained minister of Christ, supposedly one of His soldiers, and you can't even take on your wife's ridiculous order that you neglect teaching your flock about a certain part of Scripture?!" This past Sunday was a different one, but his avoidance of the second reading was obvious, and to my mind, pathetic.
If this reading makes you uncomfortable....SO WHAT?! This is YOUR JOB. (This goes for priests too.) When you avoid talking about this reading, you give the message that the secular society who declares us backward woman haters is right! You communicate that there is something shameful about that Scripture, and that it needs to be hidden and ignored as much as possible. If you think this Scripture will anger your female audience, then you need to learn more about how it needs to be taught to a modern audience. But also, you need to adopt more of a "so what" attidude about that possibility. People get angry when you say abortion and euthanasia are wrong too. They get angry when you preach against premarital sex and divorce. Are you gonna stop? (And if you would, then please, just hang up your stole right now.)
Here's the thing. This teaching looks different in every single family that attemtps to live it. The one thing it is not, which so many seem to think it is, is license for a man to lord it over a woman, putting up his feet and ordering her to get him a beer while she slaves away on housework. Your job as an ordained deacon or priest is to dispel misconceptions like that. How can you do that if you refuse to ever talk about it?
Really, truly READ that passage. First, it tells spouses to be subordinate to each other. Then it goes on to tell wives to be subject to their husbands. Is it possible that cultural bias of the time influenced the wording? Sure, after all, the Bible was written by inspired HUMAN authors, and each added their own influence to what they wrote. But let's think about this: the man is described as the head of his family. Don't families work best when a man truly embraces that role? When he takes on himself the responsibility of the welfare of everyone in his domestic sphere? How healthy are families when he doesn't do that? Fatherlessness is a national crisis, and yet we persist in trying to have it both ways, wanting to deny men their leadership role. Keep reading, and you will see that men are ordered to love their wives as Christ loves the Church. You know, that Church that he allowed Himself to be CRUCIFIED for? How is that not subjection and subordination? Wives are basically told to listen to and respect their husbands. Husbands are told to be ready to suffer torture and death for their wives. Wow. That would seem to put things on a pretty unfair level....for MEN. That's an awfully high standard to expect of them. And yet, a man who has truly embraced his leadership role will be ready to do that for his wife and children, because that is what his call is as a Christian husband and father.
I can't give you a formula for how this looks in every day family life. I could tell you how it looks in my family, but that won't be relevant for anyone else. Each couple has to work it out for themselves, and that is where the guidance role of our leadership comes in. If you have been ordained as a priest or deacon, and you refuse to lead Christ's people in the difficult matters, if you refuse to help them understand what might be confusing, you are not doing your job. If it's uncomfortable or scary, well, so what? Jesus didn't call you to give you an easy life. He called to you preach His Word and lead His flock. That's always been hard. It's like being a good parent, where the easy path is basically never the right one.
Now the caveat here is that a woman has to choose a man wisely before she puts this much trust in him. Likewise, men must choose wisely before committing themselves to lay down their lives for a woman. I have told my daughters, any guy who quotes the first part of this Scripture in an attempt to boss you around is someone you should run from, with all the speed you can muster. Because men like that seem never to get around to reading the second part. They are troglodytes in Christian robes. For men, if a woman wants to try and use this Scripture as an excuse not to develop herself and reach her potential, educationally, professionally, morally, whatever, then you should also run from her. She is just looking for someone to blame for her failures. While you should be willing to face crucifixion for your wife, it shouldn't be your wife doing the crucifying.
Honestly, if I can work out this little bit of cogent thought on the topic, shouldn't someone who has been educated and ordained by the Church be able to do as much? Gird up your loins, guys, and get to it!
Showing posts with label husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label husband. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Roger, roger! Baby birds to nest: we have flown!
*sigh*
My fifth and last child started kindergarten this morning. Millions of mothers have been through this before me, and millions will come after me. I am a little different in that I never went through this with my first child. I homeschooled her through 2nd grade, so when she left me, she was 7 years old and very self-possessed. We were also both very ready for that change for several reasons.
With my three other children, of course I felt tugs on my heartstrings as each of them entered school, and each first day of kindergarten was an event both celebrated and mourned, at least by me. But it all felt like natural progression, and each of them was so excited and so ready that I had no real concerns about letting them go. And all four of my older children have proven out my confidence by becoming outstanding students and good citizens of their school communities.
So now we come to the youngest. She was equally excited and ready, even though she is still only four years old. She passed the school district's assessment for admission to kindergarten before the birthday cutoff (which is in September, while her birthday is in October) with flying colors. I have just as much confidence in her as I did in the others. I watched her this morning, walking across the playground and uncertain where to go, approach a teacher and ask for help, with no fear or hesitation. Clearly she can navigate this new environment and will be fine.
I'm sure I am not the first mother to be more deeply affected by her youngest child starting school than by some of the others, and to wonder if that makes me a less-than-stellar mother to my other children. Of course I really do know that is not true, that each child is different, and that my relationship with each is different. But feelings don't really respond to logic.
However, there is a certain element of my relationship with my last baby that is unique. Not many people can say that God basically commanded them to have a specific child....but I can. Every child is a gift from God and His creature, but let's face it, usually we decide when and if to have a child or not. From our perspective, even if God works in the background, our decisions are the only ones we see leading directly to the creation of our children. For me, with this particular child, that is not true. It is impossible to express the sense of obligation and responsibility I feel about my baby girl, because her existence is attributable only to direct, and extremely obvious, intervention by God in my life and consciousness.
I know, I know. Some of you reading this are rolling your eyes and thinking, "Oh great, another Jerry Falwell claiming direct messages from God." I assure you, that is not it at all. No one needs to send me money to prevent my being struck dead. If anyone feels compelled to make sure, however, I am happy to provide a mailing address. ;-)
I don't think I have ever shared this story with anyone besides my husband before, but I feel like I want to today, on this momentous day in the existence of the child God pretty much forcibly placed into my life.
I have never been a perfect Catholic, and have always struggled with the Church's teaching on birth control. (In fact, earlier this year, I chronicled my ultimate failure to obey it.) In late 2006, when my fourth, and what I thought would be last, child was a little over a year old, I had enrolled in a clinical trial for a new method of sterilization. It seemed like the perfect solution. No surgery, no artificial hormones (which can be abortifacient and so are a humungous NO NO, but which also made me feel horrible the short time I did take them), and no cost because I would be assisting in the testing of this new method before it was approved and marketed. Basically it was to be a small spring-type device inserted into each Fallopian tube, which would cause scar tissue to grow and block the tube. I was uncertain, but I figured all women go through some doubt before doing something as radical as ending their fertility, so I tried to dismiss it. I also was fully aware that I was acting directly against my Church and its legitimate authority, and that was tearing me up. I am not one of those that could claim ignorance... I had read and studied and struggled for years, so I knew exactly what I was doing. Contemplating mortal sin and its consequences isn't peaceful and obviously shouldn't be! But I was trying to ignore all that too.
We happened to be running a yard sale at our house a week or two before I was supposed to go in for the procedure. So my husband took the kids to Mass with him early in the morning while I attended to our sale, and then I went to the noon Mass by myself. During Mass there was a baptism, and I saw the sweetest little rosebud of a baby girl, all frilly and frothy in white, carried against the shoulder of her father. The sight struck me to the bone, and I realized I would never see my husband that way again. While my feelings were in turmoil, the ground under my feet rocked. And I don't mean like the little 3.0 earthquakes I felt growing up, I mean the earth turned about 45 degrees under my feet, I lost my balance, and was forced to sit down on the pew before I fell. Everyone else in the church acted normally, so I know I am the only one who saw or felt it. (Literally, the altar was diagonal in my sight!) I have since heard the quote from Blessed Theresa of Calcutta that goes something like, "I know God will never give me more than I can handle, I just wish he didn't trust me so much." Boy can I relate to that quote. Suffice to say that once my physical environment righted itself a second later, I was trembling and having a serious "holy shit" moment.
When I got home, I told my husband what had happened, and told him I could not possibly proceed with my plans. He had never been really thrilled with the idea, so he didn't take much convincing. Then I told him I thought we were being called to have another child. That gave him a lot more pause. We have struggled financially for much of our marriage, and adding a fifth child seemed irresponsible from that that standpoint. There were also times we felt overwhelmed trying to be effective parents to the four we had, and so adding another child to the mix would mean taking the risk of parenting all of them at a lesser level than what they deserved. But the biggest complication was that we had suffered two miscarriages in the few months leading up to this, and the desire to end our ability to have children was in part motivated by wanting to avoid ever facing that pain again.
Let me take this aside to say that our culture has absolutely no understanding or respect for the pain of fathers in that situation. I was utterly shocked and stunned by how the loss of his baby destroyed my husband. I can count maybe two or three times that I have held that strong, brave man while he cries..... and that was by far the worst one. Even in my own pain, I saw that his was raw, deep, and primal. It frightened me.
So asking him to be open to having another child was asking almost too much of him. We had learned the hard way that there were no guarantees, that even if we conceived, we might never have another baby, but only have to mourn another death. There is a saying that still waters run deep, and that perfectly describes my husband. He is a man of deep faith, and he recognized God's intervention when I described it. He put his fear aside, trusted God, and came along on the journey with me.
When the little plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test, we told no one. After having had to tell our children that the baby in Mommy's tummy had died, we decided no one would know I was pregnant until after the first trimester, if I made it that far. We never wanted to see that look in our kids' eyes again. I think my husband probably didn't want to face a repeat, either, of his mother's comment when he informed her of the first miscarriage. I really don't understand how when your son calls you to inform you of the tragedy of the death of his child, the first thing that comes to your tongue is, "Well, you really didn't need another one anyway!" But that is what happened, and I still don't think he has forgiven her for it. (I certainly haven't.) So for many reasons, we waited.
That twelfth week blessedly came and passed, and we both breathed. Maybe we would hold this baby after all. We finally started telling people, and allowing ourselves to plan. We took our kids to the ultrasound appointment at 16 weeks, and they all cheered to learn there was a sister in there. They started calling her by her chosen name, Victoria. They delighted when it seemed she could hear them and would kick their hands on my tummy. My husband played his favorite pregnancy game again each night, pushing back wherever that telltale little lump appeared, and being rewarded by her thumping his hand again and again. All of us still had a little fear, the kids would occasionally express concern that this baby would die too, but as I got bigger and bigger, the worry faded and some of our pain healed. We looked toward birth and joyously waited for her to tell us she was ready.
As if we hadn't had enough indication that this child was special, her birth turned out to be unique as well. I had had a planned home birth with my third child, after two cesareans that I am convinced were medically unnecessary. When the doctor supervising my care in that small Montana city told me my only option was to lay down on that table and be cut open again, because that was how SHE felt comfortable, I rebelled and called a midwife, with support and encouragement from my husband. I had to pay out of pocket but it was worth every penny to prove those impatient, meddling "professionals" wrong. My body can birth the babies I grow! When we moved to Arizona, differences in the laws governing midwives meant I had to give birth in a hospital, but we found one that allowed VBACs (and the fact that we had to search for that is disgusting), and had a wonderful and peaceful birth there. We had planned to return to that hospital, which is about a 30 mile drive away in the middle of Phoenix, but Victoria had other ideas. She was in an awful hurry to be born, and so she was, in my bathroom, while I stood holding onto the sink and the towel bar, and my awesome husband knelt underneath me to catch her. All 10 lbs. 5oz. of her! I found out later that even though my husband had kicked them all out of the master suite, my other kids sneaked in again and watched their sister being born into their father's hands. I cannot describe my feelings when I think about that moment. Few families can say they share anything like it.
After she was born, we settled into nursing whenever she fussed, sleeping fused together most of the time, and learning to incorporate her into the rhythm of a family with some kids in school and several activities going on. She was amazingly calm and easygoing, and never lacked for arms to hold her, voices to sing to her, or faces to entertain her. Such are the dividends of being a fifth child, born three years after the last one! As she has grown she has never lost her serenity, except when mightily provoked by a sibling. I don't want anyone getting the idea she is some perfect angel. She is a normal kid, and she has been frustrated, thrown tantrums, and lied to get out of chores. But her baseline personality is so calm....it seems weird to a high-strung person like me.
I have no idea what God's plan is for this little girl. But I have no doubt He has one. And to a far higher degree than with my other kids, I feel an obligation to stay out of its way and not interfere. I am here to guard and guide more than direct. Today is the beginning of a new phase in her journey to discover it. She is going out into the world to achieve things that are completely hers, separate from me.
Today also represents a personal milestone for me and the fulfillment of a parenting goal I set before I even had children. I have been able to care for my own children during their pre-school formative years. I have been able to fulfill the commitment I made to them that their own parents would be the ones to care for them, and not any paid institution or outsider. At times the sacrifices required to keep that promise I made to them have been painful, bordering on impossible. But I did it. We did it, my husband and I together, and it's an accomplishment of which I feel proud. No one loves or values them like we do, no one is as invested in their futures as we are, and we thought they deserved to have that level of investment every day, all the time. I am grateful we were able to provide it.
Even though there is a little sadness in my heart as my last baby bird starts her test flights out of the nest, today is overwhelmingly a day for joy and celebration. It is truly the day the Lord has made!
My fifth and last child started kindergarten this morning. Millions of mothers have been through this before me, and millions will come after me. I am a little different in that I never went through this with my first child. I homeschooled her through 2nd grade, so when she left me, she was 7 years old and very self-possessed. We were also both very ready for that change for several reasons.
With my three other children, of course I felt tugs on my heartstrings as each of them entered school, and each first day of kindergarten was an event both celebrated and mourned, at least by me. But it all felt like natural progression, and each of them was so excited and so ready that I had no real concerns about letting them go. And all four of my older children have proven out my confidence by becoming outstanding students and good citizens of their school communities.
So now we come to the youngest. She was equally excited and ready, even though she is still only four years old. She passed the school district's assessment for admission to kindergarten before the birthday cutoff (which is in September, while her birthday is in October) with flying colors. I have just as much confidence in her as I did in the others. I watched her this morning, walking across the playground and uncertain where to go, approach a teacher and ask for help, with no fear or hesitation. Clearly she can navigate this new environment and will be fine.
I'm sure I am not the first mother to be more deeply affected by her youngest child starting school than by some of the others, and to wonder if that makes me a less-than-stellar mother to my other children. Of course I really do know that is not true, that each child is different, and that my relationship with each is different. But feelings don't really respond to logic.
However, there is a certain element of my relationship with my last baby that is unique. Not many people can say that God basically commanded them to have a specific child....but I can. Every child is a gift from God and His creature, but let's face it, usually we decide when and if to have a child or not. From our perspective, even if God works in the background, our decisions are the only ones we see leading directly to the creation of our children. For me, with this particular child, that is not true. It is impossible to express the sense of obligation and responsibility I feel about my baby girl, because her existence is attributable only to direct, and extremely obvious, intervention by God in my life and consciousness.
I know, I know. Some of you reading this are rolling your eyes and thinking, "Oh great, another Jerry Falwell claiming direct messages from God." I assure you, that is not it at all. No one needs to send me money to prevent my being struck dead. If anyone feels compelled to make sure, however, I am happy to provide a mailing address. ;-)
I don't think I have ever shared this story with anyone besides my husband before, but I feel like I want to today, on this momentous day in the existence of the child God pretty much forcibly placed into my life.
I have never been a perfect Catholic, and have always struggled with the Church's teaching on birth control. (In fact, earlier this year, I chronicled my ultimate failure to obey it.) In late 2006, when my fourth, and what I thought would be last, child was a little over a year old, I had enrolled in a clinical trial for a new method of sterilization. It seemed like the perfect solution. No surgery, no artificial hormones (which can be abortifacient and so are a humungous NO NO, but which also made me feel horrible the short time I did take them), and no cost because I would be assisting in the testing of this new method before it was approved and marketed. Basically it was to be a small spring-type device inserted into each Fallopian tube, which would cause scar tissue to grow and block the tube. I was uncertain, but I figured all women go through some doubt before doing something as radical as ending their fertility, so I tried to dismiss it. I also was fully aware that I was acting directly against my Church and its legitimate authority, and that was tearing me up. I am not one of those that could claim ignorance... I had read and studied and struggled for years, so I knew exactly what I was doing. Contemplating mortal sin and its consequences isn't peaceful and obviously shouldn't be! But I was trying to ignore all that too.
We happened to be running a yard sale at our house a week or two before I was supposed to go in for the procedure. So my husband took the kids to Mass with him early in the morning while I attended to our sale, and then I went to the noon Mass by myself. During Mass there was a baptism, and I saw the sweetest little rosebud of a baby girl, all frilly and frothy in white, carried against the shoulder of her father. The sight struck me to the bone, and I realized I would never see my husband that way again. While my feelings were in turmoil, the ground under my feet rocked. And I don't mean like the little 3.0 earthquakes I felt growing up, I mean the earth turned about 45 degrees under my feet, I lost my balance, and was forced to sit down on the pew before I fell. Everyone else in the church acted normally, so I know I am the only one who saw or felt it. (Literally, the altar was diagonal in my sight!) I have since heard the quote from Blessed Theresa of Calcutta that goes something like, "I know God will never give me more than I can handle, I just wish he didn't trust me so much." Boy can I relate to that quote. Suffice to say that once my physical environment righted itself a second later, I was trembling and having a serious "holy shit" moment.
When I got home, I told my husband what had happened, and told him I could not possibly proceed with my plans. He had never been really thrilled with the idea, so he didn't take much convincing. Then I told him I thought we were being called to have another child. That gave him a lot more pause. We have struggled financially for much of our marriage, and adding a fifth child seemed irresponsible from that that standpoint. There were also times we felt overwhelmed trying to be effective parents to the four we had, and so adding another child to the mix would mean taking the risk of parenting all of them at a lesser level than what they deserved. But the biggest complication was that we had suffered two miscarriages in the few months leading up to this, and the desire to end our ability to have children was in part motivated by wanting to avoid ever facing that pain again.
Let me take this aside to say that our culture has absolutely no understanding or respect for the pain of fathers in that situation. I was utterly shocked and stunned by how the loss of his baby destroyed my husband. I can count maybe two or three times that I have held that strong, brave man while he cries..... and that was by far the worst one. Even in my own pain, I saw that his was raw, deep, and primal. It frightened me.
So asking him to be open to having another child was asking almost too much of him. We had learned the hard way that there were no guarantees, that even if we conceived, we might never have another baby, but only have to mourn another death. There is a saying that still waters run deep, and that perfectly describes my husband. He is a man of deep faith, and he recognized God's intervention when I described it. He put his fear aside, trusted God, and came along on the journey with me.
When the little plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test, we told no one. After having had to tell our children that the baby in Mommy's tummy had died, we decided no one would know I was pregnant until after the first trimester, if I made it that far. We never wanted to see that look in our kids' eyes again. I think my husband probably didn't want to face a repeat, either, of his mother's comment when he informed her of the first miscarriage. I really don't understand how when your son calls you to inform you of the tragedy of the death of his child, the first thing that comes to your tongue is, "Well, you really didn't need another one anyway!" But that is what happened, and I still don't think he has forgiven her for it. (I certainly haven't.) So for many reasons, we waited.
That twelfth week blessedly came and passed, and we both breathed. Maybe we would hold this baby after all. We finally started telling people, and allowing ourselves to plan. We took our kids to the ultrasound appointment at 16 weeks, and they all cheered to learn there was a sister in there. They started calling her by her chosen name, Victoria. They delighted when it seemed she could hear them and would kick their hands on my tummy. My husband played his favorite pregnancy game again each night, pushing back wherever that telltale little lump appeared, and being rewarded by her thumping his hand again and again. All of us still had a little fear, the kids would occasionally express concern that this baby would die too, but as I got bigger and bigger, the worry faded and some of our pain healed. We looked toward birth and joyously waited for her to tell us she was ready.
As if we hadn't had enough indication that this child was special, her birth turned out to be unique as well. I had had a planned home birth with my third child, after two cesareans that I am convinced were medically unnecessary. When the doctor supervising my care in that small Montana city told me my only option was to lay down on that table and be cut open again, because that was how SHE felt comfortable, I rebelled and called a midwife, with support and encouragement from my husband. I had to pay out of pocket but it was worth every penny to prove those impatient, meddling "professionals" wrong. My body can birth the babies I grow! When we moved to Arizona, differences in the laws governing midwives meant I had to give birth in a hospital, but we found one that allowed VBACs (and the fact that we had to search for that is disgusting), and had a wonderful and peaceful birth there. We had planned to return to that hospital, which is about a 30 mile drive away in the middle of Phoenix, but Victoria had other ideas. She was in an awful hurry to be born, and so she was, in my bathroom, while I stood holding onto the sink and the towel bar, and my awesome husband knelt underneath me to catch her. All 10 lbs. 5oz. of her! I found out later that even though my husband had kicked them all out of the master suite, my other kids sneaked in again and watched their sister being born into their father's hands. I cannot describe my feelings when I think about that moment. Few families can say they share anything like it.
After she was born, we settled into nursing whenever she fussed, sleeping fused together most of the time, and learning to incorporate her into the rhythm of a family with some kids in school and several activities going on. She was amazingly calm and easygoing, and never lacked for arms to hold her, voices to sing to her, or faces to entertain her. Such are the dividends of being a fifth child, born three years after the last one! As she has grown she has never lost her serenity, except when mightily provoked by a sibling. I don't want anyone getting the idea she is some perfect angel. She is a normal kid, and she has been frustrated, thrown tantrums, and lied to get out of chores. But her baseline personality is so calm....it seems weird to a high-strung person like me.
I have no idea what God's plan is for this little girl. But I have no doubt He has one. And to a far higher degree than with my other kids, I feel an obligation to stay out of its way and not interfere. I am here to guard and guide more than direct. Today is the beginning of a new phase in her journey to discover it. She is going out into the world to achieve things that are completely hers, separate from me.
Today also represents a personal milestone for me and the fulfillment of a parenting goal I set before I even had children. I have been able to care for my own children during their pre-school formative years. I have been able to fulfill the commitment I made to them that their own parents would be the ones to care for them, and not any paid institution or outsider. At times the sacrifices required to keep that promise I made to them have been painful, bordering on impossible. But I did it. We did it, my husband and I together, and it's an accomplishment of which I feel proud. No one loves or values them like we do, no one is as invested in their futures as we are, and we thought they deserved to have that level of investment every day, all the time. I am grateful we were able to provide it.
Even though there is a little sadness in my heart as my last baby bird starts her test flights out of the nest, today is overwhelmingly a day for joy and celebration. It is truly the day the Lord has made!
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Sharing the burden
Wow, it's been four years since I posted on this blog... sad. But not too sad, really, as I just had so much life going on. I deleted some old political posts that no longer matter (Fred Thompson for President anyone?) and am ready to start over.
So I became a CNA late last year, and after three months of trying, finally landed a job at the local hospital. Getting hired as a new grad is HARD, even when you are the lowest guy on the totem pole, wiping poop off of people and emptying urinals and bedpans. Yes, that's me. I am sure I'll discuss all those lovely aspects of my job in the future, but there is one thing that is really sticking in my mind about this new job.
This is the first time since I got married and had children that I have worked full time. To some people that probably sounds insane, but hey, that's the choice I made. I am sure that over the last 14 years, more than one person has thought I wasted my bachelor's degree...and maybe I did. I sure am not using it now. But so what? I got a good education and no one can ever take that from me. I have used my brains and my education to more good effect in raising my children than I ever could have in any corporate or government setting, and will continue to do so.
So anyway, here I am, working full time for the first time in a very very long time. Up to this point, my husband has been almost solely responsible for supporting the family financially and providing health insurance. In 2010, after he got laid off from his civilian job, he did this by volunteering to be deployed by the Army National Guard. He spent a year in Afghanistan, so that his family would be taken care of. (There is no doubt that I married a full-fledged MAN.) No one should ever think that I did not fully appreciate the kind of obligation he took on by being sole support for a wife and five children, but let's face it, I couldn't really know what it felt like.
Now that I am working full time, I qualify for health insurance and such through my job. Previously, when I worked part time, either I didn't qualify or it was so expensive I might as well not have. When looking at the differences in the premiums, it became immediately and forcefully apparent that the coverage from my job is a much better buy than the options available from his. So today I enrolled the family. And I keep thinking about it. And thinking about it. Over and over again. In fact, I procrastinated for a few days, because this just felt SO BIG.
Why? When I worked before, they were part time jobs that brought in a little money to help with bills and groceries. We needed the money from those jobs, but if I had wanted to quit for some reason, it wouldn't necessarily have been the ruin of the family. But now, I am carrying this family's health insurance! Basically, now that this step is taken, I couldn't quit even if I wanted to. I don't want to, but that's not the point.
I have always had certain obligations to my family, of course, but as a stay at home mother, they were the kind of things that were built into my days, or came up by natural instinct, anyway. They didn't feel like "work." (Well okay, laundry and dishes will ALWAYS feel like work... yuck.) But now, it's like I feel a weight on me. I always respected my husband and honored his dedication to and sacrifices for us. But I had NO IDEA what this feels like. How has he maintained his sanity when he lost jobs? If this little piece of obligation feels this heavy to me, how must it have felt to him to know that absolutely everything depended upon him?!
I have long known that my husband is a man of deep faith and quiet strength. And I have always loved those things about him. Because of the feelings I am having about this new step in my life, I think I will end up appreciating him a whole lot more. In a world full of tall little boys, he has always been a real man, and my life with him has turned out better than I could possibly have hoped. He deserves some help, though I know that he will always take the burden of being the rock of our family upon himself, no matter what I do. And there are no words for how much I love him for that.
So I became a CNA late last year, and after three months of trying, finally landed a job at the local hospital. Getting hired as a new grad is HARD, even when you are the lowest guy on the totem pole, wiping poop off of people and emptying urinals and bedpans. Yes, that's me. I am sure I'll discuss all those lovely aspects of my job in the future, but there is one thing that is really sticking in my mind about this new job.
This is the first time since I got married and had children that I have worked full time. To some people that probably sounds insane, but hey, that's the choice I made. I am sure that over the last 14 years, more than one person has thought I wasted my bachelor's degree...and maybe I did. I sure am not using it now. But so what? I got a good education and no one can ever take that from me. I have used my brains and my education to more good effect in raising my children than I ever could have in any corporate or government setting, and will continue to do so.
So anyway, here I am, working full time for the first time in a very very long time. Up to this point, my husband has been almost solely responsible for supporting the family financially and providing health insurance. In 2010, after he got laid off from his civilian job, he did this by volunteering to be deployed by the Army National Guard. He spent a year in Afghanistan, so that his family would be taken care of. (There is no doubt that I married a full-fledged MAN.) No one should ever think that I did not fully appreciate the kind of obligation he took on by being sole support for a wife and five children, but let's face it, I couldn't really know what it felt like.
Now that I am working full time, I qualify for health insurance and such through my job. Previously, when I worked part time, either I didn't qualify or it was so expensive I might as well not have. When looking at the differences in the premiums, it became immediately and forcefully apparent that the coverage from my job is a much better buy than the options available from his. So today I enrolled the family. And I keep thinking about it. And thinking about it. Over and over again. In fact, I procrastinated for a few days, because this just felt SO BIG.
Why? When I worked before, they were part time jobs that brought in a little money to help with bills and groceries. We needed the money from those jobs, but if I had wanted to quit for some reason, it wouldn't necessarily have been the ruin of the family. But now, I am carrying this family's health insurance! Basically, now that this step is taken, I couldn't quit even if I wanted to. I don't want to, but that's not the point.
I have always had certain obligations to my family, of course, but as a stay at home mother, they were the kind of things that were built into my days, or came up by natural instinct, anyway. They didn't feel like "work." (Well okay, laundry and dishes will ALWAYS feel like work... yuck.) But now, it's like I feel a weight on me. I always respected my husband and honored his dedication to and sacrifices for us. But I had NO IDEA what this feels like. How has he maintained his sanity when he lost jobs? If this little piece of obligation feels this heavy to me, how must it have felt to him to know that absolutely everything depended upon him?!
I have long known that my husband is a man of deep faith and quiet strength. And I have always loved those things about him. Because of the feelings I am having about this new step in my life, I think I will end up appreciating him a whole lot more. In a world full of tall little boys, he has always been a real man, and my life with him has turned out better than I could possibly have hoped. He deserves some help, though I know that he will always take the burden of being the rock of our family upon himself, no matter what I do. And there are no words for how much I love him for that.
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