Weekly Links: on clean houses, that one TV hairstyle, and more!

Jack is judging you.

SOME GOOD READING FOR YOUR SUNDAY AFTERNOON...

Faith

-"Reading the Danvers Statement II" - about men and women and the Bible. Here's a snippet:

Sure, these scriptures are for every culture. Nobody reading the bible should think that it is ever just for them. It is for the whole world. And so every single culture should read the bible. But that’s the point. I think every person should read the bible–the whole bible. And when that happens, some interesting things might happen.

-"Why I Quit Watching Downton Abbey" - on suffering and stories (maybe I put this link in the wrong section); here's a snippet:

The best way to honor sad stories is to simply present them as such. To not rush to a tidy conclusion, to not veer quickly off into either redemption or revenge. To honor the victim, to look unblinkingly at the trauma, to hold the story in your heart and then to tell others—this is what we are supposed to do.

Family

-"9 Habits of One Mother Trying to Keep a Clean Home" - I admit to reading this more than once. Bethany is pretty inspiring.

Fiction

-"Welcome to the Medical Clinic at the Interplanetary Relay Station" - another good one from Lightspeed. Remember those choose-your-own-adventure paperbacks back from when we were kids? This short story is that style, but hilariously pessimistic.

-"The Overlooked Hope for Narnia's Susan Pevensie" - I admit to thinking something similar before. Such a good rebuttal to the popular view that Lewis was just being a sexist pig when it came to Susan! (Not that maybe he couldn't have been sometimes - and he'd be the first one to admit he was a sinner with blindspots - but I've always thought the popular criticism of Susan's fate was unfair, and this article's a good take on that.)

-"Why Everyone on TV Has the Same Hair" - I found this fascinating, because I'd noticed this (extremely boring visually) trend. The explanation makes sense! (But still folks: change it up!)


Hope the rest of your weekend is restful and good!
-Jessica Snell

A God Who Knows Grief

I'm honored today to be guest posting over at Sarah Ruut's blog. Here's a snippet:

Private grief is sometimes what we want. 

It's not always what we need. 

And it's never our only choice. Why? Because we serve a Lord who is familiar with suffering...

Please go read the rest over at Sarah's beautiful website! I hope it offers you a bit of encouragement for your day.


Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

Crucible Faith

Now that I’m headed quickly into middle age*, I've been thinking about the fact that I can look at every Christian I know well, and I remember them telling me about a time in their lives when there was nothing there for them but God. When what was precious was taken from them, and they were alone . . . except for the Lord. And when they chose to keep following anyway.

I can name time after time, in the lives of people I love, when they have had that crucible experience.

Sometimes it was incredible physical pain, other times it was incredible isolation, or destruction of a vital relationship . . . but every time, they faced the question, “well, do I still trust, or not?”

And they trusted. And they kept walking, walking alongside Him.

But seriously. So many Christians. They all have that experience. The circumstances are unique, but the experience isn’t.

And then they go through it again and again. But after the first time, they know. It’s like from there on out, they know. They know HIM. There’s this bedrock there, and it doesn’t change.

You can see it in their faces, if you know to look. And you can hear it in their voices when they’re in extremity, or when they describe being in extremity.

And it’s not that they’re not knocked backwards. It’s not that they’re not hurt or confused or terrified or that they make it out of their pain without sinning by complaining or fearing or self-indulgence or mistakes, or whatever.

It’s just that they’re anchored. They know. They know HIM.

It’s like there’s something eternal in their souls, something that’s anchored to something outside the mutability of this world.

And I say, “it’s like”, and by that I mean exactly, “it is.”

But . . . do you know what I mean? Have you seen this on people’s faces and heard it in their voices when they share their stories?

They’ve been through the fire, and they know they’re going to go through again (though they pray for mercy), but there is a steadiness deep down in their souls, because they know that they’re not going through it alone.

They might still be whiny or annoying or infuriating to you. You might not like them.

But you recognize that thing in them. And you love them for it.

They’ve been through a time when they had nothing and no one. They were absolutely alone in their pain – because even if you have friends near you in your pain, none of them can really be there, with you, IN your pain – they were all alone . . . except for the presence of God. And even then, that presence might have felt like a distant, academic reality.

But He was there, and they believed it, and now they’ll never face pain the same way again.

It’s just different, after an experience like that.

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

*Stop laughing, Mom. 

Links - Forgiveness, Anglicans, Pakistan, and more

Forgiveness, Cell by Cell - "When Christ told his disciples earlier to forgive your brother “not seven times, but seventy times seven times,” I think he may very well have meant for a single offense—because that’s how forgiveness works."

Time for a Big, Big Change -  "The Stand Firm web site is about to undergo the single biggest change in its eight-year history."

A Little Proof of a Large Thing - "Our bodies, and the pattern of our lives, make a gesture which is meaningful because of the very fact that some pattern exists. There is not nothing, and there is not chaos: there are patterns, and I cannot unsee them."

Another Pakistani Christian Woman Blasphemy Trial Set for This Saturday - Martha Bibi, a 45-year-old rural villager and mother of six, was also accused of making derogatory remarks against the Koran and blaspheming Mohammed. Her final hearing is set for this Saturday, March 17. This is one to write your congressmen about, folks, because international pressure actually has a chance of keeping her alive if the verdict goes against her. It's super-easy to email your senators these days; most of their sites have a form for it, and they may not pay attention to individual letters, but they do pay attention to volume.

Quantum Marketing - Got to love marketing advice that comes down to: "write a really good story."

Father Ailill on St. Patrick's Day - "I mean to say, take some pity on the man. He's 1500 years old. Hasn't he earned a little good manners, if not respect? If you're convinced you need a day to lower yourself to the level of the beasts, call it Bacchus Day, or Falstaff Day, or Ted Kennedy Day. Even St. Olaf Day. He liked his tipple well enough."

Links! Violence, Death, Pain, and More

Another links post, because we've all (well, 5 of the 6 of us) been sick here, and I'm down for the count for a second time, and so I've had way too much time to just poke around the internet, reading.  Here are some of the cool things I've stumbled across:

-I actually caught this interview when it aired on NPR, and it was so good. Interview with the author of "Don't Shoot: One Man, a Street Fellowship, and the End of Violence in Inner-City America." I know that sounds dull and perhaps depressing, but it's actually one of the most riveting and hopeful things I've heard in a long time. Highly recommended.

-In "Steve Jobs and Death In Medias Res", John Mark Reynolds argues that the saints never die in the middle of their stories, but always at the end.

-Shannon Hale's giving away some ARCs of her new book "Midnight in Austenland" if you like her on Facebook. I do like her and her writing, so I'm passing this one on! :)

-Willa, over at Quotidian Moments, is going to be hosting a slow, thoughtful read-through and blog-through of Margaret Peterson's "Keeping House: the Litany of Everyday Life". I'm joining in and I'd encourage you to join in too; if you go look at Willa's post, you'll see that the schedule she's proposing is really leisurely and doable - and the book isn't very long to begin with. To encourage you further, here's a link to my review of the book from a year ago. As you can see from the quoted sections, it's very lovely, rich, and rewarding reading.

-Jeanne over at At A Hen's Pace has a beautiful and profound post on pain up on her blog.

-Fictional Places You Can Visit in Real Life. Anyone up for a visit to Hobbiton?

-When a motif starts showing up over and over in popular culture, it's smart to wonder why. With that principle in mind, here's another thoughtful analysis on the current popularity of zombies in today's entertainment offerings.  An excerpt:

David has grasped a breathtakingly essential point about zombie fiction: if human beings really were merely animated meat suits, then there would be no moral difference between killing zombies and killing human beings--and, as a corollary, we could kill human beings without remorse or pity simply because they were in the way. The history of the atheistic regimes of the twentieth century shows us what that looks like--what it looks like when a society arises to whom human beings are merely interchangeable animated future corpses, and which treats people as if they have no intrinsic human worth.

But if humans have intrinsic worth--if they are not mere walking bodies, if they are more than merely well-evolved animals--where does that worth come from? If the people we once loved who have died are not merely decomposing flesh, if they, the essential selves, still exist, then where and what are they, and why are they still alive? For Christians who believe in the soul, these questions can be pondered with placidity, gratitude, even joy. For anyone who does not believe in an immaterial and immortal human soul which makes us look like our Creator, though, these questions can only be rather grim to think about.

-And, the best news for last, Lois McMaster Bujold, my favorite living novelist, has finished a new book! Better yet? It's the one about Ivan. w00T!

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

He knows

I've been reading, this week, a book called "When You're Expecting Twins, Triplets or Quads" by Dr. Barbara Luke. Unlike the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" series, Luke's book is HELPFUL. Dr. Luke runs clinics for moms of multiples, and the twins born to moms who've followed her program tend to weigh, at birth, 20% more than the average for twins.

I appreciate both the weight of her research, and the encouragement of her words. And I'm discovering tons of fascinating facts, like:
-twins develop faster in utero than singletons; they tend to be a few weeks ahead of their gestational age, developmentally, preparing them for their almost-certainly-shorter gestation.
-multiples born to moms who've given birth before gestate longer. This is because they don't have to stretch out the uterus themselves; it's already been stretched out, and they can grow faster without an un-tried uterus restricting them.
-bedrest - or at least REST, lying down - actually does do some good. It takes the strain off your heart, allowing more oxygen to circulate through your and your babies' bodies, and off of your kidneys (since they have more blood flow), allowing your body to more quickly and easily filter and eliminate fluids. Given that a twin mom sees TWICE the increase of blood volume that a singleton mom does, this is important.
-while breastmilk is great for preemies, if they're very, very premature, even breastmilk can be bad for them, because their digestive system is too immature to handle it. Weird. I've thought about immature hearts, lungs and brains, but never immature guts.

Anyway, those are just a few things I've learned recently. I feel like I'm taking a crash course on multiple pregnancies, births and childhoods!

But maybe the most helpful thing in this book is when the author talks about how parents, upon finding out that they're pregnant with multiples, go through the five stages of grief: shock, denial, anger/depression, bargaining, and acceptance/adaptation. Reading that was helpful, because I was able to look back over the last few weeks, and see that cycle at play in myself. For instance, a few hours after we first found out about the girls, I found myself sitting on a couch, feeling too shaky to stand up. I recognized that I was coming off of an adrenaline high, and later that night I cried so hard that I gave myself a real (not Braxton-Hicks-ish) contraction. (So I stopped crying, realizing, in an oddly cold-blooded moment, that I hadn't the right to cry so hard when it might hurt my babies.) Denial was the days I had myself convince that at least one, if not both of them, were going to die, and so it all didn't matter anyway. Anger and depression followed as I looked at the prison term/hospital stay ahead of me. Then bargaining: "But at least if I go do this, you can promise me they'll be okay, right?" And now, though there's still a slight hope we'll find out that they aren't sharing a sac, I'm planning my next weeks' menus so that I can double every meal between now and when I'm hospitalized, hopefully leaving my husband and oldest children with a freezer full of yummy, nutrious stuff for them to eat while I'm gone. I guess that's acceptance.

I also appreciated that Dr. Luke pointed out that new information or changes can knock you back a few steps. That explains why, after my ultrasound last week, where we again failed to find a membrane separating the girls, I felt depressed for several days. I hate the feeling of being depressed. I'm not used to it and I don't like it. But at least now I know that it's not abnormal, given the circumstances.

Anyway, I guess it's enough to say: education helps. Living each day as it comes helps. Thinking of the future only insomuch as it's today's duty to prepare for it helps. Knowing how many people there are praying for us helps. Eating well and resting because TODAY that's how I can take care of my babies helps. Enjoying being with my toddlers because today I get to be with them helps. Going on a date with my husband (go see Enchanted, it's lovely and funny!) helps. Thinking about how Jesus completely understands helps.

Actually, that last one helps a LOT. Every time I cringe at the idea of how painful the next few months will be, I remember that my Lord also - eyes wide open - walked to his own place of suffering. When I feel like the hospitalization is a prison sentence, I remember my mom's thought that it's more like a rescue mission, as the shepherd left the ninety and nine where they were safe in order to go after the one. When I wince at the idea of a c-section, I remember that the Lord knows what it is to bear scars for the sake of his children. When I think about the dark valley ahead, full of sleepless nights and tears and and terror and loneliness, I can know that my Lord doesn't just order me to go there, and won't just be with me, but has actually walked that road himself. As the friend says at the end of Lawhead's Byzantium, "He knows, Aidan. He knows."

That is my comfort. I am finally learning with my heart something I've long known with my head: that it's the Incarnation that makes suffering bearable. I don't have the answer to the problem of pain, but I know that the One who does had the integrity to bear the brunt of it himself. So if he knows, and he walked through it, I can walk through it too. But only because He's there and He knows. I feel like a little kid, who doesn't want to get my shots, but who can do anything if her dad is beside her, holding her hand. If He's there, it will be well.

Oh, but help, I don't want to do this. Thy will be done, Lord, not mine.

He has borne our griefs

Today I read something online that depressed me utterly. Scared me, depressed me, horrified me. Nevermind what, because I've no wish to depress, horrify or scare anyone else, and everyone runs across such things sooner or later anyway. But I was sunk in a slough of "oh God, why did you give me children when they have to share world-space with men such as these?" I'm sure you know that awful feeling you get when you're faced with evil too utterly bleak to bear contemplation.

I told my husband what I was feeling, and why, and after supper he went over to his computer, and next thing I know, I hear a sure, steady voice booming across our kitchen, reading St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians.

"Thank you," I mouthed to him. He nodded and gave me a smile, and we kept clearing the dishes.

Scripture helps. Scripture to music helps even more. After a bit of time listening to Paul's heartening words (Paul is heartening even when he is chastizing), we put on Handel's Messiah.

And I sat, and I listened to the choir sing that Christ has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. "Surely. SURELY. He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows." And I suddenly had a picture of Christ, strong and sure, his back broad enough to hold the depressing horror I had read about, broad enough to carry it. He suddenly seemed bigger than all the world in my eyes, and more good than I had beheld him before. Surely, surely. And not only was his back broad enough to bear that horror, but he was good enough to overcome it. It shrank and was swallowed up in the strength of his goodness. It could not stand before him, the One who faced it on the cross, who died, who harrowed hell and who rose again, triumphant, Lord of heaven and earth.

That is what he suffered when he hung on the cross, that is the guilt he bore when the Father turned his face from him. "The scum of the earth" is more than a catchphrase. It is what he allowed to cling to him, that he might destroy it forever. "And with his stripes we are healed." My current nightmare and more, all nightmares, he faced and suffered, that they might not have eternal power over his children, over those the Father gave to his care.

Surely, surely. And I love him, because he first loved me. And this is the love wherewith he has loved me. That he would stand between all of us and the powers of hell. And not just stand, but overcome. That is the might and majesty of our Lord, Jesus the Christ. Amen and amen.

peace to you, the peace of Christ to you,
-Jessica

"as in the pains of childbirth"

I'm taking a week's break from reading Morning Prayer daily in order to read through the book of Romans (and to just take a break. I figure a vacation from MP will be the sort of vacation that makes me realize, once it's over, how happy I am to be back home). It's the moody time of month, which is annoying (I hate being mad or weepy at every little thing), but today I discovered that though the downside of PMS is that it makes me more sensitive, the upside of PMS is that it makes me more sensitive. Reading Romans 8 this morning, I was tearing up reading over how I'm allowed to call God "Abba, Father" because of Christ's great act of love for us.

Anyway, the other thing I noticed, and not for the first time, is how commonly "the pains of childbirth" or "like the pains of a woman in labor" is used as a metaphor in the scriptures. When I was pregnant, I'd read these words with forboding. Instead of making me think that the tribulation must be pretty horrible if you could compare it to childbirth, I'd sit there thinking that childbirth must be pretty horrible if you could compare it to the tribulation. (And I was right. Ha!)

But, on reading Romans 8 today, and not being pregnant (as far as I know), the idea of creation "groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time" struck me differently. It struck me less as terror-inducing metaphor, and more as kindly explanation. The "pains of childbirth" are - know ye all - really, truly awful. Terrible, horrible, entire body-wrenching pain. And I see how you can compare life in this present world to that and be completely right. I mean, have you read the news recently? Heard about Sudan? the persecution of Christians in North Korea? Closer yet, heard recently of murders, suicide, abuse? Homelessness, cancer? Yes, terrible, horrible, entire-life-consuming pain.

So here's why I find Romans 8:22 a kindly explanation. Because it lets you know that the pain will have a purpose. Yes, it's fallen and messed up that there has to be pain to produce a child. But since we live in a fall and messed up world, it's nice to know - when you're in labor - that the pain is going to have a good result. Given that you're in the middle of it, and that's just so and you don't have any choice at this point but to be in the middle of it, isn't it nice to know the ending? Isn't it hope that lets us endure? It is kind, I think, of Paul, to let us know that it's not going to be pain, pain, pain, death. Or even just pain, pain, pain, pain ad infinitum. (Anyone here every give birth and not, at some point, a) think you were going to die and/or b) think it was never going to end?) No, it is to be pain, pain, pain, life.

And, as we learned in The Princess Bride, "Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

Paul's not selling something. He's not lying about the pain. He's saying that this world is constantly in pain as bad as a woman in labor, and boy-howdy, that's pain. But he is giving us the hope that the pain is going to be as productive as that of a woman in labor. And, boy-howdy, that's hope. Thanks be to God.

peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

cutting teeth

Yesterday was miserable. I usually love Mondays; they are the best stay-at-home day of the week. The day that I get the most housework done, and somehow also spend the most purposeful time with my kids. The day I'm full of energy, feeling restored after the weekend, blessed after Sunday's mass, well-loved from hours of time with my husband.

But yesterday, Monday, was miserable. My son screamed all day, and it took me all day to figure out why. For a long time I thought it was his temper tantrums coming back, the temper tantrums that we'd carefully taken time to train him out of, and that he'd mostly dropped in response to our training. "No throwing fits," we'd say sternly, and then make him sit still on the corner of the loveseat until he was done fussing. In fact, one of the last times he threw one, I merely looked at him, and he toddled himself over to the loveseat, heaved himself up and then sat there looking at me, lower lip quivering.

But it wasn't temper, it was teeth. One tooth, actually. His first canine, that was not there in the morning, but was broken through the gum by the time dinner was over. By the end of the day it was clear that it wasn't pique, it was pain. I came close to crying myself as I watched him during dinner. When a bite of food touched the tender part of his gum, he'd squint his eyes closed and crinkle up his face, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. It reminded me of the helpless pain of a woman in labor. I just am going to be in pain; I can't do anything to stop it. Oh, I hurt, I hurt. And what he wanted was to be held. Everytime he squinted up his face in pain, he also reached out his arms to be held, and once in my arms, he clung like a limpet until it stopped hurting.

When we figured it out, of course, we gave him Tylenol. And it helped some, and sleep held more, and the tooth actually breaking through the gum helped most.

The old song says it best: "What cannot be cured, love/Must be endured, love." But how I hate it. How I hate this brokeness, this world that makes us learn that truth at the tender age of one, before it can be explained. Shakespeare claimed that no philosopher can endure a toothache patiently. But do you know who can? My Gamgee, at the end of a whole day of toothache. Silently and with tears streaming down his face. I am glad that I was there all day, to hold him.

Oh Lord Jesus, come back soon.