Heaven when we're home

It's a long and rugged road

And we don't know where it's headed

But we know it's going to get us where we're going

When we find what we're looking for 

We'll drop these bags and search no more

'Cause it's going to feel like Heaven when we're home

                                                                                            

                                                                                    - The Wailin' Jennies

A couple years into post-secondary school, I found myself somewhat disillusioned with my area of study. After having already switched my focus once, I was unsure of my direction and wondering if I was wasting my time. I had made the switch from Anthropology because as I could not fully embrace the "All Truth is Relative" foundation: I was going to make a terrible anthropologist. I didn't opt for Music so much as I gave into the fact that I can't fight how I'm wired. Most of my life I've enjoyed playing multiple instruments, listening to varied genres of music and learning about the music of other cultures. Also, musical theory just made sense to me. It seemed like a perfect fit. However, after a number of music history classes where the Organ was very much in the limelight, studying 20th Century experimental 'music' that set my teeth on edge and caused my fingernails to dig into the lecture-hall's chairs, and writing essay after essay on assigned topics I did not find worthy of discussion, panic set in. Four years in your early twenties is a long time to dedicate to something you are not totally sold on. At the height of my worrying and discouragement, I found myself crammed between friends on an old pew in a darkened church listening to the melancholy sweetness of Rose Cousins and beautiful harmonies of the Wailin' Jennys in all their acoustic folk-y glory. Right.  I thought to myself, This is why I love music. This is why I'm here. I don't have to love the organ or be able to dig John Cage's 4 Minutes 33 Seconds the way Professor James Harley does. I walked into the night air that evening feeling refreshed, refocused and with renewed excitement for the next couple years. In essence, Stephanie got her groove back.

That evening, the ladies sang one of my favourites, "Heaven When We're Home". I love the idea of life as a 'long and rugged road', because that makes stumbling OK. Also, getting stalled, slowed down and bruised doesn't mean I can't get back up, brush myself off and continue the journey.

This week, I admit, my engine stalled. Over the last few days it has become clear I have some serious heart issues to deal with before I can continue my quest for more joyful days. Earlier this week after a visit with a friend on a beautiful day I realized my problem. We had gone for a walk with our sleepy babies in the bright sunshine on a warm day, and despite the setting and company, I managed to find negative things to talk about the entire time. What was wrong with me? I've been getting enough sleep, the weather was beautiful, I was out for a walk with a friend, why was I having such a difficult time enjoying the sunshine? Luckily this friend and I have known each other long enough that we've seen each other's better days as well, so I'm pretty sure she'll give me another chance. Oh Stephanie.

I started thinking about Matthew 12:34, "Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." and I think I hit on the problem. I am unable to experience outward Joy if I'm feeling negative on the inside. I have a feeling that simply 'trying harder' to stay positive isn't the key. Because really, if it's a heart issue, putting on a happy face isn't getting at the route of the problem. It's time for a clean-out, a 'heart check-up' of sorts.

So here is what I'm going to try to do differently this week...

1) I'm going to make an effort to take captive every thought (2 Corinthians 10:5). I'll try to be aware of what I'm spending my time thinking about. If I find myself worrying, I'll switch gears into praying about it and then do my best to leave it alone.

2) If I catch myself focusing on someone's not-so-lovable qualities, I'll do my best to remind myself of the things I love about him/her.

3) I'll try to recognize my bouts 'ugly/negative Steph' and deal with them using methods 1 and 2 before I open my mouth.

So up I get again, brushing myself off and getting ready for the next leg of this long and rugged road, reminding myself these initial struggles are worth the pain. The Wailin' Jennys are right, it really is going to feel like Heaven when I'm home; when I learn better how to operate in Joy. So onward I go! Let's try this thing again...

The Joy Project: Sleeping Beaut(ifull)y

Won't you run to see St. Judy's Comet roll across the sky

and leave a spray of diamonds in its wake

I long to see St. Judy's Comet sparkle in your eyes 

when you awake, when you awake

                                                                                               - Paul Simon

On August 24th, I realized with amazement it has been a whole six months since I first kissed the soft squishy cheeks of my beautiful little daughter. For six months I have carried her in my arms instead of my belly. There have been six months of diaper changes, bottle feedings, swaddling, soothing, sleep deprivation, and new discoveries. I've spent six months marveling at how this one little person with her chubby legs and wiggly little body, sparkling blue eyes and a big toothless grin has taken over my entire world, waking and sleeping.

This week, the theme of the Joy Project has been SLEEP. This seems pretty basic but important enough to spend some time focusing on because if I haven't slept enough I am not fun to be around. This is bad news for Kyle and Sophie, because, in the words of Tracy Byrd, "When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." I think if I made an effort to sleep enough my physical and emotional stresses would be seriously reduced. So sleep it is.

I do have a confession though: I hit a major stumbling block in this area directly related to my first major parenting goof, and man oh man, have I been paying the price. For a couple months now, Sophie has not needed any food at night time. She eats enough during the day and is quite happy to go from 9:00 pm to about 6:30 am without a bottle. This is wonderful. However... I have still been getting up with her sometimes up to four times a night to pop her soother back in, rub her back, or to jiggle her and sing her to sleep. After a particularly frustrating afternoon (2:30 - 6:00 pm) of trying to soothe an exhausted baby and get her down for a nap, I decided I like eating and having clean clothes too much to devote this much time to trying to get Sophie to sleep every day. I recruited the help of Tracy Hogg, the baby whisperer, and discovered... I have created a soother dependency.

I really have nothing against soothers, I had just been letting her use it too much. When Sophie was about 6 weeks old, she discovered a cute, but very noisy method of self-soothing. She would wake up and find her little thumb and index finger on her left hand and suck vigorously to go back to sleep. I should have just let her do this; she was figuring out how to get back to sleep on her own! However, as she was still sleeping in her little bassinet beside our bed, and I was an exhausted Mama struggling to find time to rest enough, I carefully removed her little fingers from her mouth and popped in the soother every time. And it worked beautifully. However, when Sophie woke up at night, she was unable to find it and put it in her mouth herself, and needed me or Kyle to help her to find it and get back to sleep. At first I was delighted to help her with the soother and jiggle her to sleep; it sure beat the hour-long night-time feedings of the early weeks. It has been half a year since I slept through the night though, and it is starting to catch up with me, mentally and physically.

So... what have we done about it? No more soother for Sophie! Yep. That's right. We just quit. And let me tell you, she was NOT happy about it. The first night she was inconsolable. We cuddled her and jiggled her, sang to her, patted her back, paced, shushed and rocked our little girl for an hour and a half until she had worked herself into an absolute tizzy. She knew what she wanted and she was not going to be fooled into sleeping without it. Eventually she was hungry enough for a bottle, drank 8 oz and fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. We were all wiped the next day and it seemed what we were trying was somewhat counter-productive. However... Night two... after putting up a bit of a fuss, she slept for EIGHT HOURS STRAIGHT! Nine the next night, eight the night after that. She cries a bit before she sleeps but has rediscovered how to self-soothe, and after only one night is getting herself back to sleep without outside help. I am feeling more rested, our baby is sleeping and happier when awake, and less time is being devoted to helping Sophie sleep. Thank you Tracy Hogg!

Becoming a mum brings you to a new level of loving and needing sleep. This new development is going to make a huge difference in my emotional health. I feel more able to "laugh at the days to come" (Proverbs 31: 25). Sleeping though the night is just so wonderful; I had forgotten what it felt like. I'm looking forward to joy seeking in a more awake state. Bring on the fall!

First Steps

 Walking, stumbling on these shadowfeet

Towards home, a land that I've never seen

I am changing; less and less asleep

Made of different stuff than when I began

And I have sensed it all along

Fast approaching is the day

                                                                                     

                                                                                       - Brooke Fraser

Fresh out of highschool and hungry for adventure, my sister Jessica and I packed our bags and boarded a plane to Johannesburg, South Africa. Our destination? TLC Ministries, a home for orphaned and abandoned babies operated by Thea Jarvis and her family. Jess and I were young, had time on our hands and a burning in our bellies to do something noble. I wanted not just to visit, but to live somewhere new, to be under unfamiliar skies, and to have an experience not yet attempted by an older sibling. My large family was well-known in the small town where I had grown up and many times I had longed to be known as Stephanie, just Stephanie. This was my chance to shed all associations with my last name and simply be Stephanie, a girl from Canada who was here to help. As that plane took off, in my naiveté, I thought I was on my way to change the world. As is most often the case, it was me that was about to be changed.

Most of my five months in The Rainbow Nation was spent on a farm property just outside of Johannesburg, serving with an international team of volunteers, caring for up to 35 babies each day. Our days were a whirlwind of activity involving feeding, changing, bathing, cuddling and soothing peppercorn haired, milk-chocolately skinned, squishy nosed babies. During our 'time off', Jess and I hung out with the pre-schoolers, being turned into a human jungle gyms for the little squirmers desperate to show us how high they could jump on the trampoline, how fast they could swoosh (often face first) down the slides, and how loudly they could sing their sassy Zulu songs about staying away from strangers (all the while swiveling their hips seductively, which was hilarious, because, well, they were four years old).

One unusually quiet afternoon in the nursery, little Favian, (one of my favourites) who had been on the verge of figuring out how to walk for weeks, seemed like he was ready to give it another go. With most of the babies sleeping, the volunteers were free to experience the moment together. I cannot stress enough the anticipation in that room. Imagine the combined excitement of 12 mothers all in love with the same little boy and you'll begin to get the idea. Favian was in the centre ring. Surrounding him were ladies from Holland, Belgium, Canada, the United Arab Emirates, Germany and Austria. The eyes of the world, literally, were on him. "'C'mon Favian, you can do it!" We took turns offering him encouraging words and smiles. He sat on the floor, smiling at each of us in turn with growing confidence. Slowly, he pushed himself up into a crawling stance. The room fell silent. With great concentration and huge effort, little Favian struggled to his feet, picked up one of his little feet and... step! He did it! The room exploded with cheering and applause! The poor little guy was so startled by the commotion his accomplishment had caused that he immediately toppled over. Little Favian, our little Favian had taken his first step! Never in my nineteen years had I experienced such a proud moment.

Over the last few days I have been reminded of Favian's first step because, I must confess, the Joy Project has started a little less flashy than I had hoped. Part of me felt like day one should be marked by some grandiose undertaking, like baking all my neighbours squishy chocolate chip cookies. But as the morning wore on, my accomplishments had amounted to eating a bowl of Cheerios and feeding, changing, and dressing Sophie. I decided that baking for the entire neighbourhood was perhaps something to work towards. I decided I would let my first attempts at Joy be small changes, first steps, if you will, that would fit easily into my day. Like little Favian's first attempt at walking, my initial undertakings are certainly not worthy of Olympic medals, but can most certainly be celebrated.

So, with that in mind, this is what I tried differently the last few days. 

For the first time in months, I sang in the shower, just for me. This felt strange as my bathroom singing as of late has largely consisted of Raffi's "Baby Beluga" and the Elephant Show theme song - half-attempts at pacifying a disgruntled baby who thinks that because she can't see her mum, her mum no longer exists. Sophie's Nana spent the day with us to get in her Sophie cuddles, so I was able to have a delicious sleep. Kyle and I had a romantic date to Walmart (Haha...Yes, this is what our dates have come to. We're embracing it.) In the evening when my mum had headed home, and Sophie had a full tummy of sweet potatoes and milk, I strapped the little lady into her Baby Bjorn and headed out during Magic Hour to explore the neighbourhood. On Saturday Kyle and I dressed up and attended a 1920's themed Murder Mystery birthday party for a friend. Sunday brought more walks, an impromptu dance party with Sophie and Kyle in the music room, and enjoying the sound of the wind in the trees and the crickets in the field as I hung laundry on the line. Small steps, yes, but noteworthy none-the-less.  

Over the next while, as I make further attempts at Joy I'm tempted to belittle, I'll try to hear the voice of my own Parent whispering encouragement in my ear as I move slowly along, "C'mon Steph, I'm right here, take a step. You can do it..." I'll do my best to remember how I rejoiced over little Favian's first steps, and be reminded of how my own Father rejoices over His kids. I'll remind myself that my first steps, however small and tentative, are important and necessary, and when strung together will cover great distance to carry me slowly and steadily towards a brighter day.