Encouragement

I am learning a lot these days--

and I am taking lots of notes, like my buddy below:

And while I have admittedly (necessarily?) retreated a bit from people since Grant's birth, I have savored every word, card, and email that has kindly come our way. Many of these words have brought me great comfort, and as a way of collecting a few of them for future reference, I thought I would include them here.

SARA'S BOYS

by Jane Henegar

Clay, Will, Grant:

Words.  The first,

a grounding fact.

You come from clay, and that means

messiness . . . and a 

return some day to clay.

Clay is the family noun,

and into him God 

breathed the breath of

life, and Clay became a

living soul.

Then came two verbs (active,

to be sure).

When you put God first, as we so

mean to do,  those boyish verbs

become a promise and

a prayer.

WILL, the promise: 

God will supply

all your needs (Hmmm,

did he say ALL?) through

his glory in Christ Jesus.*

GRANT, the prayer:

I prayed for this child, and the Lord 

has granted me what I asked of him. So now

I give him to the Lord. For his 

whole life he will be given over

to the Lord. *

And now Sara, teacher

and wordsmith: This noun,

these verbs

are where you will be from

and for,

to live with them by

promise claimed and

always, offered prayer.

Anne Lamott:

We and life are spectacularly flawed and complex. Often we do not get our way, which I hate, hate, hate. But in my saner moments, I remember that if we did, usually we would shortchange ourselves. Sometimes circumstances conspire to remind us or even let us glimpse how thin the membrane is between here and there, between birth and the grave, between the human and the divine. In wonder at the occasional direct experience of this, we say, "Thank you."

Wendell Berry:

“Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery. ”

“The concept of a God that rights all wrongs and makes all things well is not one that I know,” Kitto wrote. “The concept of the God I know is one that lives within you and me. It is the capacity to feel love and give love … You must continue to love. You must continue to be loved. It is your love-bound obligation not to let your capacity for love wither, but to hold up what you gained and let the love that you have had flourish.”

What We Need Is Here

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here. 

From NYTimes Weddings this week (come on, I have to check it): Ms. Dickinson recently started practicing yoga. For her mantra she came up with: I am my own authority. Then, she thought again. Considering the last several years of marriage — the births and deaths, the comings and goings of their combined five daughters, the blizzards, the disappearing leftovers — she realized that, in fact, she has no authority.

Her advice about how to handle the constant tide of unpredictable events? “You can’t stop it, you just can’t stop it,” she said. “It happens anyway. This is about surrender and all you have is how you get through it. Will you soldier on or will you freak out? Will you be angry? Will you say no or will you say yes?”

 She changed her mantra. It is now: Remember to surrender.

My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts. Isaiah 55:8-9

"Notes from the Deep End"

I was thirty-seven years old when my husband and I decided it was time to have a baby. We had been married nine years, together for sixteen. We had put it off for all this time in order to focus on careers, travel, fun, ourselves. My job was pretty glamorous: vice-president of a big publishing company in New York City. My life was filled with interesting writers, fascinating trips, sparkling conversation, fine wine, speaking engagements. I saw having a baby as something to “check off a list.” Something to do. And besides, a baby would go so well with my new black suit. So I signed up for the Gwyneth Paltrow version of motherhood. The Kelly Ripa woman-on-the-go scenario. The version of motherhood that gets glamorized in People magazine. But in my heart of hearts, I was scared. Terrified. I didn’t want my life to change that much. Still, I had the anticipation of regret and I thought having a baby would be “good for me.” So picture this: parenthood, to me, was like a giant swimming pool. I saw other people in the pool and they looked okay. But I was hesitant to even stick a toe in. I didn’t want to get wet. Other parents said to me, “going into the pool can be really scary. But it’s all worth it.” I thought to myself, “if they can do it, so can I.” And, tentatively, I put my foot in the water. Suddenly someone grabbed me from behind and threw me in the deep end. In the deep end! How unfair! You don’t take the person most frightened of the water and throw them in the deep end! Throw another person in the deep end, someone who’s used to the pool! Someone who knows how to swim! “I’m going to die,” I thought. I railed against the unfairness of it all, the shock of the cold water. But instinct kicked in and clumsily I moved my arms and legs. And I did not drown. Gagging and coughing and choking and sputtering I had a question: “Who did this to me,” I wanted to know. “How did this happen?!” My head went under and panic set in. I moved my arms and legs more and I did not drown. Now I was treading water. I noticed there were other people in the deep end with me, and they were offering to help. But I didn’t want to be in their Deep End Club. And besides, I didn’t think I even belonged here, it was only a matter of time before someone told me it was all a mistake and I’d be pulled out of the pool to safety. “I should have left well enough alone. I should never have tried to go into the pool,” I thought. And as I continued to tread water I noticed something else: I did not drown. Soon I started to float. I felt pretty much alone but the panic had subsided and I knew I could survive although it wouldn’t be pleasant. And I did not drown. But then I noticed there was a little boy in the deep end with me, a little boy named Nicholas with eyes that crinkle up like half moons when he smiles. A little boy named Nicholas who loves Bruce Springsteen and Puccini’s “La Boheme” and 1940s Big Band Music. And Nicholas could swim. Looking at him, I began to realize that I might be able to do more than float someday. I might be able to swim. And I might even enjoy it. Perhaps I’d even love it. I realized that the deep end allows for underwater somersaults and in the deep end, it’s possible to dive. You can’t do that in the shallow end. And perhaps someday, with Nicholas at my side, we’d both wave to the parents at the shallow end of the pool and say, “you don’t know what you’re missing, here in the deep end.”
--Jennifer, mother of Nicholas, a child with Down Syndrome

From a new friend whose daughter has DS:

"I know how surprising the news that Grant was born with Down Syndrome must be. We are thinking of you all and would like to tell you just how wonderful raising K has been. I could never have imagined how well things would go...I wish I knew things would be like this, the day I found out K had Down Syndrome. I wish I had known that DS would only be one part of K and that there would be so much more to get to know."