Tag: pregnant

We Are No Longer Alone: Quickened

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Oh, then, on that spontaneous, light-filled day, the world 
will begin singing again after our dim, silent millennial waiting— 
—you and me and every one of us. After the dark days 
the sun will be no longer reluctant in his shining (we’ll 
lift our faces to him, believing him to join with us, jubilant, 
peering from behind the heaving clouds). Then will our old limbs run and climb again with new vigor, and even the ancient barns, 
settling deeper in their fields, will sway and creak their praise in 
unison with the thunder, and the storms of wind and hail, while 
the old horse nickers in his stall, shaking his white mane at us, 
we standing by the barn door to greet him, full of joy. We’ll even 
see fish leaping and eagles soaring, ascending the sun-glanced air.

At the autumn in-gathering, the ground will boil with fallen apples, 
their fermentation making the feeding cattle tipsy. And in the frost-whiskered creeks, swimming the in-creeping tide, wood ducks will 
once again nudge each other along, making beatific bird music. And then—Spring! When it is all, everything, thawing, leaping, calling us back in time, in tune, as we, with the whole passionate earth chorale, will practice our scales for the ultimate performance. We’ll be, every one of us, overflowing with a brilliant, unstoppable, alleluia joy, singing songs that we’ll need not rehearse, since by then we’ll know all the tunes and words by heart, with love brimming over our souls’ rims, like wine. And together, leaping, rampant with a vertical energy, and freshened voices and a brand-new score, and well-tuned, enthusiastic instruments, and our almighty Lord leading us, we’ll sing, and keep on raising heaven’s roof without ever needing to stop.
~Luci Shaw “The Quickening” in Christian Century

Great are thy tender mercies, O Lord:
quicken me according to thy judgments.
Psalm 119:156

…because of the tender mercy of our God,
    by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
 to shine on those living in darkness
    and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace.
Luke 1:78-79 from the Song of Zechariah

So it is written: “The first man Adam became a living being”;
the last Adam, a quickening spirit.
1 Corinthians 15:45

Some women have described it
as a fluttery feeling,
the separate life announcing itself
with months to go before making its entry
into the outer world.

I like to pretend that I remember that sensation,
My womb, your chrysalis,
your new energy making its presence known
washing over my heart
like a silky wave.

Soon, you may wonder
what was that?
Mark that moment well—
it is the first of many steps that he will take
moving away from you.
~Marietta Calvanico “The Quickening”

photo by Lennart Nilsson from A Child is Born

There is a distinct and memorable moment in pregnancy, around 16 weeks gestation, when there is an undeniable awareness of movement within the womb–initially a fluttery feeling, but then over the next few days, there are irresistible tickly sensations, then rolling, then pushes.

This is referred to clinically as “quickening”–an emphatic evidence of life within–and a profound acknowledgment that one’s life is no longer one’s own. It is now shared.

Jesus is called the “second Adam” through his death and resurrection, a quickening spirit now shared with us, so much more than the simple life and breath of the first Adam.

The Spirit lives and breathes within us, fluttering and rolling, pushing us from inside. We are startled by its presence, amazed by its insistent touch from within. Pregnant with possibility due to God’s tender mercy, we will never, never be the same again.

AI image created for this post

This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

Come, O come, Thou quickening Spirit,
God from all eternity!
May Thy power never fail us;
Dwell within us constantly.
Then shall truth and life and light
Banish all the gloom of night.

Grant our hearts in fullest measure
Wisdom, counsel, purity,
That we ever may be seeking
Only that which pleaseth Thee.
Let Thy knowledge spread and grow,
Working error’s overthrow.

Show us, Lord, the path of blessing;
When we trespass on our way,
Cast, O Lord, our sins behind Thee,
And be with us day by day.
Should we stray, O Lord, recall;
Work repentance when we fall.

Prompt us, Lord, to come before Him
With a childlike heart to pray;
Sigh in us, O Holy Spirit,
When we know not what to say.
Then our prayer is not in vain,
And our faith new strength shall gain.

If our soul can find no comfort,
If despondency grows strong,
And the heart cries out in anguish,
“Oh my God, how long, how long?”
Comfort then our aching breast,
Grant it courage, patience, rest.

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Preparing the Heart: A Quickening Spirit

barnstormingblog1 Comment

winterpine

So it is written: “The first man Adam became a living being”; the last Adam, a quickening spirit.
~1Corinthians 15:45

snow225147

All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it’s not only around us; it’s within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We’re also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.

Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God.
~Romans 8:22-28 from The Message by Eugene Petersen

blackberrysnowball

…like Mary, I believe that we too can become pregnant with God.
~Luci Shaw

There is a distinct and memorable moment in pregnancy, around 16 weeks, when there is an undeniable awareness of movement within the womb–initially a fluttery feeling, but then over the next few days, there are tickly sensations, then rolling, then pushes. It is referred to clinically as “quickening”–an emphatic evidence of life within–and there is a profound acknowledgment that one’s life is no longer one’s own. It is now shared.

Jesus is called the “second Adam” through his death and resurrection, a quickening spirit now shared with us, so much more than the simple life and breath of the first Adam. The spirit lives and breathes within us, fluttering and rolling, pushing us from inside, creating in us more than we ever could become on our own. We are startled by its presence, amazed by its touch, forever transformed, pregnant with possibility and never, never to be the same again.

snow12201337

Twenty Nine Halloweens

barnstormingblog7 Comments

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punkinhallow

On Halloween day in 1985, I packed up my clothes, a roll up mattress,  grabbed one lonely pumpkin from our small garden, locked our rental house door for the last time, climbed in my car and headed north out of Seattle. I don’t recall looking back in the rear view mirror at the skyline after nine years living in the city. My husband had moved to Whatcom County two months before to start his new job. I had stayed behind to wrap up my Group Health practice in the Rainier Valley of Seattle. I was leaving the city for a new rural home and an uncertain professional future.

I knew two things for sure: I was finally several months pregnant after a miscarriage and two years of infertility, so our family was on its way, and we were going to live in our own house, not just a rental, complete with five acres and a barn. A real (sort of) farm. Since no farm can be complete without animals, I stopped at the first pet store I drove past and found two little sister tortoise shell calico kittens peering up at me,  just waiting for new adventures in farmland. Their box was packed into the one spot left beside me in my little Mazda. With that simple commitment to raise and nurture those kittens, life seemed very complete.

I will never forget the freedom I felt on that drive north. The highway seemed more open, the fall colors more vibrant, the wind more brisk, our baby happily kicking my belly, the kittens plaintively mewing from their box. There seemed to be so much potential though I had just left behind the greatest job that could be found in any urban setting: the ideal family practice with a delightfully diverse patient population of African Americans, Cambodians, Laotians, Vietnamese, Muslims and Orthodox Jews. I would never know so much variety of background and perspective again and if I could have packed them all with me into the Mazda, I would have.

We started our farm with those kittens dubbed Nutmeg and Oregano, soon adding a dog Tango, then a Haflinger horse Greta, then Toggenburg goats Tamsen and her kids, a few Toulouse geese, Araucana chickens, Fiona the Highland cow, then another Haflinger Hans and another, Tamara. I worked as a fill in locums doctor in four different clinics before our first baby, Nate, was born. Again, new commitments and life felt complete– but not for long, as we soon added another baby, Ben and then another, Lea. Then it really was complete. Or so I thought.

Twenty nine years later our children have long ago grown and gone, off to their own adventures beyond the farm.  Our sons each married in the last year, our daughter becoming more independent as she finishes her college career in another year, each child to a different big city spread out in three different time zones from us. A few cats, two corgi dogs, and a hand full of ponies remain at the farm with us. We are now gray and move a bit more slowly, enjoy our naps and the quiet of the nights and weekends. Our second larger farm seems more than we can realistically manage by ourselves in our spare time. My work has evolved from four small jobs to two decades of two part time jobs to one more than full time job that fits me like a well worn sweater 24 hours a day.

My husband is talking retirement in a little over three years. I’m not so sure for myself. I have never not worked and don’t know how I can stop when the need in health care is greater than ever.

The freedom I felt that rainy Halloween day three decades ago, watching Seattle disappear in the rear view mirror,  meant I no longer sat captive in freeway rush hour bumper to bumper traffic jams for an hour, but now commute through farm fields, watching eagles fly, and new calves licked by their mamas. I am part of a community in a way I never could manage in the city, stopping to visit with friends at the grocery store, playing piano at church and serving on various community boards. I love how our home sits in the midst of woods and corn fields, with deer strolling through the fields at dawn,  coyotes howling at night, Canadian geese and trumpeter swans calling from overhead and salmon more prolific every year in nearby streams. The snowy Cascades greet me in the morning and the sunset over Puget Sound bids me good night.

It all started October 31, 1985 with two orange and black kittens and a pumpkin beside me in a little Mazda and a husband waiting for my homecoming 100 miles north. Now, twenty nine years and three grown children later,  I celebrate my Halloween transition anniversary once more.  We find ourselves on our own yet again, still pregnant with possibility for our future together.

 

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