Undeserved Grace
Tomorrow my son will be three weeks old. This means that I am three weeks into the biggest upheaval my life has ever undergone. Well, if I'm honest, the upheaval started long before that last encouragement of "PUSH" from the midwife, long before I saw our son's dark hair for the first time, long before the first person said "Congratulations Dad!" Ever since we announced that we were expecting a child, we have received an nearly-unending (and much appreciated) stream of cards, notes, Facebook messages, and random comments on the street sending us congratulations and commenting on how happy we must be. These were often paired, especially in the last month or two of the pregnancy, with the wisdom that "our life is about to change forever." This came in many forms, ranging from the sage-like wisdom of grandparents ("enjoy the moments!") to the more apocalyptic views of what was headed our way ("life as you know it is coming to an end!").
Before I go on, I want to make something abundantly clear: I am thrilled to be a father. My son is the most amazing little guy, and as cliché as it sounds, I can already see some of his personality coming through. He is adorable, and yes, I can see glimpses of family in him. Yes, I am proud and happy. However.
However, there is something that I think we (or at the very least me, but I do think it is a we) need to talk about. My experience, especially during the last couple of months of the pregnancy, was of a strong expectation, both spoken and unspoken, that I should be really happy and excited. All the time. The only thing that (almost) anyone ever mentioned to me was how proud and happy I must be. And, I'll be honest, most of the time, I was (and still am) proud and happy. I was (and still am) excited about what the future holds for our family. I spent a lot of time, I mean a ton of time, trying to wrap my head around what life was going to be like with a little one; and most of the time that was exciting and hope-filled.
But, and here is the key thing, it wasn't always like that. During the last month of the pregnancy in particular, I had some really rough days emotionally. As almost anyone who knows me can attest, I am not one to cry openly. Maybe in really moving situations a tear might roll down my cheek; but I am not one to sob uncontrollably. Until the last two months. In the weeks leading up to the birth of our son I cried. I cried a lot. I cried when I thought about the future. I cried when I thought about what could go wrong. I cried when a particularly moving bank commercial played on tv. Since he has been born I have continued to be quite emotional; especially during the first few days when he and mom were still in hospital and I had to drive 30 minutes each way several times a day to visit. In the past couple of weeks it has become easier to manage, but that commercial still gets me.
I remember one night in particular. It was near the end of February, and we had just watched a video from the National Health Service about breastfeeding. At some point in the middle of the video it was like I was punched in the gut; the weight of what was about to happen landed on me like a ton of bricks. All of a sudden the excitement of what was about to happen seemed to vanish like early morning mist. I tried to remember why I was excited to be a dad, and I couldn't think of a single thing. All I could remember was all those people saying "your life is over!" All I could think about was all the terrible "what-if" scenarios of what might go wrong. I felt alone and very far from friends and family. I hardly slept at all that night.
I spent the next couple of days actively trying to avoid thinking about the future, because about every other time I did, that same sense of dread came over me. But, after a few helpful conversations with the other pastor I work with, some friends back home, and my father, I started to try and work out just why I was so anxious. Why wasn't I feeling the way that everyone said I should be feeling? Why wasn't I happy and excited all the time? Why was I feeling doubt?
I think there are two big reasons for my experience. The first has to do with how we as a society deal with big life changes, especially those we tend to consider as positive changes. When we experience any major change (graduation, marriage, career change, BABY), there are clearly positive elements to that change, and those are the elements that we tend to focus on. This is where we get the "isn't is so wonderful that [insert life change] has happened to you; you must be so happy/proud/excited/not-worried-about-the-future-at-all!" Of course, our response to these comments is a (mostly) truthful "Of course!" But then, in the quiet moments, when things don't feel quite so wonderful, we wonder if there is something wrong with us. That is certainly how I have been feeling!
There is a whole body of work (that I could cite if my seminary book collection wasn't sitting in a storage unit on a different continent) in pastoral care that talks about the grief response that occurs during major life changes, regardless of the perceived positivity or negativity of the event. In other words, we expect to experience grief or a sense of loss when a "bad" change happens in our life. It is normal and expected that when a loved one dies we will feel sad, we will morn the loss of their presence in our lives. However, research shows that we experience the same feelings when a "good" change happens in our life. For example, while we may be thrilled to be graduating from school, we may feel sadness over friends who will no longer be around, or anxiety over what the future holds. The problem comes, however, when those feelings of grief come up and we say "but I shouldn't be feeling sad now - this is a happy time!" This can be made (unintentionally) worse by friends and family who keep reminding us that we should be happy.
So, how do we deal with this challenge, that even in "good" changes there can (and usually is) be a sense of grief? Well, for me, I write about it on my website as a method of coping. The thought that exploring my experience may help someone else is empowering to me. On a more basic level, if you are experiencing something like this, I would encourage you to be as open as you feel you can, at least with one other person. It may be as simple as admitting to them that, yes, this is an exciting time, and yes, there are many good things, but at the same time you are feeling worried, or anxious, or sad. Those are all perfectly acceptable emotions to be feeling - even when things are "good." Oftentimes, simply naming out loud the emotions you are feeling to a good friend will make them less powerful, and will allow you the freedom to explore ways of coping.
For me, these conversations were tremendously helpful. One friend commented that having children was the "best worst decision" that she had ever made; that it was wonderful and hard and all of it rolled all into one. This, coming from someone who I consider one of the best parents I know, made it easier. Simply knowing that other people feel this way is a huge help. I know that I will continue to have moments of doubt and fear and anxiety, but I also know that I have people around me who will be there to listen.
The second major reason I think I have been experiencing such emotional turmoil over the past months is more theological, in a sense. During the time Mary Erin and our son were in hospital, I spent the better part of two hours a day driving between our house in Groomsport and the hospital in Dundonald. During that time I listened to lots of sermons; I find good preaching helps clear my head while I am driving. During one sermon from Jacob's Well [sermon podcast], the pastor commented that he didn't believe the gospel; not in a global sense, but in a personal sense. In other words, he had no trouble believing that God forgives everyone else, but he has a really hard time believing that God would forgive him. That resonated really strongly with me, because if I'm honest, I sometimes feel the same way. It is easy, most days at least, for me to believe in the goodness of God for everyone else - but I know how short I measure when it comes to living a good life.
That is why, when the other pastor at my congregation here in Groomsport, was talking to me about being a father, what he said hit me really hard. He described being a parent as an Undeserved Grace from God. He talked about how God shows his love for us in giving us the privilege of being parents, of having the honour of raising a child. Most importantly, he talked about how none of us are worthy. And then I cried in front of my boss.
Because, you see, I don't feel worthy of being a dad. I know how broken of a person I am. I know, more intimately than anyone, the whole catalogue of my faults. So, I worry. I worry that I will make a mistake. I worry that I will do something, or not do something, that will hurt my son. I worry that I won't be enough.
And maybe that is the point. I am not worthy of this. I am not enough. None of us are. But God gives us this grace nonetheless.
I know that these coming days, weeks, months, years, will be filled with more joy and pain than I can understand. And that too is a grace. My prayer is that we can walk this journey together, you and me and my family. Because we aren't meant to walk it alone. Thanks be to God!
If you find yourself in Northern Ireland, don't be a stranger! The baby panda would love to make a new friend.
Until next time,
Peace.
Important Note: For most people, grief is a normal, but passing phase that is best managed with the support of friends, family, and ideally a strong church community. However, if your (or a friend's) sense of sadness or anxiety is severe enough to be impacting your sleep, work, health, or relationships, especially over more than a few days, consider reaching out to a counsellor; many work-based health insurance plans in the US provide free, confidential access through an Employee Assistance Program, or EAP. Just look for an 800 number on the back of your insurance card. For those in the UK, contact your GP for resources through the NHS. If you have a church home, your pastor can also be a good resource. Don't be afraid to reach out for help!