Thomas Francl

This is the post I prayed I'd never write.  The one I begged would never happen.  

Let me introduce Thomas Francl:

You'll never meet him here on this earth, and nor will I ever get to snuggle his sweet self this side of Heaven.  We lost Thomas - his heart is no longer beating.

Thomas is our son, and I can't tell you how much we cherish the pictures we have of him.  I am so thankful to live today when not only do we know for sure that I was carrying twins, but also we have an image to hold on to.

Facing the Reality

Yesterday it was confirmed that we lost Thomas.  Did you know that "Thomas" means "twin?"  I've always loved the name, but my rule-following self refused to use it on a child who wasn't a twin.  This is our Thomas, one of our twins.

The crushing blow of losing him was mixed with the elation of finding out that our daughter, Thomas' twin, is thriving.  Her little heartbeat is strong.  Her measurements are all precisely on target.  Her blood flow, placenta, umbilical cord, organs, movements, everything is totally normal.  

We have lost Thomas, but we still have his sister.  The specialist tells me that this pregnancy will carry on like a standard singleton pregnancy for our little girl.  Thomas will move aside and in some ways meld into the lining that surrounds and protects his sister.  Isn't that a beautiful thing - that even in his death he becomes part of the protection for his sister.  His body will change to look simply like extra tissue that I'll deliver along with their placentas after she is born.  

Her due date is November 15.  And can I just tell you, we cannot wait for the weeks to pass and for her birthday to arrive!  We are overjoyed and celebrate her life and her health, as we also are overcome with grief and mourn the loss of Thomas' life.

But Why?

Medically, we have no answers.  It's not "unusual" for a twin to not survive.  In fact, as many as 30 percent of pregnancies that start out as twins result in a singleton delivery.  So we simply don't know - there was no medical indication for concern and no medical reason found for his death.

I was talking to a friend today about some of the other why's: "Why let us know about him for a mere 6 weeks?  Why give him and then take him so quickly?  Isn't that cruel?  Would it have been better to never have had Thomas or to at least not to have known?"  The truth is God gives good gifts.  Thomas is a good gift.  Although we only knew about his little life for 6 weeks before he was taken, that in itself is a gift.  In so far as we could, we got to KNOW him.  Fifty years ago, it's likely that we never would have even known he existed as I would've simply delivered a singleton.  

To address the question of "why take him so quickly?  Isn't that cruel?" I simply don't know.  There are so many things I don't understand in this life.  However, I know Someone who knows so very much more than I ever will. He has a perspective so different from mine, and I understand that what He does and permits is for my good.  In my mind, God permitting things that are hard for me parallels a parent taking their child to get a necessary but painful medical procedure done - we parents have all had to do this for our own kid's health and well being.  The way I see it, God does too.  I need my toddler to trust me that a shot is for his long-term benefit.  Likewise, I assume God needs me to trust Him that hard things are for a greater good that I can't yet see or understand. Therefore, I choose to trust a God I don't understand.

Don't hear me saying I won't ask "why?"  I've faced enough of life to know that that question lingers.  I wanted twins for years, prayed to have them, retired that dream, and then was given it only to have it ripped away again.  I'm crushed.  I was so very much looking forward to (and afraid of) all the challenges and blessings.  But.  

Even if...

Do you know the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego?  It's in Daniel 3.  It's this great story where King Nebuchadnezzar builds a huge idol and then tells everyone in the kingdom they have to bow down to it.  It sounds silly, but he took role call or had henchmen or something to tell him if people didn't follow his orders.  We know this because somebody ratted out Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego who didn't bow down to the stupid hunk of metal and gold.  

The three are dragged before the king who tells them to bow down to the idol or be thrown into the blazing furnace, because, "what god will be able to rescue you from my hand?"  (Ok, King Nebby... you have no idea what's coming next.  Something tells me you always get your way - spoiled, spoiled!)  And the three respond, "King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter.  If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and He will deliver us from Your Majesty's hand."  

Doesn't that response just blow you away?!?  Like, what kind of faith do these three guys have?  What kind of crazy miracles have they seen?  The furnace is blazing so hot that it literally kills the guards feeding the fire.  This is no joke, and they're like, "Go ahead and throw us in, our God will save us from the fire."  It feels arrogant at this point to me, like, you three boys get to decide what God does and doesn't do?  He's just gonna rescue you from a fire cuz you stood up to a king?  Sounds to me like these three guys think they can boss God around.

But here's their next line to King Nebby, and it's the clincher for me: "But even if He does not, we want you to know, Your  Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."  

That.  That is reality right there.  They had it.  God can do ANYTHING.  He is awesome and not bound by the laws of nature in the same way that we are.  He made the rules.  He can break them.  He can save them from the fire.

But even if He does not these three guys decide ahead of time, they will serve Him alone.  

You see, it didn't matter what the king did or didn't do.  It didn't matter if God responded to their actions the way they hoped He would or not.  They would be faithful to God, I suspect, because HE HAD BEEN FAITHFUL TO THEM.

Perhaps some of you reading this far are wondering why I'm spending a ton of time on some ancient story from some crazy religious book when I'm trying to write a post about losing Thomas.  Fair enough.  But it's because Thomas'  life, my twins, will always make me think of this story.  

My "even if..." Moment

We knew a week ago that there were problems with one of our twins.  We knew also that the God who beat death itself could heal the issues that existed.  He is Life.  He is the Great Physician.  He created us.  We have served Him faithfully.  Why would He not grant our request?  A request in line with who He is and what He does, a request that, if granted, would glorify Himself.  

From my perspective it seemed plain - God can, God does.  But from experience, and Scripture, and the lives of many who have gone before me I know that that doesn't always mean God will.

In the week we had between when we knew there were problems and when it was confirmed that we lost Thomas, I lived (to a very different degree) what Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego faced.  My God can.  And I had to make the choice of what I would do - could I live out the "even if" that they never faced, because in their case (spoiler!) God DID save them from the firey furnace?  

I can live out the "even if" they never faced, like so many who have prayed good prayers before me that weren't answered in the way they'd hoped.  Corrie Ten Boom comes to mind.  (If you've never read The Hiding Place, get it today.  It will change your life.  Talk about inspiring faith in modern times.)

So if you've read this far, here's where I'm at:  I'm crushed.  I'm in shock.  From processing grief in the past, I know I'll get angry.  I'll ask "why?"  I'll hurl myself in anguish against the reality we face - precious life lost.  But in all that, I will remain faithful to Him who has been faithful to me and again choose to trust a God I don't understand.  And right in the midst of my grief, I will be celebrating the life of a little girl we plan to meet in November.  

The Lord has taken one.  The Lord has given one.  Blessed be His name.

Dear Thomas

To my dear son who I get to continue to carry with his sister, but will never get to hold this side of Heaven, 

Your life has made such an impact - at least on me and your family.  You are so dearly loved.  You were always wanted.  You will be greatly missed.  Yet I'm so grateful you won't face the harshness of this world.  

May the story of your life chase away doubt (no "doubting Thomas" here!) and inspire faithfulness in the "even if" moments faced by those whose lives you touch.  Your family loves you so.  We look forward to seeing you one day.

Love, Mom

14 weeks, 4 days - Fears

There are always things in life to be afraid of - the fears will overwhelm you and keep you from enjoying life if you let them.  But then some fears are good - they keep you from danger and cause you to continue enjoying life.  Fear of being burned keeps you cautious around a fire.  Fear of getting in a car accident causes you to wear your seat belt and follow traffic laws.

Years ago when I prayed for twins, I didn't associate fear with the experience of having twins.  I saw in my head two beautiful babies and me (remember, this was before I had any kids) actually being kept busy, because one child at a time would be too easy.  (Ha!  Isn't that hilarious!  I was so young and naive.)

But the fear is real, and it's hit in ways I didn't imagine. 

There are the initial obvious fears - fear of losing one or both babies, fear that the doctor was wrong and there is really just one, fear that the doctor was right and there are really 2.  There are physical fears for myself - afraid of the aches and pains, afraid of the growth, afraid of the weight gain, afraid I won't be able to gain weight, afraid of bed rest.  There are fears related to the end of the pregnancy - afraid of a c-section, afraid to get an epidural because of the possible side effects (I've never had one), afraid NOT to get an epidural, afraid to deliver in an OR, afraid to deliver early, afraid of preterm labor.

I think all those fears are relatively predictable.  They can be anticipated, and twin mom blogs are rife with advice and tips and tricks to overcome, prevent, or face them.

But the fears I didn't expect, the fears that knocked my knees out from under me were the emotional and relational fears.

Fears about my older kids - I'm already spread thin with 4 kids ages 7, 5, 3, and 2.  What will it be like when I have newbornS to care for along with my wonderful team?  Emotionally, I work each day to gauge where they're at and evaluate how to meet them there and move them to the next step of maturity.  I've heard enough stories from adult children of big families that they felt lost or not seen or not met or not heard, that I know that's something I want to combat.  But.

But I'm SO tired.  My 3 year old came up to my room a few weeks ago as I was trying to wake up from 3.5 hours in bed (which meant he'd watched about 3 hours of TV that afternoon).  He said, "Mom, get up!  Come on!"  I groaned.  "Oh buddy," I said, "I just can't right now.  How about you go get a book and I'll read to you right here."  He instantly threw himself onto my bed and dissolved into tears, and I was right there with him.  This is hard. 

A 3 year old's mama is supposed to be able to get up at 4:30pm, get him a snack and turn off the stupid TV.  A 3 year old's mama is supposed to be able to carry him down the stairs and nuzzle his neck on the way and reassure him that he is the most valuable and important thing in the world.  Because he is.  A 3 year old's mama is supposed to be able to meet the needs of her 3 year old physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  But this 3 year old's mama is struggling to do any of that for him, let alone his siblings.  That day was hard.  Fears realized.

We've worked through it.  We've found ways to cope, ways to improve my energy, ways to decrease TV time (which improves behavior though not necessarily Mommy's nap time), ways to meet the kids where they are.  And they've gotten used to things like Mommy can't carry them up or down the stairs, but I will hold their hand on the way.  They've gotten used to being asked to run upstairs or down to get my phone or my drink or whatever it is I've forgotten.  They've gotten better at helping one another find lost toys, favorite blankets, and that missing sock.  They're coming along and so am I.

But I'm still afraid.  I'm afraid that I'll fail them.  Despite all my efforts, despite all my prayers, despite giving more than I have to give, I'll fail them.  And I will.  May God's grace fill in the gap.

I'm afraid for my marriage.

This is no judgement on my husband nor should it affect in any way your thoughts about his character.  Because my fears are in no way based on his behavior, actions, or character.  They're based solely on my own insecurities.  But I'm afraid for my marriage.

I was at a friend's house one day and she sent me upstairs during nap time to nap right along with the littles.  Laying there, thinking through all that was going on in that first trimester, I just lost it.  I wept ugly, big tears for a long time.  I cannot provide, I am not providing, I will not be able to provide my husband what he needs for a long time.

It's not like he married me because I was a great cook, or because he didn't like grocery shopping, or because he just wanted his house cleaned.  He had his reasons for marrying me, and now, almost 14 years later, he will have to tell you what those were and why he's still with me.  But it wasn't because I was marvelous in all those ways.

But it is true that I do those things for him - I cook, I keep food around the house, I clean, I do laundry, I care for things inside the home so that he can focus his attention outside the home.  I need him to do that - focus on work and providing for this team we keep building together. 

Except, I can't.  Keeping food in the house has been a challenge (blessings on all who have brought meals, snacks, groceries, etc! and praise the Lord for grocery pick up!), and cleaning has been almost non-existent.  Laundry gets washed (usually) before we're in dire straights, but folding... ugh.  Not only has he had to focus on new developments at his work, but he's also had to run the household while I sleep and build babies. 

A picked up house makes us both feel at peace.  You might not know it from the state my house is in normally, but I love a clean kitchen, a freshly vacuumed house, and sparkling bathrooms (who doesn't?!?).  Saying those are pipe dreams at this point feels a bit too optimistic. 

Last Saturday, Chase worked outside all day - he shoveled dirt into holes, dug a hole for a tree we're going to plant, mowed, spread grass seed in empty patches, covered the seed with topsoil, fertilized the whole lawn (we have a huge lawn!), cleaned up all the kids outside toys, and then helped me feed the kids supper.  After all that I left for a couple of hours out of the house, and came home to bathed children sweetly tucked into bed, a picked up bathroom (no dirty clothes or wet towels on the floor, kids bath toys drained and put away, counters cleaned, trash emptied), and a picked up master bedroom (which was no joke - I'd been trying to get the bedroom clean for weeks to no avail) including my laundry folded in piles on the bed.  And this is becoming the norm for the poor guy.  If it's not the yard, it's the kitchen; if it's not the laundry, it's the playroom.

Do you see why I worry that I'm going to lose my marriage?  He's running the household, working full time, taking care of me, and carrying everything.  It's so overwhelming to me and there's so little I can actually do to give back to him right now. 

No, I don't actually worry about him leaving.  That's not who he is.  That's not who we are.  But man.  Talk about sacrificial love.  And sure, you can say, "Well, you got into this together!"  Yes, we did.  But this is not what we signed up for.  This is not what we expected.  We are grateful, please don't misunderstand that, but it's not what we had planned.  It's God's grace and work in his life and heart and mine that will get us through this season, and I have no doubt that we'll come out stronger on the other end.  But man.  This is hard.

And finally, I'm afraid I'll lose my friends.

Again, this is not a judgement on the kind of friends I have!  Goodness!  They are amazing!  But there are realities to my life and future that affect friendships in a big way. 

At the moment, the biggest thing is my own exhaustion.  I didn't used to need long naps, or to sleep in each morning, or to get in bed early each night.  What that all means is that I did dishes, folded laundry, picked up, cleaned, and ran my house during some of those hours.  And during some of those hours I went to play dates, went out with friends, went to the park, and hosted things at my house. 

I not only have cut out most of the former list, but also much of the latter.  The little energy I have I feel like I spend on those easiest to access and closest to me - my family.  I try to do a little something around the house each day, and I try to connect with each member of my family.  If I accomplish those two things, I'm definitely winning.  When I can fit in a quick visit with a friend, that's a huge bonus!  I'm learning to plan those for times I need to just sit anyway - because usually I can sit at the park, a play date or whatever.  But I'm not as active in attending or planning things as I was.  Let me rephrase that - I don't plan things ever and I struggle to attend things at all.

I get energy from being with people, but it does take some level of energy to get to the point of being with people.  I'm struggling to find the energy to even get there so that I can be recharged by being with them.

And you know what, I'm becoming a worse friend.  My brain is on neutral so often that I don't manage conversation well.  I forget to ask questions.  I forget things I wanted to tell people.  I happily sit in silence next to someone I normally bear my soul to because I can't piece together a complete sentence.  And it's not that thinking about the twins is always what I'm doing.  Actually, that's rarely the case.  It's usually because I'm walking around in a responsive fog.  I'll (probably) be able to respond to what you say, but coming up with things to say takes a lot of energy and effort. 

And it's not that my friends aren't worth that energy and effort!  It's literally that I am just slow.  Maybe it would be helpful for my friends to think of me as someone with a diagnosed mental illness.  I'm just slow right now.  It's not because I don't care.  I should know that you just got back from a trip, that it was your birthday last weekend, or that you have a wedding coming up.  I just can't put all those puzzle pieces together in my head without a lot of help.  I'm like a 2 year old working on a 100 piece puzzle.  It's just really slow for me to find what goes together and make things fit right.

Dear friends, please talk about yourselves and your lives WITHOUT me having to prompt you with questions!  You're not being selfish, self-focused, or rude.  You're helping me out, because I should know to ask, but I literally just... don't very often anymore.  I will again.  I promise.  But in this season, please fill me in on your life and don't always ask about mine - it would be a huge help to me!

Fears.  For a few weeks, those weeks of shock, the fears were oppressive.  Thus I researched and researched in an effort to qualm my fears.  And it helped some, and praying helped some, and simply acknowledging my fears and stating them helped some.  They're still there, those nasty fears, but they don't keep me up at night anymore, they don't keep me in tears, or petrify me into doing nothing.  But they give me pause and caution sometimes. 

If I seem either overly confident or a lot less confident than I used to be, you can bet there is a fear somewhere behind there that I'm struggling through.  Please have grace for me in this season.  Please.  I'm so very imperfect - believe me, I know ALL my imperfections and inadequacies. 

But God made me, and He loved me enough that Jesus paid the price for my imperfections and inadequacies.  He's promised that his grace is sufficient for me, because His power is made perfect in my weakness.  So please, as you see my weakness come to the forefront, have grace for me too. 

And by the way, that is true of you too - that His power is made perfect in your weakness, whatever that may be.  And I promise to have grace for you. 

14 weeks, 3 days

I've now known I'm carrying twins for 5 weeks and 3 days.  There are so many things I want to remember, and process, so here we go.

I found out I was pregnant at 3 weeks and 2 days.  That's really early.  Like really early.  Even the early result pregnancy tests have like a 50/50 accuracy rate at that point.  The lines on the test were not faint.  And they didn't take even a minute to show up.  After taking a test first thing in the morning that day, I was elated.  This is exactly what we'd wanted!

I was so excited that I took a regular (not early-result) pregnancy test later that afternoon to confirm.  Even the normal pregnancy test didn't take any time at all to show nice, dark lines.  We were confirmed!

I always struggle with exhaustion when I'm pregnant, especially in the first trimester.  It's my #1 pregnancy complaint, and it hit with full force by 4 weeks.  That's pretty early for exhaustion to hit, but I just started napping in the afternoons and telling myself this was all normal.

It wasn't that I couldn't get out of bed or move my limbs.  It was simply that I had zero motivation to and zero energy to, so why would I?  Sure, there was 3 weeks worth of laundry spread all over our bedroom floor, but we could continue to dig through to find what we needed.

But then things started to seemed extreme.  A coworker sent me home because she found me nearly asleep on my desk.  Twice.  The next day I worked she sent me home twice.  Like once in the morning for a nap, and when I came back in the afternoon, she sent me home again.  (Bless her!  I needed the rest!)

Saturday came, and I willed myself out of bed by 9:30 so I could make our family brunch.  I climbed back into bed at 12:30 and didn't move a muscle (although I was awake the whole time with piles of laundry still lazily not folding themselves all over our room) until I drug myself out of bed at 5:30 to get supper for my family.  I remember hearing Chase playing outside with the kids - the day was sunny, there was no wind, and I wanted to want to be out with them.  But my arms and legs weighed a million pounds, and I wasn't even motivated to switch the show on Netflix.  I was stuck.

This pattern held for a couple of weeks.  I added in some extra supplements which helped some, but I called my doctor and set up an appointment to see her asap.  Instead of waiting till 12 weeks to see her (which was my previous plan), we took the team (all the kids were with us) and headed in at 9 weeks.

At 9 weeks we had our ultrasound where we found out about the twins.  Shock is the best word to describe what I remember feeling.  Total shock.  I was relieved there was nothing wrong with me or the babies.  Though I didn't really let myself hope for twins in those weeks leading up to the ultrasound when I was SO tired, there was this odd sense of a fulfilled hope or a dream I'd long ago retired turned into a reality.

I'd wanted twins, prayed for twins, hoped to have twins for years before we got pregnant with Lily.  Like so many who have "always wanted twins," I had no idea what I was really hoping and praying for.

It strikes me just now as I write this that I have often heard/read in the last 5 weeks that our bodies aren't designed to carry more than one baby at a time.  But God knew this was going to happen before the world was created, and so actually, he designed MY body to carry THESE twins.  That is the truth.  That doesn't mean that I don't/won't need extra support - I know full well I do and will continue to.  But this is no surprise to Him, and He built me knowing that this would be my situation at this moment.  He built me for this and has been preparing me for this moment.  That's reassuring.

Anyway, I didn't really think twins would happen, so seeing them on the screen that first time felt pretty surreal.  Chase just laughed.  I cried and laughed at the same time so hard that we couldn't see the ultrasound anymore because the wand was bouncing around too much.  It almost felt like an out of body experience where you're living someone else's life or observing something happening to someone else.

There was also this huge sense of relief.  Nothing was wrong with me!  Nothing was wrong with my babies!  I wasn't just old and tired and out of practice and lazy.  There was a very good reason I was feeling differently this time - more exhausted - and it wasn't all in my head.

We left the ultrasound after confirming that vaginal deliveries in GI are possible and after I'd asked WAY more questions about the delivery side of things than my doctor is used to answering at that stage of the game (I suspect).  Then commenced the three weeks of what I think I'll always remember as simply shock...

I told my mom first - we stopped at her work on the way home.  I texted some friends.  I told my boss.  I called my dad.  My in-laws stopped by that evening, and we got to tell them.  We called and texted family and friends.  The goal was to get the word out to the right people in the right order as quickly as possible.  The more people that knew, somehow the more real it felt.

Those three weeks I did what I do when there are new circumstances and I don't know what else to do - I researched.  My cousin sent me 2 books on twins, I hunted down twin mom blogs, my Pinterest feed became twin-centric, my Google searches were all twin related, and my Amazon wish list grew to contain those "necessary" twin items I would need.

I thought out how we'd do bedrooms when the babies come.  I started planning when transitions would need to happen and thinking through how I could still be a good mom to my 4 kids outside the womb if I got put on bed rest.  I researched the different kinds of bed rest and read about how I could possibly avoid it if I took care of myself rather than pushing things.

I don't know if I drove my friends crazy.  I felt both isolated because I was so tired ALL the time (most of my research was done during the odd insomnia that pregnancy exhaustion often begets), and like all I ever talked to anyone about was twins.  Mostly I was in my house barely surviving, accepting meals from friends and family who saw my inability to provide for my family, and letting my husband manage the household because I just couldn't.

And I felt so alone.  I'm pregnant like so many of my friends, but mine is different.  It's the same in that we're all part of the miracle of bringing life into the world, but it's different.

Can I just confess that as much as I dislike pregnancy generally (it's uncomfortable, it's not pleasant, it's exhausting, it makes you think you're crazy and you kind of are), I've always liked the "special-ness" that comes with it.  You're pampered just a bit.  You've got an excuse if you're late.  You've got an excuse to not eat, to eat, to drink, to slip to the bathroom, to go to bed early, to go out with your friends.  Basically I always feel like I've got a little bit more "right" to do what I want to do rather than what I "should" do.  Don't want to do the dishes, but should - they'll wait for tomorrow.  You know?

But now I'm extra special.  And I'm walking this one alone.  I'm part of the twin mom club, but all the twin moms I know have twins who are already walking, or in school, or in high school.  Their stories are wonderful to hear and their advice is invaluable.  But last time I was pregnant, I did it with some of my best friends and we were all exactly the same.  Different experiences, but the same.

This time, I'm different.  I take extra pampering.  Pampering is the wrong word - I take extra care.  I get winded going up the stairs in my house.  I need at least a 2 hour nap every day and often more.  When exhaustion hits, it's dangerous for me to push through - preterm labor is a BIG deal.  It's not much of a risk for my seasoned mom friends who are expecting right now - they can take long walks and are encouraged to in order to stay in shape.  I can't even walk 6 blocks to the park.  I can barely walk 2 blocks, and when I do, I MUST sit when I get to where I'm going and sometimes I need to lay down for a while.  And from everything I read it's best to listen to my body when it's tired and rest.  So I do.

But that also means that I feel tired, so I don't go out and do what I used to do or see who I used to see.  I don't host people in my home like I used to because I simply don't have energy to do it.  Some days coming up with the mental or emotional energy to get my kids mac n cheese is all I can muster, let alone a carefully thought out text to arrange time to spend with friends.  I'm a really strong extrovert, so feeling too tired to be around people is kind of an ugly cycle where I'm tired so I don't have energy to hang out with people, but hanging out with people is how I get much of my energy, so I miss out on that energy source and...  it can be a rough spiral.  I'm still trying to figure out daily how to get the input from friends I need without spending all the energy I have on just friends.

It's gotta feel to my husband like I've got energy for this I want to do - book club, MOPS, play dates, work, because I've reserved energy for those scheduled things - but not energy for this I actually need to do like dishes, making meals, cleaning and laundry.  It feels that way to me too.  But I can sit at book club and MOPS and play dates and work and gain energy from those gatherings.  Standing through a load of dishes or pushing the vacuum is rationed energy and so draining.  I just can't do much of it a day, and that's really frustrating for me.  Mostly because I feel lazy, though I know I'm not, and I'm doing what's best for the two babies growing in me.

Speaking of those two babies, I wonder if I'll be able to help them feel individual?  I wonder if I'll support or hinder the special bond so many twins have?  Will I be able to make it through those early days?  When they're sick, how will I cope?  What will their birth be like?  Will my need to feel in control drive me crazy if things get out of control?  I wish they were here in my arms and all the questions I have about labor, delivery, preterm labor, NICU, recovery, etc. were answered.

But then, isn't it a gift we don't know ahead of time?  We get to live in the present, experiencing today - neck pain because my neck is out, stomach a little off (but that's just normal these days), exhausted, wondering if I'll sleep tonight or be up, hoping to have energy tomorrow but grateful I'll be home if I don't.

Grateful.

At 12 weeks we went in for our next ultrasound.  I was honestly a little worried my doctor would put the wand on my stomach and say, "oops!  We were wrong.  Just one in there."  But she didn't.  The wand went onto my stomach and two little babies appeared.  They wiggled and squirmed with little arms and legs, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  We'd made it 3 more weeks, we 3.

My doctor asked me if I was coming out of the shock of having twins yet.  I admitted that I wasn't sure but thought maybe I was starting to.  Somehow, I do think that day was a turning point for me.  It was a second confirmation that this twin thing is really happening to me, and it was a chance to talk through a lot of questions I had on the medical side.

It gave me a clearer picture of how pregnancy care would be different, how delivery could and would be different, at what point different interventions are available/done, goals to think about, and timelines to think through.

Because I'd done so much research in those intervening 3 weeks, I had intelligent (at least what I thought were intelligent) questions to ask my doctor.  I had a sense of what risks we are likely to face or should be watching for.  I could lay aside so many questions because I'd found answers and no longer needed to wonder or plan for their eventualities.  I could be grateful for the number of serious risks that don't apply to my particular kind of twin pregnancy.

I think there will always be some level of shock involved with the twins.  But there is with each of my children.  I have a 7 year old, and do you know, they've let me keep her for SEVEN YEARS?!?  She's marvelous!  I can't believe someone hasn't come and tried to keep her for themselves.  Of course, I'd never let that happen, because she's mine forever.  But seriously - they just let me walk out of the hospital with her 7 years ago and I've never looked back.  That's pretty shocking!  And the same is true with each of my boys - I have no idea how to be a boy mom, except that I do it every day, three times over.  And it's wonderful, and I'm learning.

Learning.  Isn't that what we do.  We learn.  At least, that's what I do - I'm constantly learning and sharing what I'm learning.  It's gotta just drive my friends crazy.  I sound preachy to them.  (It's ok - I know I do.) But I just can't help myself!  I have information that I feel like may be good and helpful to them so I share!

It's 10:04pm.  Bedtime.  Time to see if sleep will ease this stupid headache from my neck being out and see if I can drink a bit more before bed (because getting up to visit the bathroom in the night is now my favorite).

14 weeks and 3.  We made it one more blessed day.  Praise the Lord!

"Is that TWO?!?"

In terms of joyful surprises, Friday we received the biggest joyful surprise of our lives - TWINS!

In this ultrasound, you're seeing the side of the baby in the
bottom dark area, and the top of the baby's head in the top dark area.
And it was the most shockingly wonderful thing to see in person!

It seems like everyone has lots of questions (I sure would if I were you), so here's a Q&A that will, I hope, answer some of them.

1.  (This is for any guys who may be reading this, because it's the first question they ask.  Ha!)  Are we getting a new vehicle?
Yes.  Over the coming months we will be searching for a new-to-us vehicle that will seat at least 8.  If anyone has a lead on a super clean, really great, uber dependable, non-bus-looking van, let me know.  :)

2.  So how many are in your family?
Now there are 8.  Chase, Steph, Lily, Connor, Spencer, Nolan, and the twins.

3.  (To quote Chase's grandma) So... how did this happen?
Ha!  What I told Grandma Dorothy is that we'll have to ask God when we get to the other side.  :)  But in all seriousness, we don't know.  There is no family history of twins, and we don't meet any of the common "demographics" of people who have a higher likelihood of twins.  So, I guess it's fair to say it was an act of God.

4.  When are you due?
Twins are almost always delivered by 38 weeks, and often much closer to 36 weeks.  It's not unusual for moms to go into labor any time after 34 weeks with twins.  If I make it to "full term" (that's 36-38 weeks) we will meet them sometime in the middle or end of October.

Please pray with us that they will be ready to face the outside world when they come.  That is, of course, the biggest concern with any birth.

5.  What does delivery look like?
(This one is for moms who are like me and overly curious about the birthing part of all this!)  Method of delivery depends on so many factors.  Everything from position of babies, placement of placenta, size of babies (baby A has to be bigger than baby B for a vaginal delivery), and a million other factors.  I'm grateful our hospital and my doctor does not automatically schedule a c-section for twins.  If we get to the end and meet the various requirements, we may end up doing an induced labor.  There is even the option here to deliver vaginally where baby A comes head down and baby B comes breach.  Again, SO many factors play into all this.  I'm just already praying that the Lord will prepare me to accept whatever is going to happen if, by His grace, we make it that far.

My goal is healthy babies with a healthy mom with minimal recovery time for all of us... because there will be SO much to do!!!

4.  Haven't you always wanted twins?
I did pray for twins for years before we had Lily.  I've always been fascinated by the special relationships some twins enjoy and the stories of their interactions.  That said, there's something about seeing a positive pregnancy test for the first time that makes you realize how great a responsibility one new life will be.  Since I had Lily, I haven't really "wanted" twins anymore.

It was a dream I kind of "retired" because if God was going to give me twins, he'd do that with #'s 1 & 2, right?  Especially after having 4 singletons, I had NO idea this was coming.  I know I've joked about, "Well, if we had twins, we'd know we were done."  I honestly never thought it would actually happen.

In this case, it feels like one of those situations where I asked God for something, and He said, "Wait... wait... wait... wait... NOW!"  A shocker when I least expected it.

5.  So, how did you find out?
I knew I was pregnant over a month ago, but didn't plan on going to see my doc until the first week of May.  However, I had such extreme exhaustion over a period of about 3 weeks, we decided I should go in a little earlier just to make sure there wasn't some nutritional deficiency and to confirm that everything was ok.  I had an appointment last Friday.

Chase took this picture before we headed for the
doctor's office, when we thought there were only 2
in this picture, but actually there were 3!

When my doctor walked into the ultrasound room and asked how I'd been feeling, I told her that this pregnancy has been harder than any of the others.  She responded that I'm chasing 4 other kids, but I told her that while that's true, I also don't have a 9 month old like I have had in the beginning of my last 2 pregnancies.  I said that I just felt like it was more than chasing 4 kids.  She said, "Ok, well, let's take a look."

The second that wand was on my stomach it was clear as day that there was more than one baby in there.  I looked in disbelief.  Chase did the same and (as I recall) asked, "Is that TWO?"  My doctor laughed and said, "Yep."

Then ensued the laughing, crying, unbelieving, hoping all was well, relief at explanations, and a billion questions.

6.  Did you suspect it was twins before this?
Yes and no.  I had reason to suspect based on some physical symptoms like exhaustion.  HOWEVER, all of these symptoms had other explanations as well like, "you're pregnant, so you're extra tired" or "you're probably lacking iron and other nutrients."  I'd be lying if I said I hadn't Googled at 3am "Physical symptoms if you're expecting twins."  The exhaustion is just... so intense.

But I didn't want to hope for twins.  I didn't want to actually expect them.  For one thing, I know too many twins recently born or moms pregnant with twins - the odds of my small network including one more set of twins seemed unreasonable.  And what if I hoped for twins, but found it was a singleton pregnancy?  That felt to me like I'd be disappointed in some way in who my child was created to be, and I NEVER want them to feel that, be they 9 weeks in my tummy or 90 years on this earth.

So, no.  I didn't really suspect, though that might just be because I wouldn't let myself go there.

7.  Are they identical or fraternal?
We don't know yet.  What we do know is that they each have their own amniotic sac, which is a good thing in terms of complications - the fewer things they share, in a lot of ways, the fewer the complications.

Fraternal twins result from two fertilized eggs implanting and each have their own sac and placenta.  Fraternal twins can be same gender or different, but they do not share the same DNA.

Identical twins come from the same fertilized egg splitting and they share the same DNA, so they are always same gender.  Identical twins can share the same sac and placenta; they can each have their own sac but share a placenta, or they can each have their own sac and their own placenta.   

I asked my doc if our twins shared a placenta, but I'm not sure if she didn't answer because she wasn't sure, or if I just didn't register her answer.  What I know is that they have their own sacs.  I will go in again the first week of May and be more focused, less shocked, ask more questions, and listen better.

8.  Will you find out gender?
Yes!  Of course.  We're not that patient!  We'll find out sometime in June.

9.  What did the kids say?

The kids were actually all with us for the ultrasound, which was special.  It just happened to work out that way that day.  Lily was in shock and awe with us once we explained what those pictures meant.  She's been asking for a baby to snuggle for a while now, and boy is she ever going to get snuggles!  The boys were kind of oblivious and focused more on their granola bars than anything else.

We have a lot of work to do with them over the coming months in terms of preparation.  Teaching independence, some more chores, patience, helpfulness, and grace for Mommy when she can't meet their needs when they want me to.  But the pay off at the end of all this, Lord willing we make it that far, will be worth all the effort.

10.  Are you ok?
Yes.  We're all just fine.  Nothing has actually changed since Friday morning before my appointment other than that now we know WHY I've been so exhausted.  I still sleep a LOT or just lay in bed or on the couch because I can't do much more than that sometimes.  I still feel queasy almost all the time, but I am so grateful I don't have near the morning sickness some struggle with.

I'm SO excited to be carrying twins, but I'm also really cautious about focusing only on the "Wow" moments.  We've got a really long road to get these babies ready to meet the world and only the Lord can sustain them and me.  Only the Lord knows the future, and that is a blessing.  Today, I just need to be faithful to do the next right thing, as best I can. 

Speaking of, it's nap time, so I'd best head to bed.  Blessings all.

Time - 19 years

Time belongs to death, or still more so, to the devil.
We must buy it from him and return it to God to whom it must really belong.

Maria von Wedemeyer, who was later engaged to marry Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote this after attending one of Bonhoeffer's sermons during WWII.  Both her brother and her father had recently been killed in war, and the sermon on Ephesians 5:15-21 begat these words from the grieving sister and daughter.

I've been listening Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas on Audible this summer, and I keep going back to these words.  They ring true.  Don't go challenging my theology (Bonhoeffer is doing enough of that via the story of his life).  It's not that kind of thing.  And yet...

If you believe in the Scriptural account, death came because of human sin in an otherwise perfect environment.  The devil, that vile serpent, tempted.  And then came death - the end - time that mattered.

Imagine if the only thing in life that was sure was taxes (imagine if not even taxes were sure!).  What if death wasn't sure?  What if death wasn't a thing?  Imagine how we would all live so differently.  An urgency would be gone, no doubt, but what would it matter?  Because time eternal would face us. 

The ache of permanent earthly separation; the deep, deep, deep waters of grief; the agony of days never experienced - none of it would exist. 

Instead, we have time.  The most beautiful and restricting of resources.  It encourages us to cherish the moment, to live fully each day, to accomplish much, to relate more, to choose well.  But it cheats us too, of opportunities, conversations, relationships, and so many good things, because there simply isn't enough of it to go around. 

Time.

I am so grateful time has passed.  19 years ago tonight, I sat with shocked family in agony over the unexpected death of my older brother.  He was 17, I was 14.  It was a fluke accident.  There was no reason it should've happened, and certainly no reason it should've happened in my world, to my family, to my brother.  Such things only happen in books, right?

19 years ago on September 20th, I watched my mother, my father, lay to rest their son, their eldest son.  Watching this was the only thing more cruel than the fact that that day I laid to rest my brother, my big brother.

There is no moment more crushing than that moment in a graveside service when parents must leave their child, finally, on this earth.  It makes bile rise in my throat.  I hate it.

I have no desire, not the least, to go back and relive those dark days.  God, they were hard.  There are not words in any language to describe it. 

And yet.  19 years ago, I had heard his voice only a night ago.  He'd watched my volleyball game, he'd been part of my normal only hours before.  I long for that.

Each day that passes, still, I believe, gets me closer to the day that I get to see him again. 

In those darkest days right after he died, I remember my mom saying once, as if it was her only lifeline at that moment, that she only had to make it another 40 years or so.  Just 40 years and she'd see him again.

If I live to what my grandparents are living, I have another 55 or 60 to go still, not counting the 19 now behind me.

Time.

They say time heals, and it does.  The ache isn't such deep agony, and the ache isn't always.  Now, it comes in much less frequent waves.  They still overtake me sometimes.  I still let myself get carried away just to experience that depth.  To somehow let the universe know that he's not forgotten, that he mattered, that his life made an impression that will never leave history. 

And I know I'm not the only one who does this.  Although we all experience grief in our own way, there are commonalities we can't escape.  The depth, the unending darkness of the abyss of grief, always ready for another revisit, is one of them. 

In this life, I'll never come to the end of grieving the death of Chet.  Until I make my final trade with the devil and exchange time on this earth for the eternity, I will ache. 

Time.

Death is inescapable, and tragic death comes with more frequency than I'd ever imagined.  And the reality I've come to see is that death is always tragic, no matter how much you see it coming or how many years one has behind them. 

To those who are grieving now in those darkest days, I hope my 19 years gives you hope.  You can take the next breath, make the next step, do the next right thing.  It won't always feel this way. 

But also, 19 years from now, you will still be grieving.  They will not be forgotten.  You will be forever changed both because of their life and because of their death.

Time.

The devil, that vile serpent, will try to cheat you out of your time.  Don't let him.  Return it to the Lord, to whom it ultimately belongs.   

______________________________________________________

Some pictures from my old scrapbook.

Me, my younger brother, and Chet.

Merry Christmas, 1988

At this wedding he always tried to "lean out" of the pictures.

I thought he was the coolest.

Mostly, he was.

I don't think he thought I was the coolest, mostly.

Sweet 16

Happy Easter, 1999.

One of the few pictures with me and ALL of
my siblings.
Chet - 17, me - 14, Tony - 10, Kim - 4.

Remembering Jay

So many people knew and loved Jay.  He made friends quickly and easily and kept them well.  He traveled extensively, and I had the privilege of seeing him regularly only for a year, back in 2009-2010.  But that year, and Jay, changed me.  And I'm forever grateful.  I write this to work through my own grief.  But I know so many of you knew him so much better than I did.  These are merely my experiences and perceptions, and intended to honor Jay's memory and the legacy he leaves.  I'm proud to count him a friend.

I'm sitting in my recliner tonight, wishing I wasn't here.

I wish I was packing my bags.  Packing my bags for a flight I wish I could catch tomorrow.  Not that I really want to do that either - catch a flight to go to the memorial service of a friend I didn't spend enough time with, didn't learn enough from, didn't invest enough in.

The documentary he was in - the one I discovered a year ago on Netflix and was pleasantly surprised when I heard his voice come through the TV's speakers - is playing in the background. The tab for airline tickets too expensive to fit my budget is open just behind this post.  I keep checking again, hoping for a miracle - a cheap ticket in a time table that works for me to fly across the country to revisit what feels like a past lifetime.

***

Jay Austin and I went to graduate school together at Georgetown along with 14 other incredible people.  People all so very different from me.  Looking back, I needed that experience so badly.  I needed to see and watch and learn from and be challenged by intelligent, capable, wonderful people incredibly different from me.

Just about everything about Jay and me was different.  Different religion, different age, different family situation, different gender, different political affiliations, different socioeconomic status when we grew up, different diet, different marital status, different everything.  And yet.

Jay was the kind of guy who didn't let differences get in the way of relationship.  He was naturally warm and friendly, charming and funny, clever and intelligent.  He was fun to have at a party, ready to rise to the challenge of a good debate....

...And there he is.  Alive and wonderful in the documentary on my TV screen.  But not in this world anymore... 

Jay Austin isn't with us anymore.  That's hard to type.

It may seem strange that I'm hit so hard by the death of a classmate I haven't seen since he visited 5 years ago, haven't seen regularly in 8 years.  But I have seen him.  We've had conversations recently, regularly.  Kind of.

Last summer Jay sold most of his stuff, moved his tiny house into storage (he was a "minimalist" who lived in a 145 sq/ft house), and flew to South Africa with his girlfriend Lauren, and they took off on an adventure to bike around the world.  Some headlines say they used their "life savings" to bike around the world.  True as that may be, it wasn't like they were on a big budget.  At $4,000/year for the both of them together including food, lodging, medical expenses, and necessities, they were on a shoestring budget.  But that's beside the point.  They wanted to experience all that life and the world had to offer from the vantage point of 2 wheels.

Jay and Lauren, but mostly Jay, blogged about their adventures over the last year.  That's how we had our conversations.  Late at night, after middle-of-the-night feeding the baby, I would crawl back into bed and not be able to sleep.  So I'd pull down my phone and check simplycycling.org.

Thirty-nine times over the last year, Jay told me (and many others) about the time he got chased by a bull elephant, about not being able to find a place to camp, about how cold it feels when your water proof gloves aren't water proof and it's freezing rain, about how kind and generous and incredibly human people are the world over.

Until just after he posted blog post #39.

Jay and Lauren, along with 2 other cyclists, were killed in Tajikistan on July 29 in what ISIS has claimed as an act of terrorism.  It's just unbelievable.

On July 30 I received an email with the crushing news from a fellow classmate, and then the news stories started hitting...

CNN
BBC
ABC
The New York Times
CBS

I was contacted by a reporter from the Washington Post.  Incredibly distant from the whole situation, I directed him to continue his search for sources in the District, where Jay lived most recently.

I still check Jay's blog, still hoping against hope, but knowing that blog post #40 won't come.  I still check his Instagram feed randomly, wondering if maybe one more post was saved in his phone, waiting to be posted until he had better service.  I check my email to see if maybe, just maybe he DID respond to the email I sent on July 20, but it got hung up somewhere in the digital stratosphere and will arrive even now.

***

I sit here, today, on the first anniversary of my cousin's death, wishing I could attend Jay's memorial in person, hating death.

How many must death take?  How cruel the theft of years and dreams and time and relationships.

Every time I encounter death, I buck against its unnatural nature.  We were not made to die.  We were made, created, designed, born to live.

No matter how many moments we have, no matter how many experiences we enjoy, no matter how many relationships we have, they're never quite enough.  Death always snatches us just a bit too soon.

We're approaching 19 years since my brother's death.  What I wouldn't give for just one more hug, one more smile, one more laugh, one more hour, even just a few minutes to introduce him to my kids, to tell him how much he has impacted my life both through his life and through his death.  He mattered.

I think maybe that's something Jay always saw - that people matter.  He wasn't a Christian.  At least, he wasn't when we were in grad school, and he never told me if he did "find God."  But something he did better than me and my "Christian" self was he helped people feel that they matter.

I tend to get all inside my head, categorizing people.  Deciding how I want to interact with them, how they fit into my world, what influence I might be able to have with them.  And it feels to people like they don't really matter to me.  At least, that's something I've learned over time, and have tried to change. Because people don't want that - to be a project, a number, a category.  People want to know that they matter.  Because they do.

At least, if I'm being honest, that's what I want.

Jay and I had a few email exchanges and comments back and forth over the years about each other's blog posts.  And now that I re-read them, they show why I miss him so already, what was similar about us, though in almost every other way we were different.

Jay wrote this comment in response to one of my posts, Am I Enough?

Thanks for sharing this. As someone who has also chosen to prioritize non-career-oriented passions over career-oriented goals, I know it can be really difficult to see those around you continuing in one direction as you head on your own (often under-respected) journey. That said, it takes tremendous strength to do so. I've found, back here in DC, that those same people getting fancy titles and big promotions are grappling with those same insecurities of never being enough, of finding themselves newly surrounded by folks with even fancier titles and even bigger promotions to covet, to envy, and to stir discontent within. 

For what it's worth, I'm super-proud of you for going your own way, and for creating something(s) that you love and care about and that will continue to bring light into the world after you're gone, and for doing it all DESPITE the temptation of a shiny new thing you're more than capable of attaining if you so chose. That's more than "just enough"—it's something really, really wonderful.

We had a mutual respect for each other's pursuits for things so different from what we ourselves wanted.  I will never take off on a bike journey around the world.  He would never have bought a 2,500 square foot home on almost an acre of land and planned to stay there forever.

But I could see the world through his eyes as I followed his blog.  I experienced Africa, Europe, Asia in a way I never would have, but for his writing.  And I fancy that he got a taste of family life deeply rooted in a small town in the Midwest by following mine.  He mattered to me, and he made me feel like I mattered to him.

***

Jay was an innovator with some crazy ideas.  As aforementioned, he lived in a tiny house, on a rogue property in the District of Columbia.

I remember this conversation he had when he visited us.  He was vegan (meaning he ate no meat, nor animal by products like eggs, milk, etc.), and I'd gone shopping for tofu and vegan-friendly marinade in an attempt to make something tasty for him.  (Here he was,  right in the heart of corn-fed beef territory, but no meat for him!)  We were discussing his convictions about food, and I asked if there would ever be a situation in which he would be morally ok eating something non-vegan.  To which he replied that he supposed he would eat an egg if he happened to be walking through a field and saw a chicken (or bird) lay an unfertilized egg in the field and then walk away from it, there being no chance for life in said egg, and it being abandoned by the bird.  I laughed and took another bite of my burger.

Jay didn't believe in keeping animals penned in or in cruelty in any way to any animal.  So I naturally asked him what he thought of us keeping our indoor cocker spaniel (Frazier).  His response was that while he, personally, wouldn't keep a dog, it seemed to him that Frazier was happy with us, and we took good care of the dog, so he didn't see it as a bad arrangement.

Jay visited the summer before Lily turned 2, and since then I've always told him we'd have a place waiting for him any time he was nearby for a visit.  When he left on his biking around the world adventure, I really believed that he would someday make it back here, to the Midwest, with Lauren, and they would fill our guest room for a few nights.  I was so looking forward to hearing in-person accounts of their adventures.  Somehow I think the guest room will always feel like it is waiting for them.

Jay was an amazing storyteller, in large part because of how much he wrote and read.  He knew how to turn a phrase, and that is part of what made his blogging so compelling.  I will miss his storytelling.

***

I've checked again, and the flights are still double what I can afford.

I hate death.

***

We've all met them - the people that teach us something we just didn't get before.  They probably don't even know that they're teaching it, and maybe you don't know you're learning.  At least, that's how it is for me.

Jay Austin and I, along with 14 other classmates, once got Master's degrees.  What I learned from this amazing group of individuals is that we all come from different places, and those different places help shape who we are and how we think.  Despite how different we might be, despite how at odds our political views might be, we are all still people.  And because we are still people, we each owe one another common the common courtesy of civility.

Even better is to put forth the effort to understand where the other person is coming from, and thus move from civility to friendship, despite differences.  And that is what Jay did so well.

As I work to instill virtue and goodness into my children, this lesson - that people matter, that it's worth the effort even if you hold drastically different views, that civility and friendship aren't dependent upon similarities - is one I hope they learn from me as I learned it from him.

Now, 8 years after Georgetown, my religious beliefs and political positions haven't changed significantly at all.  But what HAS changed, or what I hope has changed, what I've tried to change, is how I view people who hold opinions different than my own.  And Jay was a big part of helping me get there.

In 2013, Jay visited us and we toured the popcorn
plant nearby.  Gowned with hair nets and beard
nets and all manner of safety gear, it's a tour and
a time I cherish.

The 4th of July IS Politics

It doesn't get any more American than the 4th of July.  We all love it!

Despite the heat (my car's thermometer read 102 degrees this afternoon), we're outside eating celebratory meals, going to parades, shooting off fireworks, letting kids stay up faaaaaarrrr too late, and celebrating as a whole country.  It's one of the great highlights of summer! 

And well it should be. 

But lately I've been feeling like the foundation of what we celebrate is being denigrated.  That the very bedrock that allows us, indeed enjoins us, to celebrate is being laid waste.

Politics.  The 4th of July IS politics!

People say it like it's a dirty word.  "Ugh, politics."  You may hate Trump, or you may hate Hillary, but either way, you hate politics.  There are office politics, family politics, local politics, state politics, federal politics, and politics in general, and they're all loathed.  If it's unpleasant, label it "politics" and roll your eyes as you say the word, and everyone around you will smile and nod in sympathetic understanding.

I've heard John J. Miller, (author, speaker, and professor at Hillsdale College) tell the joke numerous times, "You know the definition of politics, right?  POLY - meaning many. TICS - meaning blood sucking parasites."  He says it in jest, but it's funny, because most people agree.

But you know, I love politics.  I mean, I LOVE politics! I've spent years studying them, reading about them, observing, discussing, and thinking about them.  They are the art by which governance happens.  Done well, they are the art by which all other things thrive, or done poorly they are the art by which all other things fail to thrive.

The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker of the poem - their government (i.e. politics) provides the framework within which their businesses may thrive or wither.  The employee, the self-employed, the homemaker - all affected by the government (i.e. politics) under which they live.

Think of the government of Germany during the Second World War - government done poorly - a despotic dictator.  Businesses wilted, individual freedom removed, resources rationed and still massively lacking.  No one was happy.  Politics.

Think of America - it's not perfect here certainly.  To quote James Madison in Federalist 51, "If men were angels, no government would be necessary."  We're not perfect - you and me - thus we need laws and we need a government to make and enforce those laws so that we can get along together.  We're not perfect.  And neither are those involved in our government.  They yell at their kids when they don't mean to, they forget their keys in their locked car, they misspeak, and they see the world a little or a lot differently than you or I because of the life they have lived.  In short, they are human.

Consequently, our government, made up of imperfect people to govern imperfect people, is itself imperfect.  It's ugly.  It's horrible.  To quote Winston Churchill, "Democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time..." (Nov. 11, 1947)  Isn't that the truth?!?

But there's a phrase Churchill uses leading into the above quote that I don't think is true anymore.  Here's the quote including his preceding phrase:  "No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time..."

From what I can tell, EVERYONE today assumes that democracy should be perfect and all-wise, and the reason it's not is because we have the wrong candidate in the White House or on the Hill.  And if it's a mid-term election then it's the other political party's fault.  Entirely.  Or the Nazis.  Because if you disagree with an individual politically, likely you can accuse them of being a Nazi and immediately "win" the argument. 

But as I've been reading memiors of Holocaust survivors, I've wondered, do we KNOW what Nazism is anymore?  Can you articulate why Trump is preferable to Hitler (because he IS, no matter how much you dislike him)?  What is the beauty of the American system that has for nearly 250 years permitted the peaceful transfer of massive amounts of power from one individual to another, from one political party to another? 

I should clarify, I don't love local politics generally.  I don't love modern politics.  It's hard today to tell what's true, who's actually doing what, or why they're doing what they're doing in the first place.  It's just plain messy and confusing. 

What I love to do is consider modern politics in light of what I really love: political philosophy.  Thinking about modern politics within the framework of things like the rule of law (which, by the way, is the primary reason we enjoy the peaceful transition of power), gives perspective.  It helps boil inflammatory headlines ("[insert political party here] Want Children Separated From Parents at the Border") to the root issues: what does the law say? Why does it say that?  Should it say that?  If so, how do we enforce it?  If not, how do we change it? 

And the most important question for you and me: what can we, as citizens, do about any of it?

We can talk about it.  Let's talk about the law.  What does it say?  Why does it say it?  Is it good?  If it's not good, what are options to fix it?  Talking seems like doing nothing, perhaps, but we're becoming afraid to do it these days.  Governance takes deliberation.  Self-governance, especially, takes deliberation.  And our society relies on citizens exercising self-governance.  So let's talk, deliberate, about how to self-govern well.  And within those discussions we may land on something worth sharing with an elected official.  Or maybe we'll just gain a better understanding of each other or ourselves.  These are all worthy outcomes!

And we should reasonably exercise the right to vote when those opportunities present themselves.  Don't vote if you don't know the candidates, but do make an effort to know them.  Our system of government is predicated on an educated (and self-governed) citizenry voting imperfect individuals into a wide variety of offices.  What a gift that we're not reliant on birth or fortune alone to determine our representatives!

Speaking of elected representatives, their families, and the individuals who work on their staffs... when was the last time you thanked them? 

Whenever I see servicemen, servicewomen or veterans, they are thanked.  Their sacrifice, their service, what they have all done has made it possible for me to do what I do here and now.  My freedom is not free - it has been bought at a price.

But please remember this Independence Day the sacrifices made by all those who do politics.  Some of them have families, just like yours and mine.  And instead of celebrating the 4th with their families, they're stuck in a former swamp, now metro-plex where the humidity is 110%, the temp is 110 degrees, and they pay outrageous rent for tiny spaces that they can't afford to buy.  They raise their children in small apartments, not houses with yards, and commute over an hour to work each way.  They work absurd (80+) hours each week to try to make a positive difference and get lambasted in the media no matter what they do. Their jobs aren't assured past the next election, and their pay is in no way commiserate with what they could make in the private sector. 

They do things I don't want to do right now so that I CAN do what I want to do right now!  Because they and their families make sacrifices to be part of civil service to our country, we get to NOT be civil servants and pursue life, liberty and happiness in ways other than the dreaded politics.  (Did you ever think of that?  If they didn't do what they do, you wouldn't be able to do what you do?)

Not everyone who does politics makes all or any of these specific sacrifices.  I don't agree with how many people do politics.  But.  As one of my grad school profs pointed out, there are literally tens of thousands of people who are really smart working toward solutions to really complex problems (immigration anyone?).  But the problems are complex, and usually old, and typically come with lots of baggage.  If answers are easy, they have been tried. 

I'm not saying American politics is perfect.  It's horrible.  It's the worst ever!  Except for all the other things that have been tried.  We are privileged to live here, to work here, to be able to influence our government, perhaps most of all by our own self-government. 

This 4th of July, please don't disparage politics.  We get to celebrate Independence Day because of politics.  Let's be grateful not only to those who have made and are making incredible sacrifices to fight for our freedoms, but let's also be grateful to those who have made and are making huge sacrifices to govern for our freedoms.

Politics.  Happy 4th of July.