Here’s a confession: it’s a little bit strange to have your pastor also be your husband. Or have your husband also be your pastor. I’m sure you’re going to have an interesting life ahead of you has a PK – pastor’s kid. (Hey, that’s funny…PK is also what your dad often goes by…short for Pastor Kevin.)
In the first year or two of this ministerial process, there were Sundays when I sat in the front row and verbally corrected my pastor-husband if he misquoted a reference or something. I am totally ashamed of these moments. I can’t even believe I’m telling you this, other than to pray you’ll learn from my errors.
After learning the art of respect
keeping my mouth shut, I proceeded to wonder what it would be like to listen to my husband preach each week.
I’ve had to learn how to sit all by myself in that front row, missing his arm around my shoulder. It’s like we play “tag” on Sunday mornings – I’m on stage, leading worship and praying, and as I go sit down he moves from his lonely spot in the front row to his place behind the pulpit. (Thanks for the warming the pew for me, Dear. Seriously. I was really cold last Sunday and it was just a little warm from your residual body heat.)
Child, I’m so pleased to tell you the truth of the matter. I have a pastor and he happens to be my husband. He is an outstanding shepherd of God’s people, caring for and corralling my heart along with the rest of the congregation’s. He wears many hats in our relationship. There are some times we have to have business meetings with the intent of discussing church stuff. There are times when I seek his counsel and wisdom, his critic and rebuke as a parishioner to her pastor. There are times I just need him to wear his husband hat and be with me, listening, holding my hand. In all my wondering of what this life would be like, I never anticipated my husband-who-is-a-pastor would also become my pastor.
What a gift.
Following this reflection on life as a full time ministry couple are photos documenting Kevin’s ordination ceremony. It was a moving occasion, a true commissioning. I’m so thankful to be standing at his side.
So you’re probably wondering how the surgery went that your mom talked about. Normally she writes all sorts of blog posts about nearly everything. When I think of something worth writing about, I usually log in to find out she wrote about it two days earlier. Well in this case, she’s going to be unconscious for most of the proceedings, so I think I might finally beat her to a post.
***Editor’s note*** I did not beat her to the post.
Also, there are a lot of people who love and support your mom and I. She told me tonight (Monday night) after I got back from band practice that I should keep people updated during the day tomorrow, so I’m opening a file now to remind me to document the process throughout the day tomorrow.
PS – that band concert? It’s going to have awesome music from great movies like Captain America, Superman, Star Wars, and others. Going to band practice is actually pretty awesome. You should play an instrument, it’s way more fun than singing in a choir like your mom does… **ahem**
So here I am the night before, trying to remember how things have been going.
9:25 – dismissed from band practice, heading out to the car
9:27 – wondering if the woman in front of me realizes that her skirt may match the color of her top, but that does not make it a good outfit.
9:31 – out at the car
9:44 – heading in from the garage, only to hear your mom sounding really happy to have me home
9:45 – finding her downstairs buried under a ton of blankets with Glee paused on the PS4.
9:46 – Admiring just how “fabulous” some of the costumes on Glee are
9:53 – Deciding I need a snack, we head upstairs
9:54 – I remember we have Mexican Sunrise Bread (my mom makes it…it’s awesome. It’s like a taco baked into a loaf of bread, and it’s glorious)
9:55 – I find the last piece of cheesecake in the fridge that Donna made for us last Friday.
9:56 – I accuse your mom of “hiding the cheesecake by omission” since she’s had two pieces since I last saw it.
9:57 – we agree to stop discussing the idea of “hiding by omission”
10:01 – I eat delicious cheesecake while my toast is making your mom jealous.
10:05 – we clean up dishes and I head downstairs to start typing this out
10:20 – I head to bed, hoping tomorrow goes well
10:21 – I tell your mom about this minute-by-minute idea, and she seems skeptical
10:25 – we fall asleep.
5:00 – Alarm goes off on both cell phones, we turn them off. Mom hits snooze.
5:05 – Alarm goes off again.
5:10 – Alarm goes off again.
5:15 – Alarm goes off again, Mom heads to do devotions, I hit the shower.
5:40 – We trade, and I go to drink cider (apple cider is the best!), make coffee, and get ready to leave.
6:09 – The coffee is delicious, but I forgot your mom can’t have any. Oops.
6:12 – We grab last minute things, and pack up.
6:20 – We arrive at the outpatient surgery place, and we’re the only ones in the parking lot…
6:22 – Relieved to see more than a few nurses in the waiting room, apparently they park out back
6:30 – Check-in completed, nurses chatted with, and they take Mel back for prep
6:50 – I get called back, your mom is in a **styling** hair net and hospital gown (seriously she makes it look good), and we get to talk together while we wait for the doctor to arrive.
6:55 (ish) – we warn the doctors that Mel is a “lightweight” when it comes to anesthesia…
7:05 – We notice that the nurses and doctors running around are having a “normal” workday. What’s big and a bit scary for us is what they do every day. It’s comforting to know that they’ve done this a hundred times (or more!)
7:10 – the doctor arrives a bit early to say hi before they take her back for surgery. A few basic questions later and she’s ready to go!
7:15 – I’m back in the waiting room typing this out, admiring the 80 Mbit/sec download speeds, and waiting to see your mom again.
7:16 – I check the clock
7:17 – I check my watch
7:18 – I check the clock
…you get the idea.
While I was waiting, I think God was teaching me something. As I waited for the Dr. to come tell me how the surgery went, I knew exactly what I’d say to me if I were worried. It is a “minor” surgery. The incisions will be small. There was almost zero chance something would go seriously wrong. God was in control. I had just told her 20 minutes earlier that she’d be fine. I believed that.
I was still nervous. I still couldn’t shake the feeling of “what if something goes wrong?”
I think God taught me that having Faith isn’t the same thing as having no worries…it’s trusting God even when you’re worried and scared.
What felt like a small eternity later (but was really about an hour and a half), the doctor came and took me back into another room. Even though I’d just realized that I could trust God, and that everything could be ok, just about every scary thing raced through my head in the eight seconds it took me to walk twenty feet to that little conference room. When I sat down, the Dr. was smiling.
At this point I had a Charlie Brown moment. If you’ve ever seen the old Peanuts comics, the adults always mumble and drone on. That’s exactly what happened to me when the Dr. started talking. “When we saw the *mufflemuffle* then we did *mufflemuffle* but I’m very optimistic. I think this will really help you.”
In that moment I finally heard her. She was not only saying that Mel was ok, she was also saying that it went well, and she was optimistic. That was a word I had learned to not associate with fertility or pregnancy. I’d learned that we would try and try, and nothing much was going to change. But this doctor was now saying she was optimistic.
I don’t know exactly how this is going to turn out. Your mom is recovering right now (last week…). She’s doing pretty well, although it still hurts her if she forgets to be careful and not poke herself in the stomach.
But we have new hope. I hope to meet you soon.
Dear Child of Mine,
As I sit here, postured in such a way as to avoid painful abdominal responses, I am posing questions like:
Are our chances of getting pregnant really good?
Should my hopes be up?
Am I afraid?
What in the world do these graphic images of my internal organs even mean?!
And I have to admit, I’m kind of torn on how I feel about the subject. I honestly didn’t think much beyond Tuesday morning. In fact, I didn’t even have the surgery scheduled until my first appointment with Dr. Ahadi which was….*looking at her google calendar because she can’t remember*…September 16th. As I was leaving that initial appointment we talked about the laparoscopic surgery and I remember thinking, “Sure, why wait? The sooner the better.” I mean, we finally have insurance (praise the Lord) and it’s only been 51 months of unexplained infertility…what do we have to lose?!
I didn’t consider the fact that I was having surgery. I’ve never had surgery. I wasn’t even nervous. Just a teeny bit. But not a normal-Melanie-level of nervousness. I didn’t even get queasy and passy-out-y from the IV (for the first time ever.) I didn’t consider needing recovery time, nor did I realize I probably wouldn’t be able to work or host that girls dinner or have worship practice or prayer meeting. For real, Child, I was sending emails Sunday night telling the worship team about rehearsal Wednesday, not realizing that having general anesthesia and two holes drilled into my abdomen might maybe lay me up for a little while.
Silly me. I’m normally so prepared. I drive your dad nuts by the amount of advance planning I find necessary. I think through all the angles. Calculate. Recalculate. Double check everything.
Not this. Not surgery. I just walked into the Surgical Institute like it was a dental cleaning or something. What in the world?!
Psychologically there must be something behind all of ^that.^ Perhaps I didn’t allow myself to think ahead for fear of what this might mean. What if I didn’t have endometriosis? What if there really is no cause of my infertility? What if all of my soul-crushing cramps over the years have just been your normal-every-day-no-big-deal kind of pain, and I’m just a wussy? What if I do get pregnant? What if we’re not ready? What if, what if, what if?
So I just didn’t think. I just did it.
I’m so glad I did. I’m so thankful that I do have endometriosis (and perhaps even PCOS…we haven’t met with the doctor for follow-up, so I have no idea what they actually found or what answers or conjectures she may have for us.) It’s just nice to have a problem to solve, as weird as that sounds. But now we’re in that weird place of hopeful-not-too-hopeful again. We want to be expectant, believing God’s hand will bring about life from this internally-altering procedure. But to have hope also allows room for more pain, more rejection.
Rock? Meet Hard Place.
But that reminds me of this old spiritual we sang in choir at SAU.
My God is a rock in a weary land, a Shelter in a time of Storm.
I suppose He’s got this.
Waiting for You. Waiting on Him.