"Hope" Is The Thing With Feathers*: On Being A Songbird

 Photo: "Who Taught That Redwing Blackbird How to Fly" by freshelectrons is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

This morning I ran 3.6 miles!  Only 9.5 miles to go.  The last half mile was pretty rough, but I made it, slowly, one foot in front of the other.

At one point near the end of my run, the song I was listening to on my phone came to an end and there was a long stretch of silence before the next song began.  I really dislike those stretches of silence sometimes - at the end of my long runs I rely on the music to keep me going, to keep me focused, to keep my mind off how much everything hurts.  In the silence I hear my labored breathing, hear the sounds of my feet smacking the hard ground, hear the noise of traffic or construction or other people's conversations.  With the music it is easier for me to run with purpose, without it running often feels a lot more like work.

Today however, just as I started to groan inwardly at how long the next song was taking to begin, a new sound caught my ear.  I was running through a park and the songbirds were really making "a joyful noise" in the trees on one side of me.  I smiled immediately because I love the sound of birds singing (who doesn't?), and this morning their commotion sounded very much like boisterous voices cheering me on as I ran.

I love songbirds.  I love waking up in the morning, while it is still dark, and hearing them singing outside my window - announcing, without any alarm clock, the impending arrival of a new day.  I especially love that first morning, near the end of a long winter (and this winter was the longest, wasn't it?) when you first hear their voices.  To me, someone who struggles deeply in winter with its short days and long nights, those first early morning songs are the sound of hope - the reminder that this too shall pass and that if I can hold on just a little longer, I will once again be surrounded by a world of light and warmth.

It struck me this morning as I ran that Christians are called to the same purpose as songbirds.  We are called to be the heralds of the Light of the World, singing a song of hope and courage to those still sitting in darkness.  Often I listen to the news or read the headlines, and I feel so disheartened, discouraged by the seemingly great ocean of evil and hatred and suffering all around me.  But this morning I felt encouraged, invigorated by the gentle reminder that we are called to be the harbingers of Good News to a world that is waiting, often in hopelessness and despair, just as the songbirds are the harbingers of spring and of a new dawn to those of us who cannot yet feel it or see it.  The birds don't feel it or see it yet either, but they know it is coming, and they sing out their joyful song in the beautiful way they were created to do.  We, too, will soon enjoy the light and beauty of a glorious (and eternal!) spring day, but first we must usher it in as songbirds in the darkness of a waning night.

It is is said that Pheidippides ran the first marathon in Greece from a battlefield to the city of Athens to announce the victory of the Greeks over the Persians in a military conflict.  (The fable goes on to say that he then collapsed and died, which is why I am running a half-marathon, people.  HALF-marathon.)  I'll be running my race in October because I want to join with the staff and volunteers at Heartline Ministries in being a forerunner of hope to the people of Haiti, announcing a victory that is finished even as they wait, and the advent of a Kingdom of Peace to those who have known much more of loss and violence than I can ever imagine.

It takes courage and perseverance to be a forerunner.  It takes faith to be a songbird.  It takes eyes to see what the Creator is about to reveal, and it takes the courage to sing out the Good News of the victory of the Unconquerable Son to a world still shrouded in darkness.

So to the songbirds of this world: Take heart!  We hear you.  Your voice makes a difference, and when we hear it, we have hope.

And to those who feel worn out and alone, tired of waiting, tired of enduring:  I know it has been a long winter, the longest night.  But close your eyes and listen: "the birds their carol raise."  The Light of the World is coming!  Dawn is almost here!

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I can't end a post about songbirds without including a link to one of my all-time favorite songs ever: Redwing by Hem.  Listen and enjoy!

Redwing

Hey, was that you floating past the tree line?
Hey, was that a feather in your hand?
No, I don't mean to ask these questions
I don't mean to rush your heart
I swear I saw this accidentally
No, I don't mean to start

Hey, the rain falls straight into the sidewalk
Hey, the clouds hang heavy in the sky
But I don't want to still believe in
The gravity of solid ground
The world below is not so big
That it can keep us down

We are standing on the rooftops
We are circling like sparrows
We are tiny, we are trembling
Scared of everything
But the heart is still a redwing

Fly above the houses and the schoolyards
And fly until you cannot feel the Earth
No, I don't mean that it's so easy
And I don't mean that it's so small
But the world below is not so mean
That it can make us fall

We are standing on the rooftops
We are circling like sparrows
We are tiny, we are trembling
Scared of everything
But the heart is still a redwing

Songwriters
Daniel R. Messe

Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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*"Hope" is the thing with feathers - (314) by Emily Dickinson

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On October 19th of this year, I will be running the St. Louis Rock-n-Roll Half-Marathon with the goal of raising $5,000 for Heartline Ministries and the women of Port-au-Prince, Haiti.  If you would like to support me in my efforts, please visit my Pure Charity fundraising page for more information!  Thank you!

Finding My Race

I have spent a lot of time thinking about what to say in this post (There are so many thoughts! Too many thoughts.), but I can't seem to come up with any kind of coherent outline in my head, so I am just going to wing it and hope for the best.

First things first: A few nights ago I registered for a half-marathon.  And no, I do not mean registered to hand out water cups on the sidelines of a half-marathon.  I mean I registered to run a half-marathon.

I think the vast majority of people who will ever read this post know me pretty well.  I am not a runner.  Not anywhere near that kind of runner at any rate.  I have run three 5K's in my life: one in college, one in my twenties in California, and one a few years ago, just a few weeks before finding out I was pregnant with Asher.  I struggled mightily through each of those races, finishing red-faced and gasping for air in the back, the way back, of the pack.  I've mostly-walked/slightly-jogged two Color Runs since then.  And that's it.  Since being pregnant with my now almost-two year old son, I've exercised almost not at all.  No running, no walking, no gym, no anything.  I am not an athlete.  I have zero coordination (cannot clap and sing at the same time, people), and I have a very low pain tolerance.  So, why on earth am I running a half-marathon?

I have a feeling this will be a question I ask myself a lot over the next 170ish days, to be honest, so for my own sake, here we go...

Back in California I was fortunate enough to meet two very amazing women, "the Sarahs" as they were called in our circle of friends.  The Sarahs were the kind of people I wanted to be when I grew up.  More specifically, and more importantly for me at that time, they were each the kind of woman I wanted to be. I didn't know them very well, but because I found them inspiring, I paid attention to what they did.  I took notes, in a way, on what living a courageous, beautiful, giving life could look like. At some point or another, in person or online, I honestly don't remember at all, one of the Sarahs mentioned an organization they had worked with in Haiti, called Heartline.  At the time it was completely insignificant to me, but the name was filed away in some small brain cell of mine, not to be thought of again for a very long time.

Then on January 12, 2010, an earthquake rocked Haiti and suddenly everyone was talking about this tiny country less than 700 miles from Miami, Florida - a country that I knew of predominantly because of the work the Sarahs did there.  Through their updates,  I heard the name Heartline again, and this time also, Livesay, the name of a family that lived in Haiti and worked at Heartline.  The Livesays, it turned out, had a blog, and through their blog I read about the field hospital that Heartline had set up to help those injured in the earthquake.  I read posts here and there as I was able, but then time passed, the earthquake and Haiti faded from the news, and I was distracted by life, specifically by the event of moving my small family from California to a small Illinois town just north of St. Louis, Missouri.  I forgot about the blog, forgot about Heartline, forgot, in large part, about Haiti.

Over three years later, last fall, I started thinking about Haiti again.  I don't know why.  I remembered the Sarahs and the Livesays, and I went back to their blog and read a few posts.  Then I read a few more.  And then, for some reason that even I don't understand, I went back to the very beginning of the blog and read the entire thing - every single post - from November 2005 through the present.  Tara Livesay is a great writer and the story of her family's move to Haiti and all the ups and downs of their life there was an incredibly engaging one, but it wasn't a short story by any means, and it took me nearly 6 months to read it through from beginning to end.

Somewhere a long the line I fell in love with their family and their story.  I fell in love with the story of Heartline and the work Heartline is doing in Haiti.  Most importantly, I fell in love with Haiti - especially the women and children of Haiti.  I intend to tell you much more about Heartline and Haiti, but this post is already very long, so those details and stories will be shared in later posts.  The most important piece to share right now is that while Heartline serves the people of Port-au-Prince in a number of ways, one of their biggest efforts is in the area of maternal health.  Heartline's Maternity Center "is a place where expectant mothers can find medical care and support, education, safe and sanitary conditions, and respect for them and their babies."*

I cannot tell you how important this cause has become to me.  Perhaps it is because pregnancy and the postpartum period have always been difficult for me, full of sadness and fear and doubt.  Perhaps it is because I read through the Livesay's blog while caring for my own infant son.  I'm not sure.  What I am sure of is that over the last year God has been doing something in me, and that courageous, beautiful, giving life that I always admired from a distance now seems like something maybe I can actually know for myself.  And surprisingly, I don't think it was ever that far off to begin with, but right in front of me the whole time, tucked inside a short little verse that I've heard throughout my life. "Jesus replied: 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.'" (Matthew 22:37-39)

Haiti, the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, is the geographical neighbor of the United States.  The people of Haiti are our neighbors.  The women of Haiti are my neighbor.  Somehow, through the grace of God, I've come to care about what happens to them.  It's important to me that they have a safe, respectful, love-filled place to go to receive prenatal care.  It's important to me that when the time comes to give birth, they are surrounded by people who are trained and prepared to encourage, support, and assist them - people who will cherish them and treat them as valuable - as worthy of care.

I am not a nurse nor a midwife.  I cannot directly provide the care that I know is so important to women hundreds of miles away from me.  But I can pray for them.  I can pray for Heartline.  And I can support the women of Haiti and the work of Heartline by bringing attention to their cause and by helping raise the funds needed to provide the resources and care that I would want for my family and for myself - for anyone I love.

So, on October 19th of this year, I am running a half-marathon in St. Louis to raise money for Heartline Ministries.  As I mentioned already, I have a lot more to share: more details about the work Heartline does, more stories about the women and staff, more information on my goals and hopes for fundraising.  I hope you will stick with me through these posts (I think I have repeatedly proved over the last few years that I am not a blogger, so they may not always be super engaging), and I hope you will stick by me as I try to do what it takes to run my race, literally and figuratively.  Mostly I hope you will hear my heart in all this, and God's heart too, and that all of our hearts will grow in love, as they were created to do.

*Taken with permission from Heartline's Maternity Center web page, which can be found here: http://heartlineministries.org/maternity-center/

Hello, Goodbye*

So I think we can all agree that my attempt at blog-as-baby-book has completely and finally failed.

Dear children, I love you, but apparently not enough to faithfully record all the silly, funny, heartwarming, profound, and also (occasionally) annoying, ridiculous, and mind-boggling things you do.  I would like to believe that this is because I was/am too busy living all those moments with you and soaking up your fleeting childhood to take time to document properly.  We all know that this is not entirely true, but I think it is a good story none-the-less, and I'm sticking with it.

So, here we are.  It is time to say a bloggy goodbye.  I'm sure this will be confusing to my "readers" (haha!) - kind of like when you see on the news that a celebrity has died and feel completely bewildered because you were sure they'd already died at least five years ago.  But no worries.  I am about to make it even more confusing by announcing that this blog is officially over - but also, not!

I am definitely giving up on the online baby scrapbook plan.  That is kaput.  BUT.  I do have something kind of big and exciting (at least to me) that I'm going to try to do this year, and I'm going to be using this blog as a platform for that project.  But after that, goodbye! 

I will share more about my project/goal in another post.  But before we dive into that story, I thought I should post an update on the cast of characters here in the Hough House.

First up: Peter, my partner in crime.

What can I say?  I married a good man.  Pete spends most of his time leading the church plant that he helped, well, plant, a year or so after we moved here from California almost 4 years ago now.  I am biased, of course, but he is doing a fantastic job.  He is probably the smartest person I actually know, plus he's kind and funny and cute to boot.  I am constantly quoting his sermons to myself and others, and not infrequently to him as well, which is odd, I suppose.  But he always challenges me and gives me a lot to think about while also being my sounding-board for all things.  I know it is said a lot about best friends and spouses, but Peter makes me a better person.  A waaaaay better person.  I am privileged to have a front row seat to his life and thoughts.

Second: Eden, my first-born, my delightfully 5 1/2 year old daughter.

I once said God created coffee just so I had a hope of keeping up with Eden.  I still think there is a good chance that is true.  Eden is exactly what she has always been: a glorious supernova of intelligence, determination, and sensitivity.  She is dramatic and competitive: uncertain and anxious at times, confidently commanding at others.  She reads books I didn't even know existed until I was several years older than her.  She loves animals and if you ever need to know how to tell the difference between a leopard and a jaguar, or what you call a baby platypus, she's your girl.  Living with Eden is like exploring a new frontier: occasionally fraught with conflict and drama and exhaustion but also beautiful and unexpected and wonderfully unforgetable.

Third: Asher, my comedian, my sweet almost-two year old son.

Asher is my cuddle-bug, my snuggler, my lover of all things-that-go.  He cannot leave the house without a toy car or truck or train in hand.  He loves things that ROAR, whether that is a motorcycle, T-Rex, or tiger.  As he approaches his twos, we are seeing more of the infamous Hough stubbornness and flair for drama, but he is still in many ways much more laid-back and flexible than his sister (and, let's be honest, his mother).  We cannot wait for Asher to start talking as it is very clear the gears are chugging away in all sorts of delightful ways in that shaggy head of his.  That being said, Asher has never seemed to be in a hurry for anything (except going outside - if you open the door to the great outdoors you'd better be prepared to block a twenty-something-pound toddler from stumbling through it).  In many ways, I think Eden sees milestones as personal challenges for her to conquer and control - opportunities for victory; I suspect Asher cannot possibly be bothered with anything so mundane as what other people think is important.  Undoubtedly, they both give me a run for my money on a daily, sometimes hourly basis, while also being tiny, bouncy pinpricks of light through which the glory of heaven shines in all its beauty.

Hough House bit characters: Two cats, Sheba and Pudge, the thirteen year old banes of my existence.  One rabbit, Flopsy, the three year old bunny who I'm actually pretty fond of, mostly because he confines his messes to the backyard as opposed to the interior of my house.

And that's that!  Life in our small-town cottage is currently frenetic and tedious, alarming and exhilarating and mundane - an adventure and a lot of work all at the same time, just as yours is, I imagine.  I am thankful for it, and I am trying will all my might to learn how to cherish it and how to give it away.

 *One of my all-time favorite Beatles' songs.  Also, a notorious ear-worm. (So, sorry if you clicked on the link.  Except not sorry because the song is awesome.)