On Not Having It All

…at least not all at once

A week ago, Sunday I turned 40. It was a quietly joyful celebration (as you might expect at 35 ½ weeks pregnant – we weren’t burning the midnight oil). You might even say it was eclipsed a bit by the pregnancy. But I don’t mind.

When I turned 39 last year (on Holy Saturday), two different groups from church sang me Happy Birthday—the folks charged with care of the labyrinth and the confirmands I guided in their leadership of the Easter Vigil (with support from the Saturday Night Band). Both were so dear. I can still see those faces and hear those voices. They filled my heart in glorious ways and I am grateful I get to carry those memories in my heart and treasure them.

And. Even as my heart was welling with love for my beloved church folks, I knew deep down that if another year passed without change… If I marked 40 in the same place… My heart would simply break.

A year on, the list of things that haven’t changed is shorter than the list of things that have. Instead of being employed in more-than-full-time ministry in a large and vibrant church, I am what Lucas (half) jokingly refers to as “professionally pregnant.” Reading all the books, listening to all the podcasts, taking all the classes, and writing about it along the way. Instead of grappling with infertility in silence, I’ve written a lot about it publicly, been the recipient of a lot of encouragement and prayer, been entrusted with a lot of other women’s stories, and am now basically nine months pregnant. Instead of being a DINC (dual income, no children) household, with integrated finances but more-or-less the the sense of being financially independent, we’re now a single income household. It’s the first time in my adult life I’ve been financially dependent and, though there’s some income from my consulting work, it goes toward health insurance.

There are probably more changes I could enumerate if I thought about it long and hard enough. But there they are: vocational, physical, emotional, financial, spiritual. Some I’ve embraced with joy. Others have left me more ambivalent. Especially when they have required a surrender of independence, identity, or control. But I’m old enough to be able to look back with gratitude for the different seasons in my life, and to look forward, anticipating more.

Maybe it’s because I was born and raised in Minnesota, but I love all four seasons. Can’t imagine living somewhere without them. Although global climate change has complicated the transitions, we generally don’t expect to go sunbathing in the winter, snowshoe in the summer, or for fruit trees to bloom in the fall and be harvested in the spring. We understand that each season has a purpose. And we don’t expect any one season to hold the gifts and challenges of all the others.

I try to keep this in mind when people ask me when I might go “back to work” or whether I’ll ever go back to parish ministry. The short answer is: I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s like to be a first-time parent, especially at 40. I don’t know what our new financial realities will be or what vocational opportunities may present themselves. What I do know is that the red buds and rhododendrons and crab apples are all blooming in central Iowa. I know that as Spring springs into bloom, we are on the threshold—a precipice even—of a new and never before experienced season in our lives. One that will hold what it’s meant to. No less and no more. Until the season changes.

As grounded and simple as this sounds, it has not always been (and is not always) easy to stay grounded in the season I’m in amongst the chorus of “should”s. The idea that I “should” be doing more. That if I’d worked or tried harder, all that was and is and is to be could be happening simultaneously, rather than each in its own season. I know it’s a lie. But it’s a tempting one. Women especially have been sold the story that if we master ourselves and our lives with enough discipline, efficiency, and control, we can have it all: career, family, friends, figure, all with the glossy modern farmhouse style of Magnolia magazine (or whatever your preferred HGTV show).

My own life has led me to the conclusion that if I ever do have it all, it will probably not be all at once. It will be in seasons. Given the rigor of this season of pregnancy, it’s hard to imagine doing much else. Yet as I see other women work 12-hour shifts through the yuck of the first trimester, or figure out how to be back on the job with little or no paid leave, or suffer the mental and emotional strain of all they “should” be able to “balance,” I feel the shoulds creep in on me, too. Along with a mix of guilt and privilege.

But mostly, when I reflect on this season of my life, this time in between times, I feel supremely grateful. I wish more pregnant people had the space and the privilege to be present to the care their bodies and souls deserve during this sacred right of passage. I also feel clear that the societal expectations we put on women and all pregnant people is really a form of collective insanity. Building a human with your body is a lot of work. So is bonding with and raising them well. If the tradeoff for not having it all is more health and an outwardly less understandable or manicured life, I’ll take it. For this season, it’s what our lives have both requested and required.

Regarding the publication of this newsletter, you may have noticed that the cadence has slowed down and become less predictable in this third trimester. I still have plenty to write about, but not always the energy, focus, or time to do it on a weekly basis. Hang in there with me as I figure out the rhythm of this season and the one that is to come.

Much love,

Lindsey