Finitude and Gratitude

Finitude. It's not a word I come across very often in my reading or listening, and it is certainly not one that I've used myself in conversation. It came up as a theme in a podcast episode I heard this week, though. Author Kelly Kapic and Jonathan Rogers, the host of a writerly podcast called The Habit, used "finitude" numerous times as they discussed Kelly's book, "You're Only Human", published in 2022. 

We humans possess finitude which means we are finite, and therefore have limits or bounds. Kelly claims that our finitude is not a sin, but rather, it is a gift of being human. Thinking carefully about our "creatureliness", says Kelly, "will reveal limits, dependence, love, reliance on the grace of God, and worship." According to him, a proper view of finitude expands our joy of being a creature, and brings the freedom of resting on the promises of our Creator. 

Finitude. What a timely word for me to ponder this week, since the third of May marks the thirtieth anniversary of Mom-Eva's Homegoing. Cancer was a stark and cruel reminder of my biological mom's finitude. It pulled in her limits and bounds relentlessly, too tightly, too soon. She was 51 years old when she died. Finitude means that I have now lived a longer time without her than the amount of time that I knew her when she was alive. 

I shrink from the memories of her loss - the fading of her signature strength and vitality - and our loss - the fading of a beautiful light in our lives when she left us. I shrink from the realization that I, her daughter, have also inherited her finitude. It saddens me, this finiteness does, and sometimes my sorrow edges toward despair. Finite just sounds too much like...final. 

That's why I'm grateful for Kelly's reminder to think more carefully about creatureliness. Are we humans made earthen vessels, ordinary clay pots we might say, for the purpose of containing Treasure? The cracks of our finitude allow the light of God's excellence to shine through. What if our limits are to showcase His boundlessness? To remember we are creatures is to acknowledge that we have a Creator. We don't have to get it all nor do we have to be all, because He is. We are free to be finite because He is infinite. 

I wonder if Mom understood this better than I realized. I know she sometimes struggled with having high expectations of herself and then feeling frustrated when she couldn't meet them. But she definitely developed ways of expressing her joy of living. She also knew what it was to rest on the promises of her Creator. I can't think of a better legacy to impart. 

That's why, in my reflection on finitude, I come to gratitude. I'm grateful for Mom's example of doing both outer and inner hard work. She had lots of ambition and accomplished much, whether it was gardening, cleaning resort cabins, making Sunday dinners, raking the lawn, writing family histories, or raising us children to adulthood. 

She also recognized her need for intellectual and spiritual growth. Mom read widely, studied Scripture, participated in Sunday School discussions and meaningful conversations, and prayed (and got us children to pray) about everything no matter how large or small. And while I have no idea what all she and The Spirit discussed during His Training Sessions, I know she had definite marks of His beauty as a result. 

I'm grateful for the way that Mom loved life and how she demonstrated that love in spite of and in the midst of her limitations. A distinct memory I have of her illustrates this well. There was an open field in front of our place, from which hefty summer breezes would sometimes sweep across our yard. These winds would frustrate me with their power and persistence, and I would rather stay indoors than to go outside and be at their mercy in force and unpredictability. But Mom relished being out in the gale. She'd stand out in the yard, lifting her arms and grinning broad with satisfaction, exclaiming to anyone who cared to listen, "Oh, I just looove the wind!"

When the cancer had her in its tightest grip, Mom showed us what it means to have one's "inner man renewed day by day" even as the "outward man is perishing". (II Corinthians 4:16) Even as I remember her example all these years later, it helps me to "not lose heart". 

I remembered Mom's example again this morning during the sermon at church. The speaker emphasized the importance of having a firm foundation for structures in the physical world, and much more so in our spiritual lives. He pointed out that it is in hard times that the sureness of our foundation is tested. This also provides an opportunity to glorify the builder. If a house is still standing after a hurricane has gone through the area, people will notice, and say "That's the kind of foundation I want! Who built that house?" 

My Mom was an imperfect, finite human but she had a perfect and infinite Builder. I'm grateful to know that she experienced much joy in living for Him while she was on earth but my heart overflows with gratitude to know that she is now in His presence, where there is fullness of joy forever. 

An infinite Giver gave me a mother with finitude. I'm grateful to Him for the gift of being her daughter, and for the gift of remembering her. 

Oxygen Between Her Toes

                                                                           📷- Kayleen Atkinson

Impressions during my first visits to The Twins at Home:

The care of preemie twins is complicated when they come home from the NICU with strings attached. 

In granddaughters Eleanor & Eva's case, the strings are the wires and tubing connecting them to supplemental oxygen tanks and monitors. When the twins were ready for discharge from the hospital, their lungs weren't quite strong enough yet to supply the full amount of oxygen needed to saturate their blood, so they came home "with oxygen". 

Hence there are "strings" running from sensors taped on one foot of each baby to their individual machines monitoring oxygen saturation and heart rate, and from the prongs in each girl's nose to the oxygen tanks nearby. The cords and tubing also drape over the sides of the girls' Moses baskets and coil at the foot of the change table set up in the living-room-turned-temporary-nursery. 

There's a whole collection of terms and expressions dedicated to the theme of coming home on oxygen: 

desat is a short form of the word "desaturation", which means a drop in the level of oxygen in the blood. The term desat also gets used in verb form at times, as in "She had a coughing spell a bit ago; that's why she's de-satting right now." On the other hand, highsat refers to maintaining an oxygen saturation level in the normal range of 95-100%. (I had to ask Carlins if highsat is a term that is used by medical staff or if they made it up, and I found out that the nurses used the term as if it was legit) The word highsat can be "verb-alized" too, as in "Look at Eleanor over here, high-satting during tummy time." 

Who's beeping? Since the girls each have their own monitor which sounds an alarm if either their oxygen level or their heart rate gets too low, the question "Who's beeping?" is asking which girl's alarm went off, and which girl's face should be checked for alertness and good pink color. 

dipping means basically the same idea as having a desat, making the monitor show numbers in the yellow range...if the numbers keep dipping even lower, the red zone will appear and the monitor's alarm will sound. 

She's not picking up There are a lot of false alarms - the machine will blank out sometimes because the sensor is weakening from much use, or one twin is kicking a lot, or the monitor just decides to manifest one of its quirks. 

unhook her During care time or bath time, when the baby needs a diaper swap-out for a blowout, or a full-outfit change, it may be necessary to remove the monitor cord from its connection to the sensor temporarily. This move is sure to summon the monitor's insistent beeping, so the Unplugger will likely become the Silencer of the machine, as well. 

weaning off oxygen refers to getting the baby used to breathing well without the aid of supplemental oxygen. This weaning is done gradually, starting with removing the nasal prongs so the baby doesn't have the oxygen supplement during her nap for an hour at a time. This can be done once or twice a day, with the monitor still keeping track of saturation level and heart rate. If the baby handles it well, the frequency and duration of the weaning may be increased over the next weeks or months.

without oxygen Out of context, this phrase could indicate something quite alarming, but it simply means not needing or providing supplemental oxygen. For now, the words are used in questions and wistful statements such as "Were the twins able to come home from the hospital without oxygen?" and "Think of how we'll be able to carry them around the house... give tub baths... take them on stroller rides... without oxygen!"

her oxygen is twisted The twins' oxygen tubing tends to twine around itself as the girls are picked up from their Moses baskets, taken over to the change table during care times, brought around to the couch for feeding times, and eventually swaddled back into their baskets. No wonder the babies need to be unhooked and their "strings" straightened out at times. 

oxygen between her toes The twins' oxygen tubing and monitor wires can also get hung up on things - when the person carrying a baby accidently steps on the tubing or the cord catches under the handle of a Moses basket or gets stuck between the couch cushions during bottle time. The wires have even been known to tangle around a twin's foot, prompting Kayleen to say, "She's got oxygen between her toes!"

I couldn't help comparing the two Eva's in my life. 

When I first saw little Eva getting oxygen through prongs in her nose and heard the hiss of the oxygen concentrator nearby, it brought back distinct memories of Mom-Eva's experience being "on oxygen". 

My ponderings went something like this: two Eva's...one young and one old (but too young to leave when she did)...both on oxygen...both quite helpless and depending on others for care...the one Eva receiving assistance in breathing while she's fading, her lungs riddled with cancer...the other Eva receiving supplemental oxygen while she's developing and growing, her lungs only getting stronger...two Eva's, both dear to my heart...

I kept wishing I could tell my mom about her namesake great-granddaughter (along with her twin sister). I think it would've been sweet to watch the three meet.

                                                📷- Kayleen Atkinson

It's fascinating to watch your own children parent their children. 

One nice thing about being the grandma of preemie twins is that you can go on upstairs to bed when you get tired in the evenings and leave the baby care to the parents on the main floor. They are the ones responsible for getting up every three to four hours to do the diaper changes and feedings and burpings for the babies. (If they'd have implored me to help do a stint during the night, though, I probably couldn't have said no...as long as I didn't have a cough or cold coming on, anyway.) 

It warmed my heart to observe my daughter and son-in-law taking their parental responsibilities seriously, to see them sacrifice their own comfort and sleep-rights for the sake of the girls' health and well-being, to hear their devotion in the way they crooned the words "You're okay" into a lilting lullaby over the babies, to watch their teamwork during bath times and dr. appointment times for the twins. 

I also enjoyed getting in on conversations with them that included topics such as teaching values to children at an early age, disciplining/discipling children, and how to raise a gifted family to be joyful and generous. I'm inspired by the wisdom and intention of these new parents. 

Some people are so thoughtful. 

When Carlin's little family came home from the hospital, there was food for them in the fridge and on the kitchen counter, placed there by caring friends. The groceries coincided with a list of four meal ideas which were printed out on paper and stuck to the fridge door. Other expressions of thoughtfulness showed up in a bouquet of peach carnations, a hand-written note of encouragement, and text messages letting Carlin & Kayleen know they haven't been forgotten, even though their social interactions have been (and will be for some time) greatly restricted. 

Church people and local friends can't come by in person because of there being vulnerable babies in the house, but they can get creative in their sharing, just the same. Which means that as a young mom you can respond promptly to Kayleen's request for a baby swing to borrow and just because you have stowed yours up in the attic only yesterday since your own baby has outgrown it doesn't mean you can't get Husband to go dig it out again for Carlins. And along with the swing, you can also send meatballs and potatoes, a lovely loaf of sourdough bread, and a chocolate bar, just because asking the Lord to sustain Carlin and Kayleen through this time doesn't mean you can't help out a bit with the sustenance...

I found out that a cuddle session with my twin granddaughters is a prime time for praise.

While snuggling the little Snuffalumps (my pet name for them when they're kind of snuffly from congestion due to prongs in their nose) I'd often gaze at their adorable little selves and marvel. I'd stroke their soft skin and cradle their head in my hand while watching them guzzle milk from their bottles, consider how their weight has gone from 2-something pounds to 8-something and 9 pounds in three months since their birth, and I couldn't help but be in awe of God's doings. 

I'm told my Grandpa Kauffman quoted words from Psalm 118 when my twin and I were born. "This is the Lord's doing; it is marvelous in our eyes," he declared. I'm pretty sure he was taking that verse out of context, but he thought it fit for us girls, exactly how I think it fits for our twin granddaughters. My other grandpa had a habit of praying a line that has stuck with me, too. After bringing a request before the Lord, Grandpa would give Him this promise: "and we will be careful to give You all the glory." I think that response is also fitting concerning our grandbabies.  

I've heard someone describe God's grace as our oxygen. If this is true, I believe that praise is a fitting response to breathing in His life-giving substance. "Let everything (everyone) that has breath praise the Lord," says the Psalmist. That includes me. I've seen the hand of God at work in the twins' lives, and I can only breathe out praise to Him as I inhale His grace. If you were to happen in on me these days, it should be no surprise to find me doing a praise dance. I've certainly been dancing in my heart, if not on my literal feet. You might say I've got oxygen between my toes, too.

Christmas Casserole of Memories

Reflection is an important exercise in the slowing down theme. In the last few days I have thought back to some Christmas impressions and memories from my childhood. 

One thing I remember is Christmas candy. At Christmas time, Mom liked to buy a tin of Fanny Farmer candy to share around. It could take me a long time to decide on the one or two pieces I was allowed to pick during my turn. Such an array of colors, shapes, textures, and flavors to choose from! Would it be a hard, narrow bone-shaped one with a filling of soft sweet marrow? A big section of multi-colored bands ribboned into perfect interlocking waves? Or a tiny pink pillow of fruity tang? Maybe a striped minty oval? I'd hope it wouldn't cut my tongue in its sharp grooves if I wasn't careful enough in my sucking it down from big to little!

I asked my brother recently if he remembered The Choosing from the candy tin. Oh yes, he did remember reaching into that "casserole" of candy. 

Mom also liked making her own Christmas candy and cookies. It was the one time of year when she (or we) used her cookie press and made many tiny shortbreads in the form of trees, camels, stars, and hearts. Sometimes the dough was colored, and sometimes the plain cookies got colored with sugar or sprinkles on top. Some years she made raisin-filled cookies, which were two rolled out cookie dough layers baked together with a raisin mixture between. The top cookie often had a cut-out "window" in it that allowed the dark filling to show through nicely. We thought it was great stuff to be allowed putting the raisins through the hand-cranked meat grinder for the filling.  

Mom was often into a new hobby or craft around Christmas time. I remember her plastic canvas poinsettias, fine crocheted and starched snowflakes, and latch art creations. She'd love to learn a new art, talk about it to anyone she met, teach her daughters to do it, and/or gift it to someone. The photo at the beginning of this post depicts such a case. That particular Christmas, she enthusiastically roped us girls into making baskets out of fabric-covered ice cream buckets. My dad and brothers pretended the finished products were more like upside-down frilly pioneer bonnets! 

I also have fond memories of Christmas caroling. We'd meet at the church, having bundled up really well against the frigid Wisconsin cold of a December night. After getting put into groups for caroling in certain places like Northwoods Beach, or Stone Lake or Peninsula Road, our designated group would pile into warmed-up vehicles and head out for our first stop. We'd traipse through a snowy yard and crowd up to the house beside an cracked-open window or door and begin singing to the elderly people inside. After a few carols, we'd wind up with We Wish You a Blessed Christmas, including "Good tidings we bring to you and your king..." (well, for all we knew, their kin actually was royalty) and the people would give us their teary-eyed gratitude and sometimes a package of chocolates. At the end of caroling, when our toes and fingers were past feeling and our hearts were full feeling, we went back to the church or some church family's house and had hot chocolate and other goodies.

Christmas programs at school were always a big deal, too. We might have tried keeping our special singing or speaking parts a secret from Mom and Dad, but I'm sure they ended up finding out much of what was ahead during our times of "going through the whole program" at home. After the program proper was over, the parents would come down to the school room in the church basement and view the art work we students had done on the chalkboards, and sometimes there was a gift exchange among the students and sometimes a pinata, and always there were bags of treats passed out to the children - oranges, candies, nuts and popcorn balls. Always it was one noisy, exciting affair. 

I also remember getting sick around Christmas time. I think two Christmases in a row, I missed out on the fun program night because I had strep throat. One of those times, my twin was sick too, so I guess we could at least stay home and commiserate together. 

In our family, we always got some sort of gift for Christmas. In the lean years, it was one item that we children were supposed to share, such as a sled. Often our gifts were books or crafts, something to occupy our minds and hands. Later on, as we children got older, we started doing a gift exchange among family members. I think back then there was more emphasis put on homemade gifts than what there is now. It was tradition for us to have the Christmas story before the opening of gifts. Dad would read the account from Matthew or Luke. In my mind, the Christmas story never took so long to get through as then.

I'm curious - what are some memories in your Christmas casserole?

For You, Mom

Since today is Mother’s Day and since it is also close to the anniversary date of my first mom’s Homegoing, I will dedicate this post to the memory of Mom-Eva. She passed away from cancer twenty-four years ago this month. I’ve been thinking a lot about her these days.

Much of this post consists of photos that I took recently of things that make me think of her. I shot a number of these pics when I went on a walk in the woods this week. The names and features of the flowers and birds in the photos I learned from Mom when I was a child. Mom would have enjoyed going on that walk with me, and I would have loved to have her along. I miss you, Mom-Eva!

This Post’s Quotables:

Here are a few expressions and exclamations that come to mind when I recall Mom-Eva quotes.

        “All good things take time” (said especially in regards to us children dating and her not wanting us to be in too much of a hurry to get married)

        “La, ti, do!” or “This day do I remember my faults.” (scolding herself when she pulled a blooper)

        “Let’s pray about it.”

     “We all have to fight our own lazies.”

       “Step up and help with the dishes.” (someone who could "see work" - a character quality highly praised by Mom - wouldn’t need to be told this)

This Post’s Childhood Memory:

While Mom-Eva was ambitious and no-nonsense in so many ways - to a fault, at times - she allowed for leisure and fun, too. It still rather surprises me that she allowed my twin and me to play with her hair once in a while. She would sit and read a book by the light of the living room lamp, and we were allowed to unpin her covering, undo her little hair bun by pulling out the hairpins and un-tucking the brown holey hairnet, remove several bobby pins that were holding her two front hair “swoops” in place on either side of the “part” down the middle of head, and brush out the short and rather thin locks. I still remember the oily, shampoo-ey smell of her hair. Sometimes, we’d re-comb her hair and try to put it up again exactly like Mom did, and sometimes we were silly and put our own colorful barrettes at odd places in her hair or made funny little braids haphazardly over her head. She’d smile indulgently when we’d stand back and giggle at the effects. I wonder if she was conscious then of the connection she was building with us in those moments.

In what ways did your Mom connect with you when you were a child?