Juniper's Birth Story (part 2)

After I posted the blog yesterday from Starbucks, I got a text from Debra: “Come back ASAP! Pushing is starting!” So I soccer-mom-speed-walked to the delivery room and found the nurses and midwife bustling around preparing to deliver a baby. The epidural was just wearing off and Debra started feeling the pain and the urge to push. A few minutes later, the midwife said she could try a “practice push”. I kept sitting then standing then sitting again... oscillating between giddy and faint. After 3 or 4 pushes, a head emerged... I hadn’t felt excitement like that with the other two babies (who were both delivered by cesarean). We had both been through hell the last few days and the first sight of Juniper brought unbridled joy.

Click to see the photo album!

One more big push and out came Juniper Joy Harkness: all 10lbs 6oz of her! My heart was pounding. The midwife wiped her off and handed her to Debra, who was grinning and looking completely exhausted after 56 hours of labor. Juniper immediately started sucking her thumb. Then transitioned quickly to nursing like a pro. She took a few minutes to go from purple to pink and they ended up suctioning some thick mucus from her lungs. Besides that, she was (and is) perfect. Her skull was 14” (blissfully small compared to Levi’s 15.5” orange-on-a-toothpick noggin) and was dwarfed by her enormous red marshmallow cheeks.

We had a few quiet hours together after all the poking and prodding ended. Debra felt great, but was famished and ate about 3 meals in 3 hours! Later in the day, her parents brought Annabel and Levi. Annabel slowly warmed up to Juniper and was finally willing to hold her in her lap. True to form, she treated it as the most sobering responsibility ever entrusted to her. Levi didn’t seem that interested in the new usurper. But by the ended, he was gently patting her head cooing, “bye bye baby!” 

After everyone left, we indulged in our major-life-transition tradition: Star Trek. It was Next Generation during our honeymoon, Deep Space 9 with Annabel, Voyager with Levi. This time, we laughed/yawned our way through an episode of the original series in which Spok spent the hour battling giant spear-throwing apes on a forsaken planet while debating the merits of logic with his over-emotional crewmates... and all this on a $50 budget!

We all slept fitfully between feedings and diaper changes. At one point, Juniper offloaded a full dose of meconium onto her pajamas mid-diaper-change. At another point, I got scolded by the nurse for napping with the baby. We laid low all today and head home tomorrow morning.

It's been a heck of a ride and I'm in a blur. I'm already sick of changing diapers, sleeping on a hide-a-bed, fetching ice water, and choosing between Blimpie's and Chick-fil-a. I'll be excited to get home tomorrow. But I'm happy. I'm loving our family of five.

Presence: What I Learned From Contractions

There’s nothing harder for a fixer than to be emotionally present with someone you love someone experiencing pain as intense, natural, and unfixable as childbirth. After almost 48 hours of contractions, I was at my wits end. I had already raked my mind for every birth-coaching nugget I could remember from TV and the stories of friends. It all felt paltry and shallow.

Believe it or not, saying, “breathe baby. Just breathe,” over and over doesn’t go over so well in real life! You can’t promise that the pain will end soon. It won’t. When I tried giving her space, she felt alone. It felt patronizing to keep saying, “you’re amazing, you’ve so got this, you can do it!” Even when I soothed, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she assured me, “It’s NOT okay!”

The only thing that seemed to help was when I stood next to her during every contraction, holding her hand and simply saying, “I’m here. I’m with you.” That’s what we did for the better part of yesterday. It felt like the kindest thing I could do under the circumstances.

But the labor has been traumatic so far. I’ve never seen pain like it and by the time we finally opted for an epidural last night, I was crying and nearly blacking out from the stress.

Me after 48 hours. Yoiks!

We have a “short list” of people we can text day or night and I did... One wrote back, “I feel so helpless.” And the sentiment was nice. I felt helpless too. But the best thing she did for us throughout those 48 hours was just being present, saying, “I’m here. I’m with you guys.”

Again, it got me thinking about the way God interacts with people in pain. He could be like the rude young anesthetist last night poking, prodding, and eventually numbing the pain. Instead, he chooses to be more like the kind midwife, putting a hand on our shoulder, looking us in the eyes, monitoring and guiding the process gently, but mostly just being there, assuring us that we’re not alone.

Something I’m learning is that God’s presence is the best gift possible. I get so focused on the fear of pain and failure. But happiness and success aren’t the point. God is. Not in some heady, esoteric way, but in a real nuts-and-bolts way.

Since I got back from Ghana, everything in my life has felt different: permeated by a sense of purpose, expectancy, awe, and a hearty does of pain... Kind of like being pregnant! I’m aware of God’s mysterious and breathtaking beauty in the intricate cogs of my life (everything from the Fulani to my music to living in Georgia). I’m also aware of His intimate and personal presence. That feeling of being caught up in something bigger than me, yet being known and loved by a present and personal God... it delivers tremendous comfort and peace.

At the same time, I’ve been staring down the gullet of my life’s deepest hurts through an emotional healing group I lead every week. And unlike before, it’s not that scary. Excruciating. But not scary. I feel the weight of grief more closely than before. But I’m really comfortable with that feeling because I also carry this sense that God is with me. Not fixing, not even carrying the burden, just walking next to me saying “I’m here. I’m with you.” And right now, that’s more than enough.

PS- After the trauma of the epidural last night, we both collapsed and slept from 1-6:30. Debra’s labor is now progressing more swiftly... and she’s having the best sleep of her life. I’m at Starbucks, excited to meet little Juniper Joy Harkness and experience the beauty of her life in contrast to the crappiness of the last couple days. It feels like the last couple days have been a dying wilderness... ushering in a new season of life with Juniper. Stay tuned!

PPS- more on the name "Juniper Joy" here!

FAT Christians???

“I’m looking for FAT Christians who want a spiritual 6-pack!” The young Campus Crusade representative looked me in the eye when I asked about his approach to discipleship. He walked me through the familiar mnemonic: “They need to be FAT: Faithful, Available, Teachable.” Then, pulling out a pamphlet, he showed me a list of 6 spiritual attributes that become the goal of his disciple making. It looked like pretty good stuff (though I inwardly reel anytime someone puts a pamphlet between themselves and the person they are speaking with).

But the more I watch Jesus make disciples, the less I subscribe to the FAT acronym. Because when I look at the disciples, the only attribute they consistently displayed was “available”. And maybe even THAT’S going too far. Perhaps all we can say of the disciples is that they were “chosen”.

Mark records their reaction to Jesus walking on water: “They were completely amazed, for they had not understood about the loaves [feeding the 5,000]; for their hearts were hardened.” I walk away from that with a couple thoughts...

1.) Jesus could have chosen any number of bright young boys from the rabbinical schools who would deftly and eagerly grasp the spiritual and theological reality of his coming. Instead he chose jaded, washed-out fishermen and tax-collectors with mixed motives and hard hearts. Why? Not because they were easier, but because that’s the upside-down kingdom: God brings his weight to bear by defying all expectations. If those fisherman and tax-collectors can become love-shaped leaders of a fledgling church, then the credit goes to God and not to someone “living up to his potential.”

2.) In his disciple making, not even Jesus could unharden someone’s heart. Beliefs and motivations run very very deep in us. I’d love to tell you there’s some zinger of a trick that forces people to buy in to your ideas and beliefs. But if Jesus couldn’t do it using all the miracles recorded in the gospels, then I’m telling you, we can’t either. Only God himself can soften a heart and that’s the point: the credit can only go to Him.

So what’s the point in trying? Why waste all our time investing in the growth of others if we can’t actually affect change?

1. Jesus did it, and he commands us to do the same. He uses farming analogies to remind us that only God can make a plant grow, but he has given us an important job in planting and cultivating.
2. God kinda has this thing about people: he loves them and enjoys softening and growing them. So it’s not like we’re alone in the effort! In fact Jesus is so confidant in God’s involvement in the discipleship process, that he commands the 12 to “make disciples”... not to “kinda sorta hope that disciples are made”.

Jesus wasn’t working with spiritual FATsos. He related, taught, prayed, listened, and then picked. And what an unlikely bunch it was! But when they finally got it, not only did God get the credit, but they became a force to be reckoned with. They were the guys preaching at Pentecost, taking the gospel to India, healing the sick, casting out demons, managing disputes, and guiding the church with unnatural wisdom.

So if you decide to invest in the lives of others, remember that it’s not about finding the person with the most “potential”. It’s not about anything that we (or our “disciples”*) naturally are or do. It’s about being intentionally obedient to “make disciples” while giving the credit to God for doing what He loves to do: bringing freedom, growth, softening, healing, and obedience to His authority. He loves it when we invest in “lost causes” because that’s where He gets the most credit. That’s where we find ourselves pushed on by the strange wind of His upside-down kingdom.


Here’s one tool I like:

I find it helpful to think about discipleship as involving equal parts of the following (credit to WDA for this one):

Relationship: a deep, intentional friendship with those we disciple
Content: the “stuff” we teach and model
Accountability: our willingness to confront wrong beliefs and hold people to their commitments
Prayer: our commitment to regularly pray with and for our disciples.
Situations: Organic and intentional situations we find ourselves in with our disciples that can be harnessed to encourage growth.

See? R-CAPS: It’s an acronym. Yay! Just remember that if you put “Content” before “Relationship”, it spells CRAPS!



*I use the term “our disciples” to indicate people in whom we are intentionally spiritually invested. It sometimes feels arrogant to talk about “my disciples” but I’m reminded that Paul told the Corinthians to, “follow me as I follow Christ.” Our goal with discipleship is to encourage others to submit to Christ as we ourselves have submitted. So the question is... how deep does our obedience go?

"When Friends aren't Friends Forever"

Two years ago, I lost my best friend. After years of heart-wrenching conflict, agonizing silence, and the judgmental fear typical of a couple 20-somethings, the man who stood up at my wedding—promising to be my friend until we were old codgers sharing beers on front porch rocking chairs—quietly made his exit. And I made mine.

It was the most painful experience of my life. Not just because I lost a friend, but because I knew somewhere deep inside that I could never replace him. For all our immaturity and brokenness, he was a good person and a good friend. And I knew that I may never again have a “best friend” like him. I’m grieving that loss today. Not because I think bestfriendom could never happen to me again, but because:

1. It SHOULD never happen in the sense that I idolized my friend, hoping too deeply for his attention and approval to fill some gaping holes in my heart. It’s a weight no friend should bear.
2. I’m tired of scanning the relational “horizon” for some friend who can fill my best friend’s vacant shoes and provide connection, value, and acceptance.
3. My wife has made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t want the job of needs-meeter (nor would it be healthy if she did).

I guess I’m stuck with God! Trouble is, I’ve experienced God as a meet-er of emotional needs... but only sporadically. There have been times when God’s love and acceptance has overwhelmed me in a way that made my wife go, “what did you do with my husband?!” Then there have been long parched seasons of my tired, crotchety, insecure self whose needs tank always seems to hover right around EMPTY.

I’ve been accused of being rabidly extroverted. But I’m still not buying it. Because I sometimes wonder if I neurotically fill my life with the presence of other people... desperately hoping for a friendly nudge, a word of care, an expression of gratitude, a meaningful connection to take my mind of the black hole of need inside.

Yesterday morning, I looked flinchingly into that black hole and God seemed to whisper, “what would it feel like to give up on your passionate pursuit of relationships to meet your needs?”

I thought for a minute and replied, “It would feel like drinking a smoothie through a straw with dry sockets: constant pain and a loud ‘sucking’ sound. I would always be desperately aware of my need!”

The whisper replied, “and that’s a bad thing?” I reeled, curled into a ball and wept. I mean... like... “healing-your-inner-child-therapy-weekend” wept. After a couple minute of staring down the maw of this deep belief that people will always reject me and that God isn’t strong enough, or kind enough, or consistent enough to meet my needs, I cried, “God you’ve GOT to give me something!” And this is where it gets fun. Because in that moment He did.

The Whisper came back into my head, “go read Matthew 6:8.” I was skeptical, but hopeful. After all, “Bible Roulette” is a dangerous game and has often backfired on me. “Okay,” I said. “This had better be good.” So I set my thumb on my weathered NIV and as if by magic, it fell open to Matthew 6:8. And in the middle of the verse, the words of Jesus leapt from the page and seemed to look me straight in the eyes: “Your Father knows what you need.”

“Your Father know what you need...”

“Your Father knows what you.... need!”

Those 6 words began to catch a rhythm and have been marching around in my brain like a game-day chant now for 24 hours. I’m not totally sure what to DO with them, but they’re becoming a healthier mental loop tape than, “everyone will always reject you.” They don’t yet ring as loud and potent as the lie but I hope that someday soon, they will.

As I process it now, I wonder if my emotional and relational need-chasm was something I thought was obscured from God, or perhaps the shameful little secret that quietly exasperated Him. If He knew how deep my need was, would He freak out and quietly take his leave, saying, “that’s way too much pressure”? Of course, it’s a silly thought. And yet, that’s the response I’ve come to expect from people. So why not God?

The words of Jesus tell me a different story. They say, “The Father knows the black hole of need inside you AND He’s not threatened by it. You look at it with a grimace of shame. The Father looks at it directly and stays with you. Even if he doesn’t make the chasm disappear, he stands with you in the chasm and encourages you to look at it without fear or shame.”

To me, the promise of His presence in my deepest place of need rings truer and more refreshing than a simple promise to “fix it”. If He knows my need and is willing to stand there with me, then maybe I can face it. Maybe someday, I’ll even learn to joke about it! Because the fact of his knowing and His Presence in the midst of my need knocks the teeth out of that lion.

In that reality, the loss of a friend (and the fear of always being alone) is still extremely painful. It makes me sad. But suddenly, I’m not as scared of the pain as I used to be. It doesn’t threaten me as deeply. Because somewhere beyond emotion, I sense the presence of the One who knows what I need and isn’t scared by it.