This a post for the Chronicles of Bennage, so that these memories of our family are not lost in the deep wood. It's a bit long, and you won't miss much (except for my immensely clever and provoking dialogue) if you skip this post.

Prolouge

Kaniel will be three weeks old in a few more hours. I'm lying on a hospital bed at TMH in the pediatrics wing. When we were here recovering from his birth a mere 20 days ago, the doctor said that Kaniel appeared to be our medically easy baby. We celebrated immediately, as Ranen's first few days were somewhat hectic and not medically easy. Medically easy is also nice when you have minimal health insurance and high deductibles, but we can discuss that topic at a later time.

On Thursday, the 24th I was feeling a little wonky after dinner. (By the way, wonky is currently my favorite word. I thought that maybe I had invented it, but Sandra said no.) So I was after-dinner wonky, but early-morning sick. I thought maybe it was food poisoning at first, but Ranen had slight symptoms, and both Rob and Anna were a little sick too. It lasted through Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and yes into Tuesday a bit. Luckily, my mother was in town to help with the kids.

Well, on Monday the 28th, my parents took Adah and Ranen to Panama City as a generous act of facilitating our rest. (Thanks again Dad!). Sandra and I thought that we'd have few peaceful and productive, albeit lonely days.

Tuesday night, Michelle brought over dinner, but get this, it was really breakfast. She brought breakfast for dinner. So I gorged myself on grits because that seemed reasonable after having eating almost nothing for so many days. But more importantly, she thought Kaniel was Warm.

Now it's important to note here that Sandra and I can sometimes do things on our own. Things like: recognize it when our kids are sick. That Tuesday night though we could only eat grits.

Kaniel was running a temperature: 101.4. (Did you know that you have to get that reading rectally, as in, in the hiney?) Sandra called the nurse, and the nurse called the doctor, and then the nurse called us back, and she said: go to the hospital.

These are not words you want to hear.

The Emergency Room

We arrived at the ER about 8:30pm. The  triage nurse commented that we were calm parents, I guess because we were merely not hysterical. They moved quickly and we were in an ER room by 9:00pm. It was austere, and melancholy. There was a fat man sitting in the doorway, keeping company to his friend on a gurney in the hallway. He was wearing a t-shirt that said "I can fix anything" and  he had one of those skullcap biker helmets dangling from his hand. His chair faced directly into our room. He sat there, not unhappy, staring dumbly into our direction.

Totally. creeped. me. out. I stood in between him and Sandra in order to block visibility. I would have closed the door, but he was in it. Thankfully, the nurse told him he couldn't be there and she shut the door.

They told us that the Standard Procedure for anyone under six weeks with a fever is the Big Whambooey. The Big Whambooey consists of drawing blood from an IV, taking a urine sample (by catheter if necessary), and cerebrospinal fluid by way of a spinal tap. Basically, they want all the major body fluids so that they can check for everything, or anything that might be causing the fever.

The IV took two nurses and two tries. It was hard to watch. The idea of spinal tap (or lumbar puncture) startled me, but the doctor was explanatory and honest, and it was soon over with minimal fuss from Kaniel.  The catheter though, that is not something any man need witness being done to any other man. So I got down low next to the bed and stared Kaniel in the face until it was over.

After this assortment of parent-harrowing procedures, they said they would be giving him rounds of antibiotics every 8 hours for two days. If at the end of two days, if everything was okay, they would let us go.

The doctor's first guess was that Kaniel had simply caught whatever I had had. Talk about guilt, but at the same time this was genuinely the best case.

Pediatrics

We were in that austere and melancholy room from 9pm to 2am.

A fun nurse (that totally could have turned a certain set of Strickle twins into triplets) escorted us up to the second floor, to the pediatrics wing. 

The comedy here is that they were resurfacing the floor on our hallway. So from 2am to almost 5am, we listened to the sounds of grinding and scrapping, not just in the hall, but on our actual door frame. At 4am, bleary eyed and flustered, I asked the workman if there was any way he could come back later as we had had so little sleep. He nodded and mumbled and left. However, the later was just 30 minutes. FAIL.

Since then, it's been a matter of sleeping and monitoring Kaniel. The day has fortunately been uneventful. His fever seems to be going away, so we are hopeful of being discharged on Friday morning.

Gratitude

I just want to add that we appreciate all of the offers to help today, and the visits, and prayers, and the love. It is a good village that we live in, and we are glad to be a part of it. As the band Lazlo Bane sang:

I can't do this all on my own
no, I know
I'm no superman

Labels: Kaniel, life

I've been listening to the audio book of G. K. Chesteron's Heretics thanks to the marvelous site LibriVox. The book is a catalog of the beliefs of prominent people of Chesterton's day and how they are wrong.  It sounds presumptuous to modern ears, but he speaks of his opponent with more respect than any of us generally do. But I digress...

In his chapter on George Bernard Shaw he wrote this:

The truth is, that all genuine appreciation rests on a certain mystery of humility and almost of darkness. The man who said, "Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed," put the eulogy quite inadequately and even falsely. The truth "Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall be gloriously surprised." The man who expects nothing sees redder roses than common men can see, and greener grass, and a more startling sun. Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall possess the cities and the mountains; blessed is the meek, for he shall inherit the earth. Until we realize that things might not be we cannot realize that things are. Until we see the background of darkness we cannot admire the light as a single and created thing. As soon as we have seen that darkness, all light is lightening, sudden, blinding, and divine. Until we picture nonentity we underrate the victory of God, and can realize none of the trophies of His ancient war. It is one of the million wild jests of truth that we know nothing until we know nothing.

Sandra and I frequently hailed the value of no having expectations.  I mentioned it in my last post.  I think it's applicable to every realm of life. I think that's why I really and genuinely enjoyed Speed Racer when almost everyone else did not. I obviously think it's important in marriage, but I'd add friendship and parenting to the list.

People who are bored are bored because they know what's going to happen. They've seen it all. They know what to expect.  That's why little children are so glorious, so wild-eyed (and so faithful). The world is new and the razor edge of youth is undulled.

Labels: life, philosophical rant, reflection, thoughts

We celebrated our 10 year anniversary on May 22nd, 2008. Over those ten years, Sandra and I have frequently discussed our marriage philosophy, but have only been so bold as to deliver to to receptive a few newly weds. Still, the ideas frequently bubble up in my mind, and I've begun to regret my general philosophical reticence.

I first began to write this out as an argument from scriptural authority, basing my opinion on a couple of controversial Pauline passages, but that's not really how the ideas took root in my mind. I think it would be better to walk you through the same mental progression that I experienced.

Some Observations

Sandra and I like to watch people. It's actually a little bit obnoxious. We'll be at restaurant, notice an odd party across the room, silently observe, and then compare notes in the car. Well, we do that when the kids aren't around. It's not judgement or condemnation we're interested in, just the story, their story, the mystery of the human condition.

Being like this, we can't help but notice the marital relationships of those that are going before us. When comparing notes here, we began to see a pattern. We first identified it in couples that had been married for 20+ years. In particular, couples that were still married, but with high tension.

The pattern was this:

Men are passive. They make jokes about always saying "yes, dear", or worse, they genuinely acquiesce with the phrase. They tunnel into work or a hobby. They delve into television, sports, or a workshop; any sort of metaphorical cave that their wife is unlikely to enter.

They recede. They cease to be romantic. They aren't buying chocolates, roses, or little surprises. The marriage becomes mechanical, and they sincerely think of their spouse as the ol' ball and chain.

Women become aggressive. They are irritated with their husbands, and belittle them without a second thought. They nag, and cut, and curse, and bleed their men. They convert from their husband's chief fan to his chief critic.

They harden. They cease to believe that he cares. They have no desire for the bedroom. The marriage becomes mechanical, and they sincerely think of their spouse as the ol' ball and chain.

Yes, these are stereo types and generalities, but they are common. They happen all the time. These characteristics are pronounced in so many veteran married couples.

This was what Sandra and I saw. At first, just here and there (people often hide these behaviors), but as we learned to watch, we saw it more and more. We drew up a standard summary of the way couples operate, we cataloged the type and moved on. We had a diagnosis of other peoples' illness. And then one day <gasp> we saw the beginnings of these symptoms in ourselves.

We All Bleed Red

There are many things that are common to all people. Some are essential: food and breath. Some are quintessential: first kisses and first children. In the sense that I use it, the word "common" does not mean "without exception". It means "very likely that this will happen to you."

There is a little rhythm that is established between a husband and wife. It is a rhythm of little wounds. Something said at a party about how one never cleans the kitchen. A harsh word spoken in public because of last night's argument. Jokes about their sex life. Jestful, but jabbing. It might take other forms as well, but the result is the same. One spouse hurts the other. It's a little hurt, a tiny thing. They do it because they had an expectation that was not met. That is one key: they expected something that they didn't get

We are cowards for the most part and rather than confront our spouse with an honest delivery of our expectations we revert to childish name calling and passive aggressive pokes that we ought to have left in high school.

Here is a second key: we are too scared to be honest. We had high expectations about marriage, and now we're too chicken to admit it to the one we purportedly care about the most. It is our pride that prevents us.

I said we saw some of the symptoms in ourselves. What we saw where the germs of the behavior. The seed that when watered by years of blindness grow into those gross caricatures that I initially described.

With Sandra and I, it started over little things, comical things, things that I am almost embarrassed to write. How often we ought to sweep the floor, how often we ought to have sex. We would have opinions (expectations) that we never voiced. Often in my case, I didn't even understand what my expectations were. I had to dig and search and weigh my heart to find them. For Sandra, some expectations seemed so apparent to her that it was astonishing when she discovered my ignorance.

One friend told me a story, and while I can't recall the details, the gist of it was this: he'd come from work, find the kitchen dirty and his wife watching TV. He would get irritated and go play video games instead of talking to her. One day during an argument, she confessed that she purposefully left it dirty as a silent protest to him playing video games instead of hanging out with her.

There is the cycle, there is the rhythm. We wound out of pride and cowardice, because the surgery frightens us. Every time a man is wounded, he recedes deeper into the cave. Every time a woman is hurt, she cuts back in little slices.

We are Adam and Eve, we silently let our wives bite into mortal fruit. Our first father was as passive and cowardly as the rest of us.

I will admit, it is hard and scary to break this cycle. It is even hard to see it in ourselves. We don't want to admit it about ourselves. Nonetheless, Sandra and I have seen it in virtually every place we've cared to look. The degrees have varied, but rarely has the sickness.

Back to Paul

With all of these observations bouncing through my mind I read Colossians 3 seemingly for the first time:

¹⁸Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord.

¹⁹Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them.

Controversy surrounds these verses, and I know of cases when it has been harshly and cruelly abused. But I do not think this is a command in the sense it is frequently taken, I think Paul is making a prescription for a diagnosis. I think this is medicine for the problem I've just outlined.

I'll address the men specifically, because I have a good deal of experience being one. (Perhaps Sandra can cover the women.)

We are told to love our wives, but instead we submit. It is our natural tendency. What more does the phrase "yes, dear" mean if it is not submission? True, it is an ugly, puerile, and demeaning submission that alienates the action required by love. (There is another submission that is not like this.)

No, we are told to love our wives and this we cannot do this from inside caves. We cannot love our wives when we are passive. Our tendency to recede is a tendency towards death. It is inaction, and the antithesis of manhood. As DC Talk so eloquently said it: luv is a verb.

Love is measured in action: the young Romeo, or even better, the young George Bailey lassoing the moon for Mary. When love is young, and the fire is bright, we men commit to action. It is the nature of love to act.

One night a while back, my son Ranen had a poopy diaper before falling asleep. As little boys are wont to do he plastered it all over his crib and body. Unfortunately, he fell asleep anyway and woke a hour or so later covered in dry, crusty crap. I have no love of poop, and in general I avoid all contact with it, but when I saw my son crying and covered, confused and wanting to be held, I acted. It could not be helped. I tore off my shirt, and I held him. We went to the bathtub, and I held him, and washed him, and comforted him. It was an awesome experience for me as a father, because through it I began to learn what it meant to love so fiercely.

Circadian Wounds

As I mentioned earlier, this sickness is a rhythm and the beat grows stronger over time. As we men become inactive and passive, our wives interpret it as lack of love, and rightly so. They are hurt by our posture, hurt by their dearest, and like so much love gone sour their pain is vented through bitter words.

Though we men are loathe to admit it, the opinion of our wife, her opinion of our worth, is paramount. The subtle, biting words, the small humiliating moments when she treats us as children, the conspicuous absence of physical intimacy: these erode our worth and diminish our spirit. The sum of her demeanor is the very buttress of our heart. So when those wounds come from her, we are hurt and recede and she is hurt more.

Men, here is your call to arms. Be watchful, abolish your pride, and fight for your bride. When you are hurt, confess it. When you have expectations, be honest about them. Initiate conversation and discover her expectations. Gird yourself like a man and ask her when you have hurt her, then show courage and reconcile.

The tendency towards laziness and complacency is in our blood, but we should not go gentle into that night. Nothing on this earth surpasses the ecstasy of a healthy marriage. There is no glory this side of heaven that exceeds the wonder of husband and wife connected in spirit and mind and body. This, of all of things, is worth a fight.

Closing Thought

I said earlier that there is another submission. One that is good and sacred and is not born of wounds and fear and cowardice. In fact, this other kind of submission is a central idea in Christian ethics. There is in implication of it in the golden rule. Paul describes it as esteeming others better than ourselves. By it I infer that in marriage there is a mutual submission. Just as in the Christian life there is a general submission when we lay aside our pride and our selfishness, and begin to love our neighbor.

Labels: marriage, philosophical rant

I guess we have a reputation for odd names, so perhaps the name of our new son is not too much of a surprise. For those of you who don't know us so well I should explain: we are mystics. Now, I personally think it's rather ironic since we are drenched in the sciences, and often rational to the point of morbidity. Nevertheless, there are two side to the brain, and likewise there are two sides to the soul. There is logic and there is poetry. These two together compose truth.

The name Kaniel is Hebrew. Even though I haven't confirmed this with my Jerusalem-based linguists, I understand the name to mean "God is my reed", or more metaphorically "God is my support". We've chosen to anglicize the pronunciation so that it rhymes with "Daniel".

Going into this pregnancy I had a lot of fear and trepidation. We knew all of the things that could go wrong. (Ever noticed how knowledge often breeds fear?) I was more anxious, and had less peace than with our other children. At the same time, many, many people were praying for Sandra and Kaniel. They were praying specifically that her labor would go quickly and that Kaniel would be healthy. Well, it did.

We chose the name Kaniel because we believe that God was merciful and gracious and supported us. We wanted our son's name to reflect our gratitude and thankfulness.

We chose the middle name North for a couple of reasons. The most mundane being that his life began in Boston. (ReMix 07 was exciting, what can I say?) Boston is special to us, we have dear friends and good memories there. We wanted his name to be connected to the area, and since we live so far south of New England...

This next bit might sound silly, but Sandra was eating True North nuts at the hospital, and reflecting on the use of the phrase "true north" to mean "finding one's direction and purpose in life". Passion and intent mean a lot to us. We're into the idea of living life deliberately.

Finally, there is the poetry of Job:

Out of the north he comes in golden splendor;
God comes in awesome majesty.

The Almighty is beyond our reach and exalted in power;
in his justice and great righteousness, he does not oppress.

Therefore, men revere him,
for does he not have regard for all the wise in heart?

Labels: birth, Kaniel, life

Here's a photo of the little man from just a few minutes ago. While I was able to catch some sleep this afternoon, little man here kept mom awake nursing almost the whole time.

He was born at 9:33 AM today, 9lb. 2oz ad 20.5 inches. He came out kicking and screaming. (Which was an enormous relief.)

In total, Sandra labored for about 18 hours and we're guessing that the pushing part of labor was only about 20 or 30 minutes. It was the easiest labor of the three kids.

Adah and Ranen got to meet their brother around lunch time, and despite the not-so-ancillary excitement of lollipops and presents, they were very sweet with their brother. Ranen was immediately interested in holding him, so he and Adah sat on my lap and I rested the new guy in their arms.

I know the big question is his name. In short, we haven't settled on one yet, but it will be soon.

I'm uploading additional pictures here.

Labels: birth, Kaniel, life

Tonight we had an early dinner at Chili's (an odd choice for us).  Sandra was having contractions, but a few here and there has been very common over the last week. However, by the time we left for home at 6:30, the contractions were noticeably different.  Lower and more regular.  It's been averaging out to about 7 minutes in between since then.
I think we'll be headed to the hospital before morning. I have Michelle Rutherford on high alert, and my parents are already on the way.  The Strickland's will be holding vigil in the waiting room. I think we maybe ready.
To cover you while you wait, here's the stories of Adah and Ranen (remember to read from the bottom up).
I'll be posting updates on twitter and  FriendFriend, it's the same content so take your pick.
It looks like #3 will be born on Vance's birthday.
Please pray for a safe and speedy labor, for #3's health, and for Sandra's rest (well, perhaps a word or two about keeping medical expenses down as we're paying for the birth out of pocket.)
;-)

Grace abounds...

Labels: birth, Kaniel, life

I've often meant to post my thoughts on this blog.  Though I'm not really certain how entirely appropriate that is.  We've established a tacit contract of kid photos, emotional catharses, and state of the unions addresses.  So perhaps my pseudo-philosophical ramblings aren't meant for this feed.  Most of them originate in the shower, and  that's where they stay: washed down the drain.

The taste I've had of real writing has me somewhat feverish lately and even though the whim often drowns in the sea of the mundane (I haven't solved the money problem), the whim is persistent.

All of this is to say "lookout".  I intend to blog some of the things that are bouncing around in my head that have nothing to do with the Bennage family in Tallahassee.  At least, the posts won't seem to have a direct link to said family.

I'll tag the posts appropriately, so that you can skip them.

In medias res.

Labels: philosophical rant