My new favourite vaccine mock PSA

Anyone who has followed this blog has had to put up with my intermittent vaccine rants.

Here we go again.

Jimmy Kimmel had a little rant on his show this week about vaccines complete with “real doctors” saying why vaccines are important.  I don’t often like Jimmy Kimmel’s humour.  He is sometimes a bit too much for me.  But, this was perfection.

Perfection.

Check it out.  Show your friends.

24 Weeks!

Today is the magical 24 weeks.

Hello, “viability”!

What do I mean? I mean the point in gestation where most North American hospitals consider infants born to have enough potential to live that they will try to resuscitate them. It ranges from 22-26 weeks, but 23 or 24 is the point I was taught.  Plus, at 24 weeks, at least half of the little ones born survive with the help of modern medicine.

As a crazy medical person, this is significant. Because I like my kid and want to keep it around. And because I know how the medical system works and fear the choices I would have to make or have made for me before this point. And yes, there would still be tough choices now and even at 40 weeks. Things go wrong. I know too many bad things. But, I also know the probability of good things increases on a weekly basis from here on out.

So, hooray for babies the size of an ear of corn. Who kick and roll around and grow at a good pace. Who give their mothers lumberjack sized appetites.

I hope this little one keeps cooking.  Because we are literally nowhere near ready for a baby to actually be in the house.  And I still have rotations to finish (and have a (what some people consider) lofty goal of working to 40 weeks).  And like many others, I fear childbirth and want to put it off as long as reasonable.

On a related aside, I’m obviously not a photographic/blog pregnancy documentarian. Those sorts of posts were a strange mix of fascinating and heartbreaking to me before, so I am choosing to skip them.

But, this was a milestone I looked forward to most after the disappearance of the mind numbing morning sickness and the 20-ish week ultrasound. So, I thought I’d share my joy.

Waiting, Anticipation, Hope and Gifts

‘Tis the season of anticipation.

Anticipation of holidays, anticipation of time with family and friends, of presents and for some of us, for anticipation of a celebration of the birth of our Saviour.

Anticipation is a part of waiting. Waiting can be hard. But, sometimes the wait is well worth it.

Look at the Jewish people in the Bible before Jesus’s time. They waited a long time for a Saviour. So long that some had given up hope and many had ideas of how He should look or be.

And of course, in the way God only can do, Jesus came in an unexpected fashion. In a way that defies our human expectations. I think that is so cool.

Sometimes God makes our lives like that. The things we anticipate, that we long for sometimes come in ways that we don’t fully look for or expect. I think it is a good lesson when I look at the way the world is headed or when things aren’t going according to plan. God’s plans sometimes get a bit weird or outside our expectations.

I think anticipation and hope is a form of worship. As we look forward to the Christmas season, I see hope in all kinds of ways, and really if our hope is in the right place and our anticipation is looking forward to celebrating well, it is a good thing.

Our life has recently had some moments where our anticipation and waiting turned into a more discouraging time. As we waited and hoped for a baby to come into and stay in our lives, we began to learn what hoping and trusting looks like when things start to fall away from what we anticipated, when pain keeps creeping in. Sure, we trusted, but I can relate to those who started to think otherwise when waiting on God to do something big. Who let bitterness and distrust sneak in. Because it can be easier to let that happen sometimes. Even though so many awesome things happen every day.

But, cool stuff happens when God is involved. I found out about “the Creature” the day before Patrick’s birthday. I told him as a part of his birthday present. Because after this long waiting, news of a baby really is a birthday present. “The Creature” is due just a few days before my birthday. Pretty cool.

I was thankful for the nausea, for the fatigue. Because that meant something was happening. It was affirming what we had been waiting for. That being said, I then started hoping for it to stop, but continued to (oddly enough) thank God everyday for the barfing (but confirming that it could stop anytime).

Laying in bed one night praying, I came to the realization that so many people had been praying for us, for a maybe baby and how lucky we are to have so many people in our lives who support us and intervene for us. It blew my mind how this was planned by God and seemed so intentional now, even though for so long it just seemed like we were forgotten.

We had our first (and only) ultrasound so far just a couple days before what should have been Elim’s due date. Seeing a flickering heart and a tiny human at a point when my heart was breaking was a big gift in and of itself.

On Friday, we got to hear “the Creature’s” heartbeat galloping along. Merry Christmas. There really still is a tiny human in there who will eventually come out.

So the anticipation continues. For this child, probably for others and all kinds of other things.  And I know it will persist the rest of my life.

The wait was worth it. I see that now. I see the trust that grew from that wait, the witness that it was and the growth we experienced. We learned practical lessons about suffering well and waiting well. In retrospect, I’m glad for the wait. It has taught me about how to love others in the midst of waits.  I think it is helping me to celebrate well.

Sometimes the best gifts come in ways that weren’t planned or expected in our human put-things-in-a-box way. Sometimes our anticipation makes things even better. Although my baby pales in comparison to the epic beauty of the Christmas story, I can see how lessons in waiting and hoping and not putting God into my human realm box can parallel the story and make me get how big it really is to an even greater.

The Cat’s Out of the Bag

So, I have an excuse and an announcement.

I haven’t been posting very often because my life has been consumed with trying to do my job adequately, sleeping and trying not to throw up.

Jeter has helped me out with the announcement part with his new choice reading material…IMG_0463 IMG_0469There is a tiny human growing inside me and in June, the M family will contain 3 humans (and a giant cat).  Really, it has 3 humans now, but one of them can’t live not inside of me.

Because of past events, my healthcare background (aka my insane ability to worst case scenario any possible health event because I have either seen it or have heard of it) and social norms (I know, I’m not always big on social norms, but fear was a big driver in this once) we decided to keep this whole thing on the down low until I hit the “magical” 12 week mark (which I don’t actually think is that magical).  So, now that we have released the gag orders on our parents and best friends and told our friends from our old small group, my “other mothers” and our church family, I get to tell the blogesphere (because not only am I now the kind of person who announces their pregnancy with annoying cat photos, I am the person who tells the internet).

Stuff got so much more real over the weekend (and strangely, will be a bit more real when I hit “publish”).

Funny how other people being in on your little gift from God can do that.

The cat is out of the bag, so they say.

So, yay new life who we celebrate every day because I get such frequent reminders of what a gift it really is.  I know I am so fortunate I am to get to be sick and tired and slowly expansile.  Sometimes waiting for something is hard, but the lessons in that wait are huge.  I keep seeing that piece more and more every day (more on that later too).

To Elim, On Your Estimated Due Date

Dear Elim,

I thought I would write to you on this, your estimated due date, to say a few things that have been on my heart. Had we not lived in this fallen world, you would be in my arms by now or I would be just itching to have you the heck out of me so we could cuddle and do all that newborn-mommy stuff. But alas, that was not how it was to be.

I want you to know first of all that I love you. And I always will. Even though I barely knew you, I know God made you and I will cherish our short time together before you went to heaven to be with Jesus. A lot of other people loved you and mourned your short life too.

I miss you. I miss what could have been. But, I am so happy you are in heaven now. That you are safe and protected and loved. One day, I’ll actually get to meet you and that will be awesome.

You are a gift. You are an answer to prayers and longings. And you were used by God to teach me big lessons about redemption, real love and how to celebrate well and suffer well.

Because of you, I appreciate new lives more. I appreciate the miracle that it is to see a pregnancy progress and babies be born and children who grow. I want to celebrate new lives instead of hiding them with secrets and fear. I will be honest and say, I also know how fragile life can be and it scares me a little and that is okay. I empathize better with other Moms and Dads who have to miss their kids until they see them again for all kinds of reasons.

Because of you, your Dad and I got to learn to lean on God and each other a whole lot more. We got to grow up more (which I’m sure sounds crazy because we are theoretically grown ups, but even grown ups have more growing to do).  We got to see God do amazing things with what seemed like a terrible situation.  That is what He does, but I suppose you had that figured out already.

I been counting down to this day for many months. Not because of some sick fascination or because I wanted to feel sad or bad. Just out of instinct. I like numbers and it is simple math to know where I would have been with you at any given point. Plus, today’s date has been etched in my mind. And to be honest, I wanted to remember when you would have hypothetically come into this world. Just like I will remember when I knew you went out. Because I care. These are important moments, even though others may not see them as such.

You will have brothers or sisters, maybe both someday. I will be grateful for each of them and know them as individuals. I pray every day that they get the chance to grow up and that it will hopefully be a long time before you meet them (no offense). I also pray that they will all one day meet you in heaven. Know that in my heart you will always have a special place and when they are ready and old enough to understand, I will tell them about you.

You count in my kid count in my heart. So, happy “birthday.”

Love you always and forever,

Mom

Learning in Ultrasound: A Person is a Person…

I can’t believe how fast February flew by.  It is Medical Monday again, which means time to link up with some other lovely medically affiliated blogs.  Check them out at the link below.

As you may know, I am on a radiology rotation.

A few weeks ago, I decided it was time I go see some ultrasound imaging.  Other aspects of imaging are more comfortable for me (especially Nuc Med for obvious reasons), but ultrasound is my black box, so I figured learning is good.  So, I am doing ultrasound at the hospital where I usually work.  Lots of livers and thyroids and kidneys.

Then, up on the screen pops up a perfect looking 8 week embryo.  Cool, I think to myself, that might be my kid in another four weeks.

Image from babycenter.com.

I then remembered that all of the obstetrical ultrasounds are generally done at the children’s hospital unless there is someone in emerg.  I asked why this ultrasound was done at the hospital we were at.

Its for the TPU replied the fellow.

Termination of pregnancy unit.

My heart sank.

He said I could leave if I wanted to.  But really, this is part of my learning.  Part of life in a hospital and in this world.

I watched him read four ultrasounds of perfect little embryos between 6 and 11 weeks all with heartbeats and the works.  Perfect little embryos that might have otherwise grown up, although it is tough to say for sure because bad stuff happens.

I went home and cried to Patrick because it seemed so sad and so unfair that these babies had to die when maybe they wouldn’t.  It seemed so unfair that so many women want babies so badly and yet here are people who for whatever reason or circumstance don’t or can’t want their own.

Just over a week later, after losing my own baby, Elim, I sat in that department again.

Yet again, I saw babies getting their photo taken to confirm that they were indeed alive (because the procedure is different if they are alive or dead).  I saw one person who had terminated pregnancies 6 times.

I had an overwhelming urge to go in and yell at these people.  To tell them that I am here, working and trying to piece together what is left of my sanity because my baby died before it would have even been very visible on an ultrasound.  That I really wanted that baby.  That it isn’t fair that they get to choose, but I can’t.  To ask a big huge why.

But, I didn’t.

Because that isn’t fair of me (or very professional).

Their baby dying, my baby dying, really, it is all a loss.  Those kids are all with God now.  They all had potential.  They all died because they were made in a fallen world full of brokenness.

That mom may mourn the loss of her child like I do.  Everybody grieves differently.   Maybe not now, but maybe later.  I have heard of the struggles of moms who make that decision.  And maybe she won’t.  I can’t put myself entirely in her shoes.

We aren’t very good at putting ourselves in other people’s shoes.  We are, however, really good at trying to point out other people’s wrongs.

Image from chzbgr.com.

I’m not here to have the pro-choice or pro-life debate.  In fact, I don’t want to hear it because it is often hurtful, overdone and narrowminded on both sides of the coin.  Sin is sin.  Death is death.   Pain and anguish are universal.   We have free will.  That is all on that.

I read this blog post from The Lewis Note called “Why Miscarriage Matters When You’re Pro-Life.”   It was strangely timely based on the adventures of the last few weeks.  Check it out.

I read this post the night after my second day in the ultrasound department when I was really struggling with the value of life and how we see it as a society.

It rocked my world.  Because it is so true, especially in a Christian context, but I am sure it works for others as well.

I have already experienced both the good and the bad sides of this post.  Some people are really nice.  Other people aren’t.  And some nice people say stupid stuff (I sure do).

Thinking on how I responded to people who lost kids at the same point, I think I had empathy and sympathy for both.  I think I did place more value on the aborted baby.  I also think I had more sympathy for that child’s mother because there was action and potential.

Looking at scans, it is the same.  Already dead babies are already dead, so in a way, it seemed less sad than about to babies about to die.

That isn’t necessarily fair of me.

Both an electively aborted baby and a spontaneously aborted baby were both alive at one point and had potential and value.

And then, there is our approach to the mothers and fathers.

Don’t forget the fathers.  Many people do.

Everyone needs love.  It doesn’t matter how voluntary a loss was, it doesn’t matter how old the child was (although this does often impact they way people can grieve and what is considered “acceptable”).  You need people willing to live the grief with you.  To sit it out with you because that is what you might need, even when it is uncomfortable (just like sitting through scans that are upsetting helps us to learn and grow in a different way).

If you claim to care about a person, to care about life, then you should stand by the mourning no matter what they are mourning and no matter how long that what was alive.  If you want some practical suggestions and examples, check out that post.  I am the first person to admit that I tend to project my feelings on others, so if I think something would weird me out, I tend to avoid doing that for someone else or letting someone do it for me.  I’ve learned that I am often wrong and my assumptions were totally incorrect.  If you aren’t sure how to help or love someone where they are at, ask.

I guess I’m learning more than I anticipated on this radiology rotation.

Breaking The Sound Of Silence

This week’s writing challenge with the Daily Post is called “The Sound of Silence.”

I am choosing to approach the topic from the perspective of breaking the silence on a topic.  One that I have been very reluctant to talk about on here, with most of my friends or family and until recently, God.  And yet, I have been toying with a post on the topic for ages (I did kind of address the issue a bit here).

My silence comes from a place of privacy.  Because people don’t need to know all of my business.

But moreso it comes from a place of shame and jealousy, both of which are sin.

In our current small group, we share what we call redemption stories – stories of how God is redeeming our lives for Him.  This was the topic of my redemption story.

Fertility issues and pregnancy loss are getting more attention these days.  But, still they are little talked about.  Even in medicine.

Although before the last year I could tell you that it is not worth investigating the absence of conception with couples having appropriately timed intercourse until they have been at it for a year (if they are under 35).  I also could have told you that it is very common for pregnancy to end in miscarriage, sometimes even before a woman knows she is pregnant.

Then, I lived it.

The plan was always to have a baby in my PGY2 year.  It is the best year in my program to do this.  More flexibility, you aren’t into the swing of being “on service” all that stuff.

My plan failed.

Because it was my plan.  Not God’s plan.  Not even Patrick’s plan (although he was game for it, he was cool with kids before I was).  The best laid plans can fall apart.  And mine did.

We have existed through month after month of disappointment.  I didn’t know I could experience such disappointment.  It seems not that long ago that we were first married and pregnancy seemed one of the worst things that could happen.

I would sit and church and hear about our all loving and knowing God and how He only wants good in my life and I would wonder where my good was.  I would hear baby announcements and be happy and crushed all at the same time.  I would politely smile and answer an obligatory some day when people would ask when we were having kids.

I know all the textbook answers (okay, not all of them, I haven’t done any obstetrics outside of LMCC studying since Med 3).   I know that I have some family history of fertility struggles.  I also know that there is likely nothing wrong with me to cause this “delay” (it doesn’t change my thinking that there is 50 times per day).

I know miscarriages are common.  That didn’t change the hearbreak I felt when I realized that I had a chemical pregnancy and that my body clearly did not want to house that tiny collection of cells for whatever reason.

I felt alone and defective.

And really, I wasn’t.

I mean, lots of people go through this.  Tons.  In fact, it is perfectly normal to not have a kid first go around, or second or even tenth.  It is also perfectly normal to lose a pregnancy.  It is our body’s amazing way of cleaning up genetic mistakes.

Heck, even Sarah in the Bible had these kinds of struggles and she ended up being huge in history.

By faith Sarah herself also received strength to conceive seed, and she bore a child when she was past the age, because she judged Him faithful who had promised.  Hebrews 11:11

I have friends and a family who I could have shared this with, but I chose to keep it a secret.  I tried to keep much of this grief from Patrick too, but that is nearly impossible.

I did this partly because I am selfish and human and wanted to keep my pain just for me.  Partly because I was angry at God.  And mostly because I blamed myself and felt mind boggling shame.

I’d love to say that one day a light turned on and I felt better about it.  But really, that would be a lie.

God has been working me through it.

I have met people in different phases of the journey.  They are great encouragements.  One person said to me that really, we shouldn’t be ashamed.  It isn’t our story.  It is God’s story.  And He isn’t ashamed. We just don’t see the whole picture.

I have heard someone say that shame is often the devil trying to draw you away from God.  Or that shame is a form of selfishness.  For me, it acted as both.  Shame and selfishness begets more shame and selfishness.  It is a vicious cycle that can draw you away from all kinds of good.  When you get caught up in it, you can only see your own hurt and not the good and rational in the world.

In church, we talked about the difference between fundamental joy and joy that we derive from other things.  I am generally a joyful person.  I find great joy in God and in simple things in life.  In Jesus, we have fundamental joy.  I still felt that joy, but felt like a piece was starting to be missing. I was trying to (and still am much of the time) derive joy from something I didn’t have.  That isn’t fair to me or God.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.  -Romans 15:13

I hate the cliché when people say you need to be satisfied in God before thing X will come about.  But, I think this has been a huge lesson in that.  Especially as someone who has had a pretty darn good life, I have come to realize that I need to be satisfied in God in the times where I feel crummy or am unhappy, not just when stuff is going well.

And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.  -Isaiah 58:11

I have been reminded countless times that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”  It doesn’t always feel like that, but in conversation with a friend this past weekend, I was reminded that the human body is amazing creation that we often just take for granted.  It made me remember that includes my body, so maybe I shouldn’t give it such a hard time.

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.  My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.  Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.  -Psalm 139: 13-16

But more importantly, I am coming to realize that this situation is because of our fallen world and that God is still in it with me.

God is still working me through my sin around these struggles and my shame both when coming to Him and telling others.  But, at least I talk to Him about it now instead of just stewing to myself in my head.

Also, I see purpose in the whole thing.  My growth both emotionally and spiritually has been slow, but significant. I now have a new empathy for people without kids or coping with loss.  I have learned a boatload about what people deal with trying to conceive that could one day help friends or patients.

And one day, maybe soon, we will have a kid and that will be super cool and awesome and I can tell this story and show how huge God was in all of it.  Because really, that is what it is all about (cue musical interlude).

I am a work in progress.  That is what makes us human.

I just hope that this glimpse of my humanness, this break of silence will make a difference for someone else caught up in the web of shame, guilt and worry.  It was a big step for me, at least.

The Church, The Childless and The Challenge

Someone I know from back home posted this article from the Gospel Coalition on Facebook.

How the Church Makes the Trial of Infertility Better (or Worse).

I suggest if you are in the church, or even if you are a part of society co-existing with childbearing age women, you should read it.  It offers some good food for thought.

The church we go to is FULL of young families.  Full.  So much so that almost every week or two there is a birth announcement or yet another couple announcing yet another pregnancy.  It is actually kind of a game — the trying to predict when and who the next announcement is coming from.  And it is awesome.  I mean, so great to see people having kids and sharing in that joy and having babies and kids to hang with all the time.

But, when you really want kids, that can also be sad and frustrating.

I like that the article addressed the struggles and hurt that many people go through and normalized them.

It made me know that we aren’t alone in not having kids and existing in the church in our mid to late twenties because sometimes, where we are now, it feels like the exception rather than a piece of the norm.

This is a good reminder that not everybody can have children or wants to have children or some combination of the two and that these people, like those with families, need love and support too.

Nursery duty

I have been in the nursery at church the past two Sundays.  Last week was my regularly scheduled week and this week, I was asked to help out because one of the people scheduled was home sick.  I have been volunteering in the nursery for the past three years.  I quite like it.  I love babies and toddlers.  Kids once they start talking and such make me nervous in mass, but I can do the babies and toddlers thing.

The thing about doing nursery is that you end up missing church… The service in its entirety because you are upstairs hanging out with the kids.  It sounds really legalistic of me, but I love church services and feel quite disappointed and as if I am missing out on something when I don’t get to go.  I like the community of worship.  I like learning.  I like music.  The actual service gives me all of these things.  But really, it isn’t about me and I am happy to help and worship in giving of my time and ministering to the little children.

I was not exactly pumped about week two of nursery because of the whole missing church again thing, but went up anyway.  There was a reason I had to do it this week.  The other lady I did nursery with was someone I had never met before.  She was older and very nice.  She has been going through a difficult time with the health of her husband and her sons living in another province (interestingly in the city where I grew up).  She told me all about all of this and I just sat and listened while we waited for the kids.  I didn’t have any wise words to say other than “I’ll pray for you,” but by the time the children came, she said that she felt much better having talked about it.  She doesn’t feel she can tell others, as they know her husband and he would be embarrassed.  Sometimes it is amazing how a circumstance can put you in the right place at the right time, even when you thought you were there for another purpose.

Back to the nursery…  Our church is currently going through its own little baby boom.  So, the nursery is packed (well, compared to where I grew up it is packed… I am talking 3-6 babies/toddlers and three nursing moms that come in and out).  Thus, the nursery ministry, or “Welcome” ministry is becoming more and more significant, which is cool.

I love watching these kids grow up.  A few of them have now since “graduated” into Patrick’s “Wonder” ministry.  Now, we get to compare notes on how they are changing and growing.  It is neat to see them crawling, then walking, then talking.  There are two twin boys (identical…. I still don’t actually know who is who most days) that started coming when they were just crawling and are now speaking in full sentences and doing things like learning how to blow bubbles (whist getting more solution on me).  The second Sunday I had them, one cried so much he threw up after his parents left and now they run in and start showing us everything they can find to play with.

The whole baby caregiving thing is also fantastic for my biologic clock.  I am not in the ideal position to be having a child.  Not that there really is an ideal time or position to be having a child.  I will graduate from med school in May, but residency will start in July and the first year or two, in particular are grueling with plenty of call and busy rotations that are outside my area of interest.  Not exactly the setting to be dreaming of morning sickness and screaming children.  If I were to have a baby, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.  If God wants me to, I am there.  But I hope he doesn’t.  Needless to say, I still “want” a baby.  I just don’t “need” one.  Watching other people’s children has been sufficient to soothe my need for cuddles and such and also show me the not-so-sunny side of parenting (tantrums, sickness, fighting).  Good to be aware.  Good for reminding me I don’t want that yet.  But, someday….

Today, one of the little guys was a whirlwind.  Sweet, but busy.  Dump every box of toys out busy.  And he is going through a pushing phase.  So, every now and again, you have to intervene, as he tries to take out another toddler.  Good times.  At one point, he shoved another little girl and I stopped him just before he did.  I told him shoving wasn’t nice.  He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Hitting is bad, shoving is wrong.  I know.”  He proceeded to go do the same thing 5 minutes later.

Its tough when kids go through phases.  His mom said that she is getting so frustrated with his shoving because she has no idea how he picked it up or how to make it stop.  He is a good kid.  He apologized to the little girl and to me.  But then he does it again.  The good thing about phases is that they usually end.  Especially with discipline and positive reinforcement.

We are like the little boy.  We may no longer shove other people, but we have our own phases, even in adulthood.  We do things wrong.  We do things that hurt people.  And we don’t always stop, even though it has been pointed out to us time and time again.

I have this habit of not using my words (funny given I write a blog).  When I am hurt or upset, I shut down.  I show my emotions on my face, so I can’t hide it, but I can choose to not speak.  Drives Patrick nuts.  As it should.  People need to communicate when they are upset or hurt.  I know that.  And yet, I go back to doing the same old thing over and over again.

We all have sin in our lives.  Nobody is perfect.  Sometimes they are things that others can’t see.  Sometimes we don’t yet even realize that what we are doing is wrong.  The thing is, God, like a parent sees us doing these things.  The Holy Spirit guides us to recognize what we are doing as wrong.  He brings others into our lives to rebuke us and to support us in changing.  God will help us to stop sinning.  Like small children, though, we first have to learn that something is wrong.  And even after that, it takes time to remove the sin from our lives.  It takes time to remodel habits.  To learn a better way of coping or functioning.  And like a parent, God will keep reminding us, will keep watching and redirecting with the help of others to make us into the people he planned for us to be.

When I look at the frustrated mother, who has been telling her two year old not to shove, I think, wow, that must be tough.  But when you look at it, God has been telling me not to boast or lie or be spiteful for much of my life.  And I still do it from time to time.  That is a lot more correcting.  It is a good thing He has all the time in the world.  And all the patience.  Because like a good parent, he cares about what we do and wants us to turn out for the best.  He knows that we make mistakes, but that one of those times we will listen and learn.