welcoming babies

...and supporting mothers as we celebrate (one day late) International Women's Day

Welcome back, readers, and welcome, new readers!

In the past few weeks two of us (Marianne and Trudi) have new nieces (hooray for Isabella and Ava), so we thought that we’d write about what it’s like when a baby is born on one of our communities. Welcoming a new baby into a family is a wonderful gift. Welcoming a baby into a community-family is an extra gift: there are more people to celebrate each new life, and more people to give practical support to parents so that those first precious weeks are as joyful and peaceful as possible. Families are the basic unit of our church communities, and families need support in order to flourish. There’s a special exhaustion that a mother feels at the 2:00 am feed, but in community it doesn’t need to be compounded by the exhaustion of piles of laundry, unwashed dishes, disastrous bathrooms, or unexpected medical expenses.

In thinking about new babies, we are keenly aware that, of the 385,000 born into the world each day, many thousands are born into poverty, instability, and war. “Every child is a thought in the mind of God,” wrote Bruderhof founder Eberhard Arnold, and that is true no matter the circumstances of a child’s birth. All the more, each baby’s arrival is a moment of reverent thanksgiving, to be approached in the sense of a lullaby which has been sung on our communities since mother and poet Sylvia Beels wrote it in 1940:

Who would go in must softly go,
Like the shepherds long ago,
For here there sleeps a little child,
Like Jesus, undefiled.

Who would go in must humbly go,
Like the wise men long ago,
For here a little baby lies,
A mystery to the wise.

And who a loving heart will bring,
Brings an offering to a King
For here a little child is born,
Like Jesus, Mary’s son.

Norann with her youngest

Before diving in to the rest of this post, please take a moment to read this reflection on motherhood, womanhood, and friendship written for the centenary of the birth of philosopher and theologian Alice von Hildebrand by Vivian Warren, who got to know and love Alice “Lily” in her last years.

Norann – in Danthonia, New South Wales, Australia

Chris and I were fortunate to be able to welcome each of our three sons not only into our family, but into the Bruderhof community as well. It’s an experience of welcome that I wish for every family and every baby, and one that I continue to cherish and take inspiration from.

Long before our little ones arrived, I had the best prenatal care, both from community doctors and the ob-gyns at local hospitals. Chris was a full participant in all the appointments, scans, and preparation for this new person to join us. My work was adjusted to suit the demands of each pregnancy, and I could prepare my heart and home – as best as possible – for the tumult and wonder that accompanies a new baby. In our communities we don’t do pregnancy announcements, baby showers, or gender reveals, rather, the time of waiting for a baby is one of prayerful expectation, knowing that practical arrangements will be organized when the baby arrives.

Once the little one is safely here, everyone in the community pitches in to support the new family. It’s difficult to describe what it’s like to come home to a house that’s been deep-cleaned (since no one manages much of that at the end of pregnancy), is filled with fresh flowers, baby clothes (often re-gifted from other mothers to get more mileage out of those adorable outfits that don’t fit for long), toiletries, a crib, stroller, and a fully-stocked fridge and pantry. For me, stepping into our family home with a new baby in my arms was always an emotional moment when the tangible love of the entire community enveloped our family.

A day or so after bringing our little one home from the hospital there is the opportunity to share our newborn with the rest of the community. That is a moment of awe and celebration: all these brothers and sisters and children – who have waited with us and prayed for us – are seeing our little one for the first time. The entire community stops work and files by the window of our home – the smiles, the songs, the little fingers pressed to the pane – everyone’s exuberance is a statement of welcome, of commitment, of love.

My nephew and his wife with their tiny daughter (and reflected line of waiting viewers)

And that welcome continues in ways that really matter: fresh meals are prepared daily and delivered to our house, laundry is taken away and returned clean and folded. For the first few weeks, an experienced mother (your own mother, if she lives nearby) comes by for several hours every day to offer a nap, tidy the house, provide feeding support, or share a laugh and a debrief about the lack of sleep last night. I am forever grateful to have had my mother-in-law Nancy, aka “Mom,” present at the births of each of my three sons, and then continuing in a supporting role as “Gram.” This was incredibly reassuring, especially with my firstborn, and her wisdom, encouragement, and helpful tips were invaluable.

I’ve read on social media and heard firsthand from friends about the isolation that many young mothers feel, which may contribute to post-partum depression as well as general exhaustion. Mothers in community aren’t immune from this, of course, but it’s immensely helpful to have daily company, a chance to catch up on sleep, and the regular assurance from someone who’s been through it that you’re doing a good job.

It’s the extended community support that every mother and baby should have the world over.

Our youngest son had a precarious nine months before he arrived which meant I spent a lot of time in hospital – and somewhat isolated – before his birth. A few weeks after he was safely earth-side, one of my friends organized a get-together. There were nibbles and drinks (provided and cleaned up by my friends), spit-ups on every shoulder, and a mid-celebration diaper change – so much down-to-earth joy! It got me to thinking that while the traditional baby shower has its merits, a post-birth baby shower has hands-on benefits to uplift the mother when she needs it the most. But it doesn’t need to end there.

As my parenting journey moves from teenagers and 20-somethings to empty nesting, I remember my own years in the trenches of little-kid-parenting: the tantrums and toilet-training, the lack of sleep and a perpetually messy house.

I remember how someone turning up to offer me a nap, wash the dishes, vacuum the floor, read a story to the restless toddler, or put in a load of laundry would refresh me completely and give me a new perspective to get through the next couple of hours.

Let’s be that person that every new mom should have. Let’s welcome the baby by caring for the mother. A supportive network alleviates stress from new motherhood, and allows the baby and family to thrive.

(And finally, for those moments when sleep eludes all of us especially the new baby, don’t forget the power of a lullaby, and that almost any song can be adapted to lull a little one to sleep.)

Marianne – in Woodcrest, upstate New York

It’s almost fourteen years since Kent and I welcomed our first child, and my experiences then and with the four babies that followed are similar to Norann’s. After months of anxious waiting, it feels like heaven to bring your newborn home. We were blessed with healthy babies, and except one (naming no names) they were all extremely well behaved in their first months. (One made so little noise that I thought he was a mute – he indicated he was hungry by snuffling like a hedgehog – so I was quietly relieved when he shrieked and wept when he got his two-month vaccines. I need not have worried; he never stops talking.) Even so, it would have been slightly less heavenly if I had any of the normal housekeeping and cooking responsibilities in those first few weeks. But I didn’t because – as described by Norann above – these things were done for me. Instead, I held my baby. There’s a seventeenth century poem (with a chorale setting by Bach) about the infant Jesus with the lines “I gaze on thee with wondering eyes / nor can enough behold thee,” and I think every mother knows exactly what this is talking about, and the feeling of being in the presence of a miracle.

I asked some of my friends what they would add to what Norann wrote:

• Happiest memories – especially with our littlest – of cozy afternoon tea time with various wise women such as Oma Juli, who always underscored, “These days will not come back! Take your time and enjoy every special minute.” You always knew that there was an extended family who cared very personally, beyond your relatives.

• I love how many people wish our moms “happy birthday” on the child’s birthday, acknowledging the precious bond between mother and child. My mom always says, “At the first birthday, the celebration should really be of the mother.”

• The medical care and advice was so helpful – home visits from nurses in the first few days, and then careful tracking of the baby’s growth and flourishing. There’s always a nurse on call if you’re freaking out about something.

• Just to reiterate that the company of older women is so helpful, not just for sharing a laugh and practical care, but for reassurance that tears and overwhelm are part of the package, especially for a first-time mom. And the doctors and nurses from our community medical offices know how to look out for and care for someone who is actually struggling with depression and find ways to help. 

• Our neighbor down the hall at the time one of our babies was born was a grandfather who specialized in calming colicky babies, he had a special over-the-arm hold that worked a charm almost every time. When there was a screaming baby in the evening, he would knock on the door and offer to take a turn.

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Since today’s topic is welcoming babies into our church community, I’ll tell about that as well. We’re Anabaptists, and something that’s key about Anabaptists is that we don’t baptize babies, since we believe that baptism should be available to people who have reached the age of accountability. Instead, there is a special church ceremony for new babies known as a “Darstellung” [presentation]. The German word goes back to Anabaptists of the sixteenth century from whom this tradition is inherited. We also remember how Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to be presented in the Temple, and the joy and thanksgiving of Simeon and Anna. So during a worship meeting, the parents present their baby to the church, laying him or her in the arms of a minister in acknowledgment that all life belongs to God. A prayer is said for the health and protection of the child, and that the parents be granted wisdom to raise the little one in the fear of God. The minister then lays the baby back in the arms of his or her parents, acknowledging their God-given task to care for and love this new person. Then there is a chance for everyone to see the baby, who is carried around by the proud dad while the whole community sings. There are time-honored, childlike songs for this occasion: “We thank you, loving God / for every little thing / But for babies, sweet and small / we thank you most of all.” There’s a Mexican folk song that starts “At the gates of heaven little shoes they are giving / For the little barefooted angels there living” and a Scottish song “Hushaby, birdie, croon, croon,” other lullabies from Holland, Jamaica, Germany, Ireland, the Isle of Man, and many written on our communities – you’ll have to come visit a Bruderhof to hear them.

Kent shows our first daughter to the community at an outdoor gathering. Isn’t she lovely?

Trudi – in Yeongwol, South Korea

I am not a parent so I imagined I’d let Marianne and Norann take this blog and run with it. But I gave it some more thought and I want to tell you about me! I was born—don’t laugh—in 1998. My parents and siblings welcomed me with boundless joy! Our home in East Sussex, England was not far from the lovely white cliffs known as “The Seven Sisters.” How appropriate that I was my parents’ seventh daughter. (Later my mom outdid the famous cliffs when she had my two younger sisters.)

The Seven Sisters

So yes, “It’s a girl!” happened nine times over for us. Each time, the big sisters—in the care of an aunt or neighbor—were eagerly waiting for the phone call from Dad. I only remember when number nine was born: six-year-old me had been hoping for triplet boys so one little girl-baby was relatively disappointing. But I like her now.

I’m sure many people thought “wouldn’t it be nice if the Brinkmanns had a boy”. Sure, my mom said she wished she could use my father’s name on a son, and my dad wished the family name could be carried on, but none of us daughters ever felt like a burden or a disappointment at all. Ask my mom and she’ll say “well, I wouldn’t want to trade any of you for a boy!” Each girl was a precious gift of God, and as it turned out, quite lovable.

Before writing, I pulled out several notebook pages of journal entries hand-written by my mom and dad just hours after I was born. The way they write you’d think they were first-time parents: they rejoice over my safe arrival and marvel over the miracle of Creation. They write their musings about me, a tiny, unique human being: unknown to them and yet familiar at the same time. My mom describes the view from the hospital window, and the other moms and babies on the ward. She records the timing, my weight, her first impressions of my character, my lack of hair, and more. My dad writes just as much about me and includes details like fueling up the car in preparation to drive to the hospital—you know, dad-details. But he also writes his favorite way to hold me and get me to sleep. Five of his daughters are married and have children of their own now, but he still has more experience with scrubbing out cloth diapers and getting restless infants to sleep than all of them do combined.

The journal entries are so precious to me. Not more than ten pages but they cover the part of my life that I don’t remember, assuring me that I was loved long before I even knew day from night. They also amuse me: my mom writes “That would be funny if you turned out to have red hair. . .but it will probably be blonde”. Check my profile pic for results.

Thanks for the sketch, Mom.

Recently, a couple from our Yeongwol community made a trip to India and on their return, our conversations included the disparagement of females in Indian society and culture. Among other reasons, the dowry system makes a daughter a greatly unwanted financial burden, a drain on the family’s wealth. In one village they visited, if a baby girl is fortunate enough to be born (abortion is the most common way to avoid daughters) there is no celebration. If it’s a son, the whole family and village celebrates. What a contrast to the way in which I, and each of my eight sisters were received.

My parents’ love for me is a translation of God’s unconditional love. Too few babies are welcomed like I was, let alone raised in the knowledge of that love. I have been given much. However, while my parents might hold me in their hearts and talk with me on the phone now and then, I am an adult and do not live with them. I have ultimately learned to rest in the arms of my Heavenly Father. I have to do that daily. We are all God’s children, and reading and trusting the words of Psalm 139 welcomes each of us into our existence as the beloved of our Creator.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. (Psalm 139: 13-14)

Recommendations

Norann

What I’m reading: I’m teaching Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle to my Year 11 American Literature Class, Chaim Potok’s The Chosen to my Year 12 Advanced English Class, and balancing both of those extremes with pieces from Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter.

What I’m listening to: I’ve had a few writing deadlines recently with themes around Lent and Easter. This playlist from Margaret Rizza has been both inspirational and helpful to think, write, and rise to.

Marianne

What I’m reading: The same sister (I have two others) who is the mother of my beautiful new niece also just wrote a beautiful tribute to a woman I love dearly, Ellen Keiderling. It’s the story of their improbable friendship which lasted over a decade, a friendship that was carried on, after my sister left home, by letter during years when Ellen’s Alzheimer’s was progressing. Please read it: “Letters from a Vanishing Friend”

What I’m listening to: The great Vicky Leandros sings in a number of genres, but the song that’s on repeat in our house is an anthem about a stubborn donkey: “Theo, wir fahr'n nach Lodz” – I’ve never heard someone make quite such a meal of a word as she does with “Lodz.” Now that I’ve heard this song several dozen times I’ve developed a theory that it’s a parable about how stupid obstacles [the donkey] prevent you from reaching your dreams [Lodz] but really it’s just a fun catchy song by a lady with a terrific voice who is having an absolute ball singing it.

Trudi

What I’m reading: I’ve been reading The Inner Voice of Love by Henri J.M. Nouwen. It’s a must read. The subtitle “A Journey from Anguish to Freedom” perhaps gives an idea of the depth of content. By sharing his most personal journal, Nouwen left a Christ-centered guide for any of us who long to find freedom, no matter how big or small our pain has been.

What I’m listening to: Today Yeongwol community celebrated the arrival of warm weather with a spontaneous listen to “Spring” from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. The violins are like birds and breezes and flowers all at once. I have spring fever and I don’t know but I might listen to it again several more times. Dust off a vinyl or search it on spotify, you must try it!

And now, to end: a recipe!

Contributed by Trudi

Alright, I know you probably won’t try this recipe but I can’t not share it with you! It is SO delicious and SO appropriate for this blog. Read on. . .

It just so happens that it is a friend’s birthday tomorrow and I will be making the traditional soup Koreans enjoy on their birthdays. Seaweed Soup with Beef. Miyeok Guk, 미역 국.

. . .what it looks like when made for twenty people.

This highly nutritious soup is served to new mothers and therefore young Koreans grow up eating it every birthday to appreciate and honor the effort their mother made in bringing them into the world.

Even if you don’t make the soup, click the link and read the recipe for a fascinating cultural explanation. Koreans know how to celebrate motherhood!

Thanks for reading! We’re happy to answer any questions you may have or take suggestions for future topics.

Wishing you the best,

Trudi, Marianne, and Norann