Brokenness: suicide

My friend works in the women's ministry of a very big church.
Last week,
a woman who attended the ministry took her own life.

The woman was depressed,
tormented even,
and wasn't supposed to be left alone or around any kinds of pills.

But hours of solitude however brief
can somehow slip into a day.
And rather than pills slipping down a throat,
the slip of a noose will work just as easily.

And this young mother's brokenness slipped away...
leaving a family to pick up the pieces for a lifetime.

There is the tension between hurt and healing, healing and loss.
There are the faces stuck in that tension,
Daughters.
Husband.
Parents.
Friends.
A kind of purgatory.

One face so caught was the counselor at church who offered his presence to her.
He heard of her death,
and like the women who went to clean Jesus' body,
he went to her home
and cleaned the fluids that had leaked out of her broken life.
An act of love
of sacrifice
creating a space of healing
for those who mourn,
for those left with the tension.

And so,
maybe part of the mercy in brokenness,
is an act of service and sacrifice,
that eases the tension
softens the hurt,
becomes a hand to hold,
and offers a way to say good bye.

I offer no easy answers here for the loss of life,
for understanding taking one's life,
or even mental illness.
I leave us with that tension.

But I do offer the image of one man,
serving what was left of a broken life
and I think:
I want to be like him.

Painting titled Entombment of Christ by Garafalo, 1520

Intentional family prayers: Racism

And here is where I tell you what I am working on in terms of a book.

It will be a book of Intentional Family Prayers.
Available as an e-book at first.

My hope is that it will foster intimacy in a family between members of that family and with God.
Look for it in the beginning of September.

For now,
I offer this prayer time regarding racism.
It will be part of a series of prayers in the book,
all using different types of contemplative prayer styles as well as praying through various issues.

My hope,
is that in light of all that has happened in the last year regarding race,
and because of the massacre that took place in Charleston when Christians were murdered as an act of hate against the color of their skin,
that families will use this to not only open themselves to discussion,
but also to change.

Because prayer is the deepest of conversations,
and one of the most vulnerable of intimacies...
it can shift everything.
And it can root us.

A Contemplative Prayer of Repentance for Racism

Light a candle and place it on a table around which your family gathers.
Watch the flicker of the flame, note the warmth it brings, the illumination.

Reader #1: John 1:5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.

Head of Household #1: Take a moment to reflect on dark places in your heart: jealousy
                                                                               unforgiveness
                                                                               hate

Now, bring these to Jesus, the Light of the world,
Who came for all people, all creation,
Who broke down dividing walls,
Whose resurrection is redeeming the earth.

Just as light consumes darkness,
So does the finished work of Jesus consume our darkness.

Breathe in deeply, exhale slowly.
Repeat this breathing for as long as the members in your family can,
focusing on the light of the candle, remembering this represents Jesus,
considering the work of restoration between all peoples He has completed

Head of Household #2:
Jesus~
Our redeemer
We come as a family to say we have not
viewed all people the same.
Fear has been our friend
and a history of exclusion rather than embrace
has kept us from welcoming another.

We want to be a family that embraces all,
Just as you do.
We repent of anything but reconciliation and restoration.

In Jesus Name.

Reader #2: John 8:12 Jesus spoke to the people once more and said, "I am the Light of the world. If you follow me, you won't have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Should you have further questions about the upcoming e-book or regarding racism, reconciliation, and restoration, comments are welcome.

Beauty and a McDonald's Playland

The other day

I was with my kids at Mc Donald's (again).
My husband was gone for an 11 day trip,
and I was doing whatever I could to make the time easier.
This included a playland and happy meals.

And it seems in that sticky maze of tunnels and slides,
I'm usually led to something beautiful.

This day it was a little boy named Alex.
He had Down Syndrome.
And because I'm having a baby later in life,
I view children like this differently than I did in the past.
My heart doesn't ache with the hurt of their life,
but rather the promise.

We were the only ones in the playland that day,
me, my kids, Alex, and his big brother and girlfriend.
Sophie was singing from the Frozen soundtrack to Alex and asked him if he wanted to dance with her.
He didn't respond,
but followed her around anyway.
I thought: should our baby be born Down Syndrome,
our kids will never know life any differently.
The life this baby adds to our family,
will be the only life they ever know.
It will be the norm.

And my heart grew huge with this beauty.
A big sister asking a baby to dance,
singing songs,
asking him if he wants to build a snowman,
much like any other child.

I asked Alex's  big brother how old his brother was and he said: almost eight.
And then added: he's had a difficult time.
I thought he meant having Down Syndrome, and so I nodded,
but then he added: On December 11, 2012,
he was diagnosed with leukemia.
He continued: but he's been fighting it and right now he's doing okay...
It's harder, you know, with the Down Syndrome.

I looked at that little boy again and tried to understand
the how and why of justice when
this sweet boy, who already had so much stacked against him,
would be handed the further complication of cancer.

And in the muggy haze of a Mc Donald's playland,
I was not given an answer
to the justice questions of our world.

But I was a witness to this:
The first time Alex climbed to the top of the bright tunnels,
and rode a salty slide down,
he hopped off the lip of the ride,
looked at his brother
and threw his fist in the air.
With pride.
With joy.
And his brother threw his fist in the air, too.
And there they were,
celebrating something so tender
so vulnerable,
but so strong,
that it could only be described as Beauty.

And I think,
in that victory,
I saw something living and breathing and eternal,
more real than anything we can see or touch or feel.
I watched injustice shake with the promise of defeat.

And I heard the echo of a promise:
a little child will lead them.

I think that child will look a lot like Alex.
Beauty.

I burst with the promise of this hope.

I'm 42...and having a baby.

About 13 weeks ago we learned we were having another baby.

Our third, 

in almost as many years.

I'd wanted another child,

and my husband graciously agreed.

We decided, though, that if a baby wasn't conceived by the time I was 42,

we would be done and content with the two little ones we'd be given.

Don't ask me why 42. It was just when we decided to stop.

And here is the part of the story you may not care about,

and my husband won't want me to share...still, it means so much to me.

My birthday is in May,

and in the natural wave of cycles, 

the last time we'd be able to conceive before my 42nd birthday,

was in April.

In April, when my husband would be in Bolivia.

Which meant that when there wasn't a baby in March,

we were done.

Sometimes the natural ebb and flow of life catches us off guard.

It snows in June.

December is unseasonably warm.

A baby is conceived when you didn't think it possible.

And in the last hour, 

before the 'deadline,'

He who knew the impossible,

does the incredible.

And Sarah laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday,

At 18 weeks,

I had a sonogram.

We were excited because we knew we'd learn our baby's gender.

We also knew we'd hear whether the baby was developing the way it should.

Up until this point,

at every OB appointment I'd been to,

I'd been reminded of my age.

In Oregon, the paperwork said I was: elderly.

Both doctors I saw

and all the lab techs

asked me at that first appointment,

whether I'd be doing genetic testing.

No, we wouldn't be.

And again, it was reiterated, that I was advanced maternal age.

Now, I don't have anything against genetic testing. 

We did it with our second baby.

And with this child, with overwhelming certainty,

we decided against it.

After all, results of a test wouldn't change anything for us. 

We'd carry this baby to term and raise it. No matter what.

And at our second OB appointment, the doctor asked again...

said that it would give us peace of mind to do the testing.

I said: I have peace.

So, I signed a waiver stating that I didn't want any genetic testing.

At the next appointment,

my doctor asked for a sonogram

to check the baby's development.

Which brings me to yesterday.

Late afternoon,

sitting in a stuffy over stuffed waiting room...waiting.

After an hour of hearing other people's names being called,

 I needed to use the restroom

and told the lady at the counter.

She said: ok....and the genetic counselor is almost ready to call you.

I replied, with a quick blink of unbelieving eyes: ok.

I had no idea I'd be seeing a genetic counselor.

I'd refused genetic testing...why did I need a counselor?

I'd already been told by quite a few too many medical specialists, 

that I am old to be having a baby.

A young woman,

she was nice

and smiled a lot

when explaining what they'd be looking for in the sonogram.

She asked me to sign,

again,

a waiver stating that I didn't want any genetic testing.

I asked if we'd learn the gender...

and then realized that she had made a mistake and I was further along than she'd thought...

and everything she'd just said was no longer valid.

Instead, they'd be measuring the baby's development,

and yes,

we'd learn the gender.

Then,

that nice smiling young lady,

pulled out a chart,

and with one finger

traced the numbers down the page,

landing at 42

and told me the chances of giving birth to a down syndrome baby,

and then the chances of giving birth to a baby with some other chromosomal abnormality.

Her head was bowed,

looking at this chart of numbers...

ages and percentages and statistics

that whittled the miracle of our baby 

of this conception

of life

down to a value that we did not hold.

And my eyes filled and my lip trembled.

And I swallowed hard against tears,

while the nice smiling young lady

finished her speech.

We left her office and I felt slammed against the wall,

my heart and hope and yes, peace, nailed there in the shape of a dream I'd dreamed all my life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know most people would not choose to have a baby at 42.

The risks are too high

of not having a perfectly healthy baby.

This is understandable.

And this is what I know is true.

Jesus reveals Himself  in the weak and vulnerable and small and needy.

I look at the children I have birthed and say: Christ, what do you have for me in their tiny lives?

We ask the same in anticipation of the birth of this child: How will You reveal Yourself to us in its tiny life?

We believe in an upside down Kingdom.

Here, it's not the rich or the beautiful or the strong or the smart or the perfect or the healthy that hold places of power.

Instead, they hold the same importance and influence as the forgotten, the poor, the downtrodden, the small, the sick, the desperate.

I also know that there was a time,

not very long ago,

when I was single and only dreamed of a family.

It is a thing of beauty what God has done.

Even at 42.

Even no matter what.

And so, like Sarah of old, I laugh.

With gratitude and joy and hope.

I erupt with gladness.

Because He has made me glad.

And, by the way,

We're having a boy.

McDonald"s

Today
I decided to bring my kids to McDonald"s.

Normally,
we don't eat there.
(True confession: all through my last pregnancy I CRAVED McDonald's. Today may have been the first time I've eaten there since baby boy was born).
But,
This McDonald's had a playland
And I knew Sophie-girl would enjoy it,
so we went.

I parked our car,
took out Sophie-girl
and said: don't move,
and then re-entered the car to get out baby boy.

Sophie didn't listen.
She ran up to the door of the restaurant
and almost straight into the arms of a man who was begging.
He hollered at her: your mom said to stay with her!
And she ran back to me.

She was a little scared,
and I said: he told you to stay with me.

Together, then, we walked to the door,
and the man,
who couldn't speak very well
and was very dirty
began to ask me for money.
I said: I'll buy you a burger.

So, I did.
Value Menu #2:
2 cheeseburgers, a fry and a drink.

Sophie was running around the restaurant,
I was carting around a heavy diaper bag
and an almost one year old,
wondering how I was going to juggle all that food and drinks.
Wondering what the man wanted to drink
and maybe I should just choose for him.
But I thought: I'll ask.
So I did.
And then I brought it to him.
And then he followed me back inside
and the people working there were looking at us
and the people eating there were looking at us
and the man asked: are you babysitting?
And I said: no, these are my babies.
And I was shaking...wondering what I'd do if the employees treated him badly.
But they didn't.
And he left.
And I sat down, still shaking.

Sigh.

Deep breath.

Stop shaking, I told myself.
Eat. Your nutrient-less lunch.

And then Sophie-girl got stuck in this enormous play structure.  Leaving Mason by himself in a high chair, I prayed: please protect him and I had to climb ALL the way to the top to get Sophie-girl, through tubes that were disgusting and hot and clammy. She was crying and sweaty when I reached her. Then I couldn't fit into the slide tube to slide down, an easier alternative to climbing back down backwards. Which I ended up having to do. Climb down a disgusting hot clammy small tube backwards. And I could hear Mason, calling for us. So I tried to go faster. And I did. No, if you are thinking that all this leads to me falling out of the tube backward, I didn't. Thank God.

What.A.Lunch.

And a man said to me: that was nice what you did. Buying lunch for that man.
And I thought: shouldn't we all be doing this?
Clambering through muggy playstructure tunnels to reach the ones who are loved and bring them home and feed them? Shouldn't we be climbing over one another to do that? Even if we don't fit in the tunnels. Even if it makes us shake. Even if we are afraid of what others will think.

Isn't this the Kingdom of God?

It exists here. Now. At our door. In our very lives.
We are Kingdom living.

And I wish I lived that way all the time.
Because mostly I don't.
Mostly I don't give.
To the man begging or the child whining or the husband asking or the friend needing.
And sometimes,
we need to have our boundaries.
But today,
at lunch at McDonald's,
I thought about living in a way
where I am climbing over myself to give.

Even if it makes me shake.

linking up with Imperfect Prose.