The Valued Life

Tiny and fragile he was born into this world.  A complicated delivery, the incubator became his next home.  

Joyful for a life, anxious for his survival, and confusion over a prognosis, a genetic problem rose in our face and it struck with thunder...a genetic problem found only within our family, apparently only affecting the male children...and not knowing where it might end.  

Twice this strange complication/blessing came into our lives, with one's temporary existence only six weeks.

The "Why" questions, so easy to formulate in our minds, become our wall of frustration, of madness. Our loving God permits, creates and delivers this heartbreak into our lives?  Why?

Seeing the dark, the sadness, and the burden prevents the vision of compassion, love and beauty!

So difficult to see a blessing when you are entrenched in the dark!

But one small child grows, overcoming very few obstacles but every step a milestone. Never able to speak, he communicated in gestures and mumbles and a smile. His stumbling gait began at a very late age, and holding on to chairs round the dining table, he would find his spot...in the lap of his beloved granddaddy.

At age 13, "Baby Brother" breathed his last as he slept near his big sister, going where his cousin of six weeks had already found his victory over a weakened body...to run carefree in God's vast heavens!

Leaving us behind, his existence had given us joy over grief, smiles over frowns, and happiness for every moment God shared him with us.  Our lives were enriched by the brokenness of a child, the wonderment of his tiny advances, and thankfulness for precious time with an angel in disguise.

Sometimes, we cannot gauge the loss until memories are all we have. 

Giving Hope

Beautiful days turned suddenly sodden are happening everywhere.  Tragic moments appear in the midst of the most calm.  No one is immune, no one is singled out, and no one knows why in the middle of perfect joy can come the bleakest moment that rips a hole in your heart.

You struggle for words of comfort, wise words of hope, even when you cannot come to grips with the insanity of the situation, the disappointment, the seeming unfairness.  How do you overcome the untenable, the hopelessness of not being in control, the gut-wrenching pain of ineffectiveness? 

Books by the dozens offer consolement, but who can adequately put themselves in a position they know not the depths of?  So at best we falter with empty words, trying at best to put an encouraging thought on a hurtful situation.  More often than not, we fail.

To be compassionate and to commiserate, you must know the alarm of fear and time-warp of senses when the proverbial rug is jerked out from under you.  You must recognize the stages of hope and grief, and the patience required of both.  Because the pit left when the rug leaves is...massive, devastating, real, leaving you prostrate and defeated.  And there are days when you feel you are in this pit alone, no matter the "noise" surrounding you.

Cliché phrases will not suffice, even when one knows the truth of them. I defer to an article more adequately and eloquently spoken:  We Do Not Lose Heart.  

Especially on my heart today are the children fighting hideous diseases and injuries through no fault of their own, their mothers and fathers who are anguishing over their pain and feeling helpless to overcome, and all the caregivers who must watch and work professionally even while their hearts must be breaking every moment. 

To friends and friend of friends facing the ravages of disease and the futility of the pit that comes with it, you are filling my heart and it overflows with prayers to the Father.  When words fail, the Spirit rescues:

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.  (Romans 8:26) 

A Different Result

They say everyone should move about every seven years just to get rid of junk.  Okay, I get it.  We've been living on the Tennessee River for going on 12 years...and while some things may not be junk, it's still stuff...and it's got to go!  So, I literally have piles:  throw-away, gift-away and keep.  Sometimes I have to go all over everything again because I've forgotten which is which.  Then I have these boxes of packed things that I hope we won't need before we actually move.  THEN, we had a perspective buyer who wanted to see this house today, so we half-heartedly cleaned around the boxes and piles, hoping someone would be able to see beyond the disaster in progress.  Another part of moving that I dislike.

In the midst of my scurrying, tired steps and wanting to appear nonchalent over whether they liked the house or not, this gentleman and his son arrive.  Less than a minute into our conversation, the father spoke of losing his wife recently and the lost, hurting soul of a man was revealed.  As he talked, my mind was bombarded with memories of my dad after mother died, how hard it was for him to function, to reason, to speak of anything or anyone other than his loss.  Grief does that to you.  It robs you of joy, of time, of awareness that life goes on until the Lord calls you home.

The last thing this gentleman today needs to do is make big decisions, changing his residence being one of those.  He needs time to grieve.  Instead of putting my hopes in selling this house, I will pray for this man and his family, for the loss of this wife and mother, and ask God to give them all peace.  Amen.