Category Archives: grief

All Our Happy Endings

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Been readin’ some quotes–GK, CS, JC…the usual dudes, and then a couple off the beaten path.

Hitler, for instance, said that it was harder to overcome faith than knowledge.

And Christopher Hitchens recounting an anecdote about a Rwandan survivor who had lost everyone–her whole history and future wiped out.

Faith indeed, to say there is a God to answer that.

But I do believe, not in spite of the Hilters and Rwandas littering the floor of history. No. I believe because of them.

See– if adoption is a mirror of our relationship with God we should face the raw stink of the adoptees–us.

We stink.

We kill
We maim
We steal
We lie about it.
We do it again.

But that is the heart and soul of the story–a perfect and compassionate Parent adopts the worst kids in the universe.

A real mess.

Only His love can change us.
And it does.

But remember–no faking. He can tell when we are lying about the state of our deadly hearts.

And we are all gonna get a bath eventually–one way or the other…

Better the hands of Love

Pruning Time

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Whoa! There are a lot of saints in February

How many do you recognize? I looked them up not because of Valentine’s Day. An experienced gardener once told me to prune my roses on a feast day in February. I think the 17th…

Sea’s birthday is the 16th. Time marked by anniversaries. Winter haunts.

Jesus rebukes the hypocrites for useless traditions–

Mark 7:9-10 (NIV)
And he said to them: “You have a fine way of setting aside the commands of God in order to observe your own traditions! [10] For Moses said, `Honor your father and your mother,’ and, `Anyone who curses his father or mother must be put to death.’

My erstwhile adoptees were cursers. I would point this admonition out to them. I understand that they never “got” the umbilical bond of love. I even “got” why. They were lost from the beginning. They needed to feel love and when it wasn’t there the whole world went dark for them.

The cost of light is consuming.

But I believe in a Rescuing God.. He’ll get them. Because He loves them. Because He paid. Because He sees their faces from when they were babies lost in the world.

His beautiful lullabies.

Borrowed House

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Years ago I lived in a beautiful old house. It had three stories and a creepy-ish basement, some mice, and a lovely wilderness of a backyard. It was the house I lived in on my wedding day.

I managed it for a friend. Some of my roommates were amazing. Some were annoying, and a couple were nuts. The crazy ones were no fun for anyone. They were paranoid and antisocial and they ended up in the house because I was a softy.

I am a little tougher now.

But mostly I think about Jesus. He tells these elegant, terrifying stories of rampant, evil tenants trashing vineyards and killing messengers.

We humans are stubborn like that. We like to ignore the Landlord.

Jesus is reminding us we live in a borrowed house. We don’t love it like the Owner.

But one day we will or…be shocked to find that this borrowed house was not just shelter.

It was our home

Hypocrite.

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Mark 7:3-8 (NIV)
(The Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they give their hands a ceremonial washing, holding to the tradition of the elders. [4] When they come from the marketplace they do not eat unless they wash. And they observe many other traditions, such as the washing of cups, pitchers and kettles. ) [5] So the Pharisees and teachers of the law asked Jesus, “Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with `unclean’ hands?” [6] He replied, “Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written: ” `These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. [7] They worship me in vain; their teachings are but rules taught by men.’ [8] You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to the traditions of men.”

When my children were still very young they knew two big words-psychological and hypocrite. The first was introduced by my adopted daughter’s precipitous mental slide.

The second was my adopted son’s favorite go-to epithet for any of us who opposed him.

I always thought his use of the word ironic. Now I think–more tragic and disfiguring. He was consumed by appearing one way and hiding who he was in secret.

The Pharisees and teachers of the law saw themselves as the good guys.. They were the power players. But they were so consumed by the appearance, the trappings of clean, they abandoned the pursuit of holy.

Holy should freak us all out. Holy is scary.

Until holy becomes a man and that man quotes Isaiah and then that man lives out holy all the way to a Cross. Perhaps then it should scare us more.

Lent is about the unclean hands and heart–lifted in honor of a sacrifice so unbearable that only it, only He can make us clean.

Making hypocrites into honest men? Same thing as resurrection.

Imagine–dead to life again. All things made new.

What only God can do.

Stormaphobe

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Mark 6:50-54,56 (NIV)
because they all saw him and were terrified. Immediately he spoke to them and said, “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” [51] Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down. They were completely amazed, [52] for they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened. [53] When they had crossed over, they landed at Gennesaret and anchored there. [54] As soon as they got out of the boat, people recognized Jesus. [56] And wherever he went—into villages, towns or countryside—they placed the sick in the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch even the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed.

I have to get out of this chapter.

But I haven’t yet because I need the reminders-

Sometimes God does send us into deadly storms
But he never abandons us
He walks through them, abides with us, then commands the storms to cease
Because he is God.

The people Mark describes in this story have an almost comic energy–they run en masse to and around Jesus. Like a school of fish or a herd of sheep…only in this case their lack of dignity and frenetic searching make perfect sense. Jesus means God saves.

They run to an offer they would be silly to refuse.

And ultimately I am with them– no dignity left, desperate and silly, running to the God who saves.

Chapter 6.

Lights Out

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Make no mistake. In the heart of the God of love, a stadium in the dark matters less than a child found strangled and bare in a park.

The child is a girl. The girl is thirteen. A foster child. Nameless. A mere silhouette.

Lost child.

So when you remember this amazing, expensive game we all stand still for.

Remember the dark.

Not a failure of technology; a failure of heart.

God in the dark.
Grieving

Moving Mountains

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Dear Sir,

You are my dad’s age. He died after a helicopter crash a few years ago. Actually, around the time little Ethan was born. And pretty close to Newton–he died in Dothan.

You need to know that God has an answer to what is troubling you. A peaceful answer.

I am praying for both of you.

Please, Sir, let this little boy get home safe. His mama needs him back safe.

When I pray for you I see my dad. You traveled in a truck. He traveled in a helicopter. He flew over Dale County all the time.

Both you and Ethan are scared little ones to God. He loves you. And you are both precious to God. You are both in my prayers.

Please sir, move this mountain so Ethan can hug his mama soon.

Please.

Mom

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I have mostly modest gifts, but one that is extraordinary but of no monetary value is my ability to understand, remember, sort through who I was at 2 or 5, 4 or 7.

I still can see through mine younger eyes. Only now I see all the other stuff besides.

It is painful. No one is perfect. You tried. I know you did try. And when you tried you succeeded.

It took me a long time to realize that God always saw me clear–beautiful and lovable, valuable and dear.

The picture of us taken by dad’s cousin. The picture you must’ve taken of all of us–I am wearing a wild blue coat. Fuzzy.

I can look at these pictures now and feel the fierce heat of God’s love for that little girl.

I have always loved you. I cannot and won’t stop.

Your monster pictures of me are not real mom. They. Are. Not. Real.

What is real is this–

Somewhere in the world you have a grandchild who is your twin.

Resembling who you were when you were three. Adorable. When I look at this child I think–gosh, I was a cute kid.

When I look at this child I see you. And I love you both.

Think about it mom.

When you see me you see the Minotaur.

When I see you I see a beautiful little girl with a head of dark curls.

Beautiful child
Mom.

I almost

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I see men who resemble you often. Like really close. Sometimes their wives resemble your wife. Sometimes the kids are even close.

Last weekend the impatient fruit seller was a dead ringer for H. H, who is also impatient with me.

I am afraid.

I almost call mom a few times. Just to say

I love you.

Ironically, even if I shouted it in German she would probably still understand.

Ich liebe dich!!!

What stops me is this terrible memory–a night in late summer, an infant and a toddler both held in my arms as I face an unknown accuser.

We now know it was mom. But then all I can think is–

what if they make me stay away from my babies?

I am jittery with an irrational fear. Because mom reported me when M kept running away.

M abused me, mom reported me as the abuser.

And she taught me that all the money in the world was not worth the risk. The labyrinth of her mind.

So I tell my kids about my fear. I tell them about my year in China and the million ways God took care of me.

Then I think of you. You standing on the bus, towering over the Chinese men, like you were their oversized parent or some strange incarnation of Snow White among the post-Maoist dwarves.

Overshadowing them.

Or how stingy and mean I was to you–making you climb the Great Wall with me but refusing you soda for water.

I should have got you the coke.

And while I can see us there together like an old woman watching a perfect movie about her own life…

The truth is I have lost you. Lost you so long ago I wonder if you were ever real.

When did you stop being real?

The Rest

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Mark 6:30-31 (NIV)
The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. [31] Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”

He fingers the cheap rhinestone nose ring. Asks me about it. I say, I got it when you were a baby after something really bad happened. I got it to remind me that even when bad stuff happens, God is good.

My definition of quiet rest.