It's the big things.
Recently, some friends of ours got married. It was a beautiful ceremony. Even more special was the fact that Paul's very best friend, Madalyn, was a flower girl. As she walked down the aisle, I couldn't help but be amazed at how much she has changed in the past 2 years. Of course, it made me think of Paul. What would he look like now as an 8-year-old? Who would his friends be now? Would he still be in love with Nascar? Would he squirm during the wedding service? Be excited to wave at Madalyn? I'm not naive enough to believe that the two would continue to be friends or eventually get married or anything silly like that. But, a wedding ceremony does leave me to wonder... and wondering always makes me cry.
It's the little things.
Nutrigrain bars. Some people call them cereal bars; we always called them cookie bars. Paul was my only child who liked them, and we bought them regularly. It was a quick snack that I always felt was nutritious, so I let him have them whenever he wanted. I can remember many times cutting them into little pieces (one cut length-wise and four cuts long ways) and putting them into a snack baggie for the trip to the clinic. Well, about six or seven of those things have been sitting in the bottom of our cookie jar since before Paul died. That's two years for those of you who don't know. I haven't had the heart, guts, emotional fortitude, desire, or whatever else it would take to throw them away, so they have remained.
Recently, I decided it was time. I stared at them, then I turned my back on the cookie jar and cried. Finally, in one complete motion and in about 1/4 of a second, I scooped them out of the jar and pitched them into the garbage. Then I cried some more.
Yeah, it's the little things. And the big ones.
May 28, 2009
May 6, 2009
Good Schtick
I was cleaning out my desk the other day and I ran across something worth sharing. A while back, my sister-in-law gave me one of those "one-a-day" calendars. You know the kind I'm talking about - you tear off a page every day (except on the weekends when they cheat you and give you two days at a time - that's really lame).
Well, this was one that had excerpts from a book (or maybe several). I can't remember the author, so I can't give credit, but let's just say that I didn't write any of this stuff. I saved a few of the days, and re-reading them, I think they are worth saving.
Just wanted to share a few that I thought were good:
Thursday July 4
Do we really understand how far the American Dream is from God's dream for us? We're steeped in a culture that worships freedom, independence, personal rights, and the pursuit of pleasure. We respect people who sacrifice to get what they want. But to be a living sacrifice? To be crucified to self?
Tuesday May 28
The truth is, the farther you go for God, the narrower the road becomes and the harder God will judge you should you fall into serious sin. You've tasted amazing things from His hands, but you can lose it all - for a period of time or for the rest of your life. The grief can be staggering.
Thursday October 17
God is waiting for each of us to grab hold of a greater vision for our lives - a vision that matches His own - and plead with Him for it to come true. To be more fruitful for God, we need more opportunity, and we need to see the opportunities already surrounding us that we have continually overlooked.
Sat/Sun October 12/13
Will you let God work in your life regardless of what He chooses? It will always be for your best.
Monday August 19
Countless Christians allow fear to stop them in their tracks because they assume that the feeling of fear is a red light from God (and a feeling of courage is a green light). Yet when we feel fear in following God, we are told to "take courage." In fact, those who achieve greatness for God run toward the discomfort zone because that's the primary place where borders expand.
Tuesday July 23
Letting the Spirit speak through us is meant to happen on a regular basis. This is the NORMAL Christian life. You and I are called to be His ambassadors - He rarely uses any other option. He's not going to speak from heaven at our workplace or in school hallways. He won't send an email to your straying friend. God needs the mouths of His people to be filled with His Spirit.
Sat/Sun July 20/21
Life change takes place when you change how you think. Truth is wasted in our lives if we don't put it to work to accomplish what God wants. Jesus promised, "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." (John 8:32) Yet most of us are only beginners at experiencing God's blessings because we haven't let the truth set us free by changing what we think and do.
Good Schtick, I think. Hope it is encouraging and challenging to you today.
Well, this was one that had excerpts from a book (or maybe several). I can't remember the author, so I can't give credit, but let's just say that I didn't write any of this stuff. I saved a few of the days, and re-reading them, I think they are worth saving.
Just wanted to share a few that I thought were good:
Thursday July 4
Do we really understand how far the American Dream is from God's dream for us? We're steeped in a culture that worships freedom, independence, personal rights, and the pursuit of pleasure. We respect people who sacrifice to get what they want. But to be a living sacrifice? To be crucified to self?
Tuesday May 28
The truth is, the farther you go for God, the narrower the road becomes and the harder God will judge you should you fall into serious sin. You've tasted amazing things from His hands, but you can lose it all - for a period of time or for the rest of your life. The grief can be staggering.
Thursday October 17
God is waiting for each of us to grab hold of a greater vision for our lives - a vision that matches His own - and plead with Him for it to come true. To be more fruitful for God, we need more opportunity, and we need to see the opportunities already surrounding us that we have continually overlooked.
Sat/Sun October 12/13
Will you let God work in your life regardless of what He chooses? It will always be for your best.
Monday August 19
Countless Christians allow fear to stop them in their tracks because they assume that the feeling of fear is a red light from God (and a feeling of courage is a green light). Yet when we feel fear in following God, we are told to "take courage." In fact, those who achieve greatness for God run toward the discomfort zone because that's the primary place where borders expand.
Tuesday July 23
Letting the Spirit speak through us is meant to happen on a regular basis. This is the NORMAL Christian life. You and I are called to be His ambassadors - He rarely uses any other option. He's not going to speak from heaven at our workplace or in school hallways. He won't send an email to your straying friend. God needs the mouths of His people to be filled with His Spirit.
Sat/Sun July 20/21
Life change takes place when you change how you think. Truth is wasted in our lives if we don't put it to work to accomplish what God wants. Jesus promised, "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." (John 8:32) Yet most of us are only beginners at experiencing God's blessings because we haven't let the truth set us free by changing what we think and do.
Good Schtick, I think. Hope it is encouraging and challenging to you today.
May 1, 2009
The greatest of these...
People keep asking me the question, "How was your trip?" That's a tough one to answer. I usually reply with "It was great!" and then wonder how much they really want to hear. It's hard to do the trip justice even with a limitless amount of time, much less while in line at the grocery store or in between carpools.
So... here I will attempt to answer that question with more than just, "It was great." How was my trip? Well, it WAS great.
I've written about my trip to the local hospital (blog entry 4/19), which was tough and left me feeling inadequate, powerless, and hopeless. But what I have wanted to follow up with is my trip to Kadeeja's house that same afternoon.
Kadeeja is the 16-year-old who had heart surgery several weeks ago. The surgery was a huge success and literally saved her life. It was so wonderful to see the excitement in her eyes and the love her family feels for Jessica and the kids. They opened their home to us and treated us like extended family.
I have a very vivid memory of sitting in Kadeeja's home and witnessing Jessica talking Kurdish to about 10 other women of various ages... talking, laughing, hugging, kissing. Occasionally, she would have time and breath to fill me in on the conversation, and other times, I could get the gist of it based on hand and facial gestures.
And I really believe I was witnessing a miracle... I was witnessing relationships tearing down the walls of discrimination, judgement and fear. How easy is it for me to judge that all Muslims hate Americans and are willing to sacrifice their own lives to destroy ours? How easy is it for Muslims to discriminate against all Americans as being the immoral, rich and petty people they see in Hollywood films? And how easy is it for both sides to fear each other... fear what they don't know or understand?
But that one afternoon, in that one home, with that one family, RELATIONSHIP was happening... in the name of Jesus. Jessica was unconditionally loving these women...not judging them or debating with them... but loving them and living life alongside them.
And they were responding... They were responding to love. They were responding to a relationship. They were responding to Jesus.
None of these women are believers yet. But I have no doubt that the Lord is seeking after them and pursuing them, and orchestrating the events in their lives to point to Him. I believe that one of them, maybe two, or possibly even three of these women will one day be followers of Christ. And not because they were talked into it, or shown the error of their ways, but because of one compelling factor: Love.
I saw a lot that day. I saw the despair, the hopelessness, the endless need of proper medical care for a sea of people who lack the money necessary to get it, I saw a child dying, and a desperate mother waiting. And I also saw hope. I saw the difference that love can make for one family. I saw the future of a young muslim girl changed not just because her physical heart was healed, but because of the power of the Holy Spirit to change her spiritual heart.
"But now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."
1 Cor. 13:13
So... here I will attempt to answer that question with more than just, "It was great." How was my trip? Well, it WAS great.
I've written about my trip to the local hospital (blog entry 4/19), which was tough and left me feeling inadequate, powerless, and hopeless. But what I have wanted to follow up with is my trip to Kadeeja's house that same afternoon.
Kadeeja is the 16-year-old who had heart surgery several weeks ago. The surgery was a huge success and literally saved her life. It was so wonderful to see the excitement in her eyes and the love her family feels for Jessica and the kids. They opened their home to us and treated us like extended family.
I have a very vivid memory of sitting in Kadeeja's home and witnessing Jessica talking Kurdish to about 10 other women of various ages... talking, laughing, hugging, kissing. Occasionally, she would have time and breath to fill me in on the conversation, and other times, I could get the gist of it based on hand and facial gestures.
And I really believe I was witnessing a miracle... I was witnessing relationships tearing down the walls of discrimination, judgement and fear. How easy is it for me to judge that all Muslims hate Americans and are willing to sacrifice their own lives to destroy ours? How easy is it for Muslims to discriminate against all Americans as being the immoral, rich and petty people they see in Hollywood films? And how easy is it for both sides to fear each other... fear what they don't know or understand?
But that one afternoon, in that one home, with that one family, RELATIONSHIP was happening... in the name of Jesus. Jessica was unconditionally loving these women...not judging them or debating with them... but loving them and living life alongside them.
And they were responding... They were responding to love. They were responding to a relationship. They were responding to Jesus.
None of these women are believers yet. But I have no doubt that the Lord is seeking after them and pursuing them, and orchestrating the events in their lives to point to Him. I believe that one of them, maybe two, or possibly even three of these women will one day be followers of Christ. And not because they were talked into it, or shown the error of their ways, but because of one compelling factor: Love.
I saw a lot that day. I saw the despair, the hopelessness, the endless need of proper medical care for a sea of people who lack the money necessary to get it, I saw a child dying, and a desperate mother waiting. And I also saw hope. I saw the difference that love can make for one family. I saw the future of a young muslim girl changed not just because her physical heart was healed, but because of the power of the Holy Spirit to change her spiritual heart.
"But now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."
1 Cor. 13:13
April 29, 2009
Pics from my trip
I'm anxious to write more about my trip to Iraq. In the meantime, click here for a slide show of a few pics.
April 25, 2009
The Older I Get, The Less I Know...
Kadeeja (bottom row in the pink) is a 16-year-old girl who recently had heart surgery in Turkey through the Preemptive Love Coalition. She is currently doing very well.
It's really true that I know less now than I used to. When I was 20, I had all the answers (actually, it was from about age 14 until 34). Now that I'm 40, I just have a lot of questions.
I went to Iraq looking for answers. I came back with more questions. Questions like:
How do I - an unskilled, unrich, individual without any clout or "weight" to throw around - begin to help Iraqi kids who need heart surgery?
How does an organization begin to address the CAUSE of these heart issues in addition to saving the lives of those already affected?
How can I help inside a culture I don't understand?
Why was I born in America where I receive and even expect the best medical care that is almost completely covered by insurance?
How do I care for a person's physical heart (the temporal) in such a way that communicates my care for their spiritual heart (the eternal)?
How do I love someone who is so different from me... how do I avoid seeing them as a "project"... as someone I want to change?
How do I justify helping people halfway around the world when there are others right in my own neighborhood who need help?
Why - in spite of all our efforts and prayers and in opposition to every doctor's prediction - do some kids die? How do I speak hope to these parents who don't yet know the promises of Jesus?
Why can't I just forget about all those kids (because there's really nothing I can do), stay home and watch American Idol twice a week, teach the 5th grade boys' SS class, and just give generously to the Lottie Moon missions offering every year?
Whenever I have these overwhelming questions without definite answers, it takes me a good long while, but eventually, I find my way to John chapter 14. Jesus is talking to his disciples about going to prepare a place for them. He says, "...And you know the way where I am going." Then Thomas has a response that I love: "Lord, we do not know where You are going, how do we know the way?"
I love this because it is TOTALLY the way I would respond. Especially because I am so "directionally challenged", I would panic, thinking there was some map we were supposed to all have that I must've lost or missed out on. I want to know the details... give me directions... when do I turn left, how long do I travel down this road before turning right? I want specifics.
But Christ's response was beautiful. It is, simply: Me. "I am the way, and the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me."
Jesus is the answer. To all those questions.
How do I help? Jesus
Why was I born in America? Jesus
How do I love someone different from me? Jesus
Why do some kids die? Jesus
Now, I know that there are times when very specific answers are necessary, but - at least in my life - those specifics don't come until I accept JESUS as the answer first. It is in looking to Him and for Him that the details and the specifics are revealed, or - more often than not - seem to fall into place without any effort or knowledge or great revelation on my part.
For example, in John 13, Jesus says to his disciples, "If I then, the Lord and the Teacher, washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I gave you an example that you also should do as I did to you."
What kind of love, sacrifice and humility does it take to wash someone's feet? Beyond what I know. And yet, I think that's the answer. I am not called to Iraq to save kids' lives. I am not called to Iraq to convert people to Christianity. I am not called to Iraq to "enlighten" them or bring them wisdom or open their eyes to the truth.
I am called to Iraq to wash their feet, and I cannot wash their feet until I love them. And in the process of loving and washing feet, I will receive the amazing blessing of watching the Holy Spirit do His job of changing lives and "enlightening the eyes of their hearts so that they may know the hope of His calling..."
That sounds all spiritual and wise, doesn't it? I might even have you convinced that I know what I'm talking about. Don't be fooled. I don't. I've got a long way to go, and what I really want is for someone to tell me when to turn left and how far to go to get there.
April 22, 2009
April 19, 2009
Just another day in Iraq
I'm really struggling to find the words to explain today. It's late here (almost 3 am) so this could either be beneficial (as I do consider myself to be a night person) or detrimental (since I can honestly say I'm considerably tired).
But I guess first I have to back up to last night... a young woman and her husband came to dinner. This is the couple who lost their 6 month-old daughter, Honyar, after her heart surgery. The Courtney's know the language here incredibly well, but were so wise to ask their interpreter and friend to also be here - just to be extra careful to get it right.
She is a stranger. She is from another generation. She is from another culture. We have nothing in common, with the exception of one thing.... the pain, the chaos, the desperation, the emptiness of losing a child. I hope that the time we spent together was helpful for her. It was for me.
Maybe later I will be able to write about this night in more depth. Tonight, the words escape me.
It almost seems disrespectful to move on from here, but I cannot sign off without telling you about today.
It began with a trip to the local hospital here. This is a place where the children are often diagnosed, where heart tests are done, but nothing is fixed. There is no surgeon here, no machinery to do what needs to be done. There are 5 kids per room, each waiting for something. For many, that something is simply the right prescription, a few stitches or an antibiotic. But for others, what they are waiting for will never come because they need heart surgery. Heart surgery that is being done routinely in the states and in other parts of the world. But not here.
The cardiologist here is a kind man who works tirelessly, but I am sure he gets discouraged every time he says, "I'm sorry. There is nothing I can do. Your child needs surgery or they will die." He showed us into the "ICU" (admitting that it is this because there are only 3 beds instead of the standard 5 per room, and it is a little bit cleaner than a regular room).
There was only one baby in this room. His mother was holding him, and he was a familiar shade of blue. Even half-way around the world, there was so much that was familiar to me: the mom, alone with her baby, holding him gently and watching between the baby, the monitor and the doctor - her eyes going from one to the other; her supplies set up neatly on the bed, within reach; the puls-ox monitor clipped onto the baby's toe registering heart rate and oxygen saturation levels; the steady blinking and beeping of the monitors; and this I couldn't actually see, but I could feel it: the agony of knowing that your child needs something that you are completely unable to give him, and the total vulnerability and desperation of wanting and needing someone to do something to make it all better.
Speaking in English (the mother could not understand) the cardiologist said, "This baby needs heart surgery, but there is no way to do it here. We are waiting for him to die."
And I just stood there. Staring. Staring at this mother, wanting to tell her it would be OK, wanting to make it better, wanting to fulfill that little bit of hope she still had for a miracle.
But I didn't speak a word of her language and even if I did, I had nothing to say. Nothing. I had no hope for her. I didn't even offer her a hug. I simply turned and walked away. What can I do for her anyway?... I'm not a pediatric heart surgeon. And her son is one of many... too many.
So I left. I walked away from the monitors and the beeping and blinking. I walked away from the medical supplies and the nurses. I walked away from the waiting and the desperation.
I left that mother to be alone and to wait for her baby to die.
But I guess first I have to back up to last night... a young woman and her husband came to dinner. This is the couple who lost their 6 month-old daughter, Honyar, after her heart surgery. The Courtney's know the language here incredibly well, but were so wise to ask their interpreter and friend to also be here - just to be extra careful to get it right.
She is a stranger. She is from another generation. She is from another culture. We have nothing in common, with the exception of one thing.... the pain, the chaos, the desperation, the emptiness of losing a child. I hope that the time we spent together was helpful for her. It was for me.
Maybe later I will be able to write about this night in more depth. Tonight, the words escape me.
It almost seems disrespectful to move on from here, but I cannot sign off without telling you about today.
It began with a trip to the local hospital here. This is a place where the children are often diagnosed, where heart tests are done, but nothing is fixed. There is no surgeon here, no machinery to do what needs to be done. There are 5 kids per room, each waiting for something. For many, that something is simply the right prescription, a few stitches or an antibiotic. But for others, what they are waiting for will never come because they need heart surgery. Heart surgery that is being done routinely in the states and in other parts of the world. But not here.
The cardiologist here is a kind man who works tirelessly, but I am sure he gets discouraged every time he says, "I'm sorry. There is nothing I can do. Your child needs surgery or they will die." He showed us into the "ICU" (admitting that it is this because there are only 3 beds instead of the standard 5 per room, and it is a little bit cleaner than a regular room).
There was only one baby in this room. His mother was holding him, and he was a familiar shade of blue. Even half-way around the world, there was so much that was familiar to me: the mom, alone with her baby, holding him gently and watching between the baby, the monitor and the doctor - her eyes going from one to the other; her supplies set up neatly on the bed, within reach; the puls-ox monitor clipped onto the baby's toe registering heart rate and oxygen saturation levels; the steady blinking and beeping of the monitors; and this I couldn't actually see, but I could feel it: the agony of knowing that your child needs something that you are completely unable to give him, and the total vulnerability and desperation of wanting and needing someone to do something to make it all better.
Speaking in English (the mother could not understand) the cardiologist said, "This baby needs heart surgery, but there is no way to do it here. We are waiting for him to die."
And I just stood there. Staring. Staring at this mother, wanting to tell her it would be OK, wanting to make it better, wanting to fulfill that little bit of hope she still had for a miracle.
But I didn't speak a word of her language and even if I did, I had nothing to say. Nothing. I had no hope for her. I didn't even offer her a hug. I simply turned and walked away. What can I do for her anyway?... I'm not a pediatric heart surgeon. And her son is one of many... too many.
So I left. I walked away from the monitors and the beeping and blinking. I walked away from the medical supplies and the nurses. I walked away from the waiting and the desperation.
I left that mother to be alone and to wait for her baby to die.
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