This blog, much like the last, should come with the
late-term pregnancy caveat that it might be either incredibly emotional or
extremely disjointed, or some combination of the two. Oh, and it might sound a little like I’m
standing in a pulpit. Consider yourself
warned.
Yesterday in church we celebrated Morning Prayer in place of
Eucharist because mom was in Lafayette meeting the folks at our sister
congregation St. Barnabas. Once the children
returned to “Big Church” Pumpkin started telling me she wanted “Jesus” (i.e.,
communion). I quietly explained that we
weren’t going to have communion because Nona was in Lafayette. Pumpkin looked at me quizzically and asked, “Nona
took Jesus to Lafayette?” At that point,
all I could do was chuckle and say yes.
Any other answer would have resulted in continued demands for Jesus,
which I could not provide but at the same time could not deny.
Not ironically the Gospel reading yesterday was about the
little child being the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven. Those of you who have known me through my
many years of working with the little ones in the church know that I believe
this with all my heart. If you have not
experienced it first-hand, the faith of a child is truly amazing. From the innocent, pure way they worship; to the
honest, raw questions they ask; to the manner in which they accept what they
cannot understand – their faith should be an example to us all, as well as a
jewel for us to protect and a seed for us to nurture. If you have any questions, come by my house
any given night and just listen from the next room while Pumpkin plays – you will
hear her belting out “Alleluia, Alleluia, Give Thanks to the Risen Lord” and
the Lord’s Prayer over and over.
Granted, during the prayer she asks that “our will be done” (which is
deep in ways I am embarrassed to admit and may be the subject of a blog for
another day).
Anyway back to Pumpkin’s question – it was one of those
questions I couldn’t shake, even though she had long forgotten all about it
(amazing what a powdered donut after church will do). Where is Jesus in our Church? Does the priest tote him around under his or
her long robe? Do we come to church so
the priest can give us some Jesus? More
importantly, where is Jesus in our world at large? When we do not have that concrete thing in
our hands (like Pumpkin’s little communion wafer), does that mean he is not
there? That he is in Lafayette, perhaps?
This weekend I got the news of a local family whose three year old
daughter drowned. I do not know the
family, but through friends of friends have heard their story, lifted their
names in prayer, and cried for them. In
fact, as I sit here typing my eyes are drying after seeing a photo that a
mutual friend posted of the precious child.
Although I never met her, she was an angel. She is an angel.
There are no words to say to someone after a loss like that. It is truly unspeakable – unthinkinable – and
yet it happens. Nothing will take away
the pain that family will feel for the rest of their lives. Nothing will fill the hole in their hearts
and lives. Aside from their triplet one-year
old girls, I am sure that even finding a reason to put their feet on the floor
and get up is hard; that it physically hurts to even draw breath. I simply cannot imagine.
Although it pales in comparison and I take nothing away from
their tragedy by even mentioning it in the same blog, last week we also received
some unsettling news. The docs detected
a fetal ovarian cyst on our sweet Maggie during my ultrasound last week. Now, there is a HUGE chance that it resolves
before birth or otherwise causes her no problems. But with every chance, no matter how big,
there is the other possibility. We have
prepared in the only way we can for the worst (docs and hospital on standby to
perform ultrasound when she is born) and we are praying for the best. At first I was devastated, frantic. I attacked Google like a madwoman and read
every article or blog I could find. Of
course, the only words that made sense to me were the ones predicting a
horrible end. I finally calmed down and
gave it all to God (who had it all to begin with). The fact is there is nothing I can do. We will deal in faith with whatever the
outcome is and, fortunately for us, the prognosis looks better than good.
But that still begs the question of where Jesus is in all of
this? Why do children suffer? Why are children taken from us? There is no answer – at least not one we can understand. I do not believe it is God’s will, as I’m
sure some well-intentioned Christians would say. That is too easy. It’s not only easy, it’s unfair. It makes God a horrible God who kills children
and leaves his followers heart-broken. That
is not my God. But the truth is that I don’t
have a better answer. The fact is that
my God is too big for me to understand.
I cannot explain things like this.
But a God that I could explain would not be big enough to fill our
needs. What I do know, is that even when
my sad, heavy breath is stabbing my chest with each inhale, God is there. When my head is spinning and my heart beating
painfully in my chest, God is there.
When I feel most alone and most lost in this world, God is there.It is in moments like this where I am reminded that I have no control. When she’s being reminded she isn’t the boss (even though she might be the queen [of the king-sized bed; see below]) Pumpkin says, “mommy and daddy are the boss,” but the truth is we control nothing. We were given these two precious little girls to watch and nurture but they are not ours. In fact, our own lives are not our own. Each breath, from that first breath of new life to the last heavy breath of death, is a gift. We have no idea how many of those gifts we will have or that our loved ones will have. All we can do is love each other; love the children we have been blessed to care for and learn from; and love the Lord. We can only surrender to Him and trust that even in our brokenness, He will make all things whole. My prayers to the Thibodeaux family.
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