Kristie and I were at a meeting the other night for families with
"special needs" children the other evening and we were hoping for
some thoughts and/or guidance on raising a daughter with Autism. The gentleman
running the program got up to introduce himself, the church we were attending,
and why he had been a part of starting the ministry. His nickname was
"Doc," and he was actually a medical doctor; but the reason he was a
part of the class was far more personal, and it struck something in me.
Doc talked about his five year-old son who
had a rare disorder, and what it was like to have a child that couldn't live
the way most of us can. I don't remember the details, but they aren't as
important as what he said just before stepping down and introducing the guest
speaker.
"About three years ago," he
said, and I am paraphrasing, "my son was completely cured of his
ailments..."
In the split second between this comment
and what was to follow, my brain spun through it's normal ADHD spinning; cured? Completely cured? C'mon...
seriously?
I joke that I'm a Christian skeptic; I'm
willing to believe some of the most considered far-fetched history of the Bible
without a problem, but if you try to convince me the glaciers are melting and
the sea is rising because of the Coke bottle I forgot to put in the recycling
bin, I'm sorry, but not really. So when this man stood up there and told us his
son had been cured, completely healed, I thought well, I guess it's possible,
but I'm not buying anything!
In the microsecond after hearing him
start, I had already decided what I thought of this guy. Typical of me, I admit
(confess, really), I knew all about him in his few short words, until...
"... my son was completely cured of
his ailments... when he met his Lord in person..."
Okay, head whirling again, but this time I
got what he was saying almost immediately. Yes, I’m slow that way… sheesh…
Even writing it now makes me ache. His youngest boy, at the gentle
age of five, currently attending a local preschool… gone. I thought of my kids.
I thought of my friends’ kids, many of whom I’ve watched grow as we’ve gotten
together. I thought of the text photo Kristie sent me the previous week of our
two getting ready for their first day of school. Of course, I thought of all of
“our” kids in Sierra Leone (sure, there’s a chance we may never adopt, but they
will always be “our kids”), confined to their orphanage compound while Ebola
threatens the populace.
I also thought about time; the ever elusive, partly fictional, thing. We seem to think we can measure
it, but I’ll be darned if it wasn’t a longer process before we had kids.
I mean, I clearly remember summer days stretching onward the
closer we got back to school when I was young. You start the summer out with a
bang, going to the beach or up north to see family, but by the time summer is
almost over, well… those last few weeks seemed they would wear us away with
boredom.
Christmas, too, was tough. We had a grand, if wild, Christmas Eve
parties at my grandparents’. All manner of family and friend would imbibe, tell
stories and yell (quite literally, depending on how much was imbibed), all
while enjoying Granma C’s wonderful spread of lasagna and mac ‘n cheese and
ham. But as soon as the last of the guests left, my brothers and I knew we were
in for the longest night of the year as we waited for the sun to rise again.
Gosh, my dearly beloved and I were married for near a decade before our first little terror
lay her shadow across our doorstep, and those years seemed like an eternity;
even the day before we realized we were expecting seemed endless, in a good
way.
But… but… but… as soon as we brought our daughter home and began
watching her grow… and then her brother came along! It was increasingly similar
to the pilots from the
Spacing Guild in the ol’ Dune books.
Time and space seems to fold in on itself, no longer stretching as each year
passes, but shrinking each month, week, day, minute, until you realize you’ve
carried your child out of the maternity ward only moments ago and now you are
waving as they pull out of your driveway to begin their senior year in high
school.
“All
people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the
field;
the grass withers and the
flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever…”
Kinda’
depressing, in some ways, I guess.
“Shoot,
Lord, couldn’t you give us a little more time with our kids while they are
kids?”
Likewise,
money, the OTHER ever elusive, partly fictional, thing comes immediately to mind. How similar and damaging two
things can be! Neither of them exists in any real, substantial, physical form (yes,
I’ve seen watches, coins and bills, but they are merely symbolic). And, yet, we
hang on to both as if ropes dangling us above a den of lions. If only we had
more of each! Man, the things we could do for our kids, those in need… the
Lord! How many mission trips could we take to reach the world with God’s love?
If we had the time, we could go often and whenever! If we had the money, we
could go often and wherever!
I work with students who could use a
good pair of shoes, especially as the cool weather starts it’s wary stretch
these next few months. Some don’t have pencils or notebooks. A few have even
mentioned their living conditions… Not to mention the people of Sierra Leone,
and the countries surrounding! We visited people, beautiful people, living in homes made of sticks and leaves, sheet metal
and dirt, cinder blocks and off-white paint. Can you imagine the ways things
could change there if I had the right amount of cash available?
Then I’m reminded of the Gospel of Mathew, and Jesus’
call for no one to worry. “God knows what you need and He will provide,” He
says, “even though NONE of you deserve it!”
I can imagine what I would do with as much money as
I could use and time that I could take; but then, I can also think clearly
enough to know my so-called righteous efforts would never see the light of day.
My time, and money, would somehow be squandered; and no one, including me,
would be any better for it.
Even my kids (biological and adopted), as much as I’d
like them to stay where they are right now…
or even go back a few years…
would never benefit from such a wish.
I was heartbroken when I heard Doc
speak of the loss of his child, but I got a chance to speak with him after the
meeting that night, and he shared how powerful those five short years were, and
that got me thinking, too…
