Twenty Days of Comfort: Day 6, Where Is God?

A quick blog post came to mind this week in the midst of the 
array of poems during my three weeks of reflection during this 
season. I leafed through my well-worn copy of Philip Yancey's 
Where Is God When It Hurts?, recalling how helpful it was 
when Josh was in the hospital during the first months of 2009 
with RSV. I recall Yancey asking the titular question and answering, "He is in you--the one who is hurting--not in it, the thing that hurts."

I have to admit I wrestled with that. This was coming to the close (although I didn't realize it) of two years of hospitalization agony that began with Jordan's birth and continued with Joshua's surgery in July 2007 and continued recovery. And the words looked up at me from the page, that God was NOT in the anguish...huh?

In my faith tradition, I've held to believe that everything happens under the auspices of God...the theological leaders who penned the seventeenth century Westminster Confession of Faith said God's will happens through direct and secondary causes. Either God does something or God permits it, and nothing surprises him. Fair enough, I'd thought for some time, but the present cyclone of hardship was wearing thin. And I was supposed to believe that God was not in the provision of pain?

Of course, in the wider context of the book, I came to reflect that the bigger picture was that God entered into our pain. In fact, God was experiencing the anguish with me, bearing every tear and piece of sorrow. That didn't solve our family's sadness or any quandary easily. But I was reminded that God not only was with me in my grinding difficulties; he himself was enduring it with me and for me. In fact, he already had endured more than I ever imagined.

Indeed, without the Cross, what's the point of facing life's trials?

More tomorrow...

Twenty Days of Comfort, Day 5: "Lindsay"

One of the marked differences to our home life once Jordan arrived from the NICU was how Lindsay constantly doted on him. She had just gone from her primary identity of "little sis" and now could play mother hen to someone younger than her, and she performed admirably. We lost track of the number of times she wanted to hold him, kiss him, and play with him. And I think Jordan probably noticed his sister's affection and giving heart.

Lindsay

Paper, markers, paint

Near the table I watch her

Making my treasure

This is how she finds her joy

Color bound to form, and then

Story leaps from the creation

She now places in my hand

Picture books she loves to show me

Moments we spend together

Jesus must think a lot of me

To give me such a sister

Kisses, smiles, hugs

She never does grow weary

My sister Lindsay

Such whirlwind moves of energy

I wish I could be like her

Kindness she rains down upon me

Lindsay, my loving sister

Twenty Days of Comfort: Day 4, "Home"

Just so you cyber-readers are aware, I'm doing a revision of these Twenty Days of Comfort. On weekdays, I'll continue the poetry through November 22, but on weekends, I'll primarily be talking about living in a question-filled world and how God is there in our disappointments.

Continuing the poetry, today I look back on when Jordan finally was able to leave the NICU and come home for the first time.

Home

A bundle soft and warm am I

In blanket fleecy blue

As Dad, then Mommy, catch my eye,

Their voices kind and true.

Four weeks have slowly trickle past,

Emotions roared and foamed,

But this day we have peace at last:

I'm finally headed home.

Before the day's out I will spy

Sister and brother's cheer.

They've waited patiently for my

Reunion drawing near.

Four weeks have slowly trickle past,
Emotions roared and foamed,
But this day we have peace at last:
I'm finally headed home.

The pleasant light envelops me
As we pass through the door,
And many loving arms will be
Holding me more and more.

All day the smiles never end
And worry finds no space.
No trap or snare can ever send 
Me from God's love and grace.


Four weeks have slowly trickle past,
Emotions roared and foamed,
But this day we have peace at last:
I'm fast asleep at home.

For my adventure's just begun
Through days or years to come.
The journey lasts till Christ brings me
To my eternal home.

Twenty Days of Comfort: Day 3, "Healing"

A couple of weeks after Jordan's birth, it became evident to the doctors at the St. Mary's Medical Center NICU (and to us) that he was struggling to thrive. No matter how much milk we crammed into his gullet, Jordan would throw it up. His oxygen saturations would still occasionally play havoc, and things came to a head when we need to have surgery performed on our adorable little gopher. A nissen fundoplication was ordered for Jordan: an operation in which the surgical team would flip his stomach over the end of his esophagus to prevent any reflux and--we hoped--thus holding his food down and helping him gain some needed weight.

So on the day of the surgery, Jordan takes us through everything: the pre-operation bustle, the anesthesia, waking up afterwards, and final reflections. And in iambic pentameter, of all things...

Healing

New hope awakes and brings with it the dawn

As nurses mill around my little bed

With comforts soft before my skin is sawn

So that I will have no more need to dread.

Another takes my hand. I feel the pinch

Of pain's sharp entry in my hand, transgressed

By strangest fluids fast designed to cinch

My body deeply into sleep's congress.

In dreams I run as angels lead me forth,

Forever my Creator's grace will flow

Far as the Southern Cross to frozen North;

His love pursues me ev'rywhere I go.

Again I wake to strongest stinging light.

A weight within my mouth signals to me

That help I need to breathe on through tonight.

Perhaps from it tomorrow I'll be free.

For now, it is enough that I'm adorned

By strips protecting, watching o'er this scar

That serves as Ebenezer, proof I'm shorn

Of this debility God's flung afar.

Tomorrow's poem: "Home"

Twenty Days of Comfort: Day 2, "Life"

When Jordan was born, he came out with a pained look on his face but you couldn't help but fall in love with him. For the next hour or so, however, we were consumed with several other worries. His oxygen saturation was fluctuating. His body was floppy, a dead giveaway that he had the same myopathy as Joshua.

In looking back, I began to ask, "What would Jordan say if he could recall those frantic moments?" The results are as follows. The meter might be familiar, for those who have sung "In Christ Alone." But the story is the main thing. As in everything, Jordan met his challenges head on with God holding his hand tightly.

Life

With all around, in breathing sea

My small lungs make their first foray.

Magnificent intensity!

Life filters in without delay. 

And, as all there react deftly,

My God bestows his grace dearly

To grant me his sure gift of life:

Here in my Father's world I breathe.

Then all look on with worried glance

While my whole world erupts in sound.

In darkened fright all look askance;

Worry and agony abound.

I struggle on, I bravely fight,

But weakened bones have little might.

Oh, grant me some small gift of strength:

Here in my Father's world I fear.

And from the room my form they take

While in slight distance, close nearby,

My parents' hearts begin to ache;

Their souls assault God's throne in cry.

Yet even then as spirits sag,

My courage soars like windblown flag.

God's grace restrains my soul from death:

Here in my Father's world I hope.

No need for fright, nor for despair:

Mercies abound, poured out on me,

A clasping hand, a fervent prayer,

Love rushing in so rich and free!

And thus, through every day and night,

Walking by faith and not by sight,

May God grant us his gift of love:

Here in my Father's world I live.

Tomorrow: Day 3, "Healing"

Twenty Days of Comfort: Day 1, "Darkness"

Neither Christy nor I saw this coming. We were done having kids, physically and mentally. The age of thirty-six is when you should have a settler mentality and not a pioneer vision, right? So imagine our surprise when we discovered we were going to have a third child. And imagine the consternation when we were informed this would be a boy, and thus he'd have a 50/50 chance of having the same X-linked myotubular myopathy as his older brother Joshua.

But resolutely forward we went. The magic day of April 5, 2007, arrived and there we were in the delivery room at Wellington Regional Medical Center in Wellington, Florida, for Christy's third birth--not to mention her third C-section.

Sweet little Jordan, all comfy and warm and snug where he was. And then the adventure began, in Jordan's words, through a child's eyes.

Darkness

In darkness warm my quickened heart

Beats time on time in sudden start.

No place to see, nor inch that's dry,

Nor thoughts of sun, of trees or sky

Invade my mind's rampart.

Yet all sweet dreams the world does thwart.

I follow my Creator's chart,

And so from here I bid goodbye

To darkness warm.

With grasp and pull of rigor smart

Of ache brought on like spear or dart

One takes me out, and then I lie

On surface cold without a cry

To spite the chill as I depart

From darkness warm.

Tomorrow's poem: "Life"

Twenty Days of Comfort

It seems that various people like to do things for stretches of time, most notably items like Rick Warren's "Forty Days of Purpose" or when others do some sort of 30 days of thanksgiving thingy on Facebook. So I'm diving in, but for a different reason. 

We are twenty days out from an anniversary of the most life-shifting event in our family's existence. It's an understatement to say that when we suddenly lost our youngest child--our 19-month old son, Jordan Christopher--on November 23, 2008, our lives changed forever. Through the pain that followed, we went through what can only be described as sheer hell, and I don't use that word lightly. Ultimately, we've come to see a larger part to the story, and that Jordan's life--though short--made impact on so many others. I can honestly say that Jordan taught me more about the free, completely accepting love of God than anyone else has (and I went to seminary!).

In recalling his short life, I decided about three years ago to write a poetry book that looked at different events of Jordan's life through his eyes. As the five-year anniversary of his heavenly homegoing approaches, I've been looking back over those pages of verse because in revisiting the pain of that loss, I strangely and eventually find comfort that Jordan's life was wonderful, sacred, and full of hope and joy. His name, incredibly enough, seemed to embody a mission God seemed to write into his DNA. Jordan Christopher means "one who comes down and brings Jesus."

So in going down memory lane, I've decided to select an array of poems from that volume I penned, and share one per day up through November 23rd. As you read them, you'll notice references about God, Jesus, salvation, etc. These are not designed to convert others. Your beliefs are your own. I'm merely taking literary license and giving expression from what could be Jordan's perspective. I'm not saying there was some sort of "infant faith" already present in Jordan's hypothetical musings. My imagination runs thusly: Jordan--in heaven--looks back upon the events of his short earthly mission and relives those moments. In doing so, he "connects the dots." He speaks of God's grace, not as if he knew that's what it was at the time, but because now he realizes that hand was upon his life all along. He tells these stories, not as if he was calling for God, but because God had been calling him.

No poem is Keats- or Shakespearean-level quality, and a range of meters and styles (or lack thereof) abound. But each poem is special to me because it shows God at work in the life of a special child who now enjoys His presence at all times. What will follow over the coming weeks are the words of his life journey. I hope in some way they will give you fresh hope for your own journey as well.

First poem is tomorrow, as Jordan leaves the "Darkness".