$100,000

What would you do with $100,000?

I have a Kindergarten project hanging on my bulletin board at work that my daughter completed a couple of years ago.  It is a fake $100 bill stapled to a primary ledger page with the sentence prompt, “If I had $100…”  She was to complete the sentence and draw a picture.  She wrote,

  “I would buy my mom a car.” 

How sweet!  She wouldn’t spend it on gum or lip gloss or Beanie Boos (the latest craze in stuffed animals) or a rainbow loom (the latest crazy craze).  She would spend it on her mom. 

Or would she? 

Don’t get me wrong here…I am not questioning her desire to be kind. She’s a sweet girl and she shares…sometimes. But I also don’t underestimate her desire to be selfish.  I think her perspective is limited, and so her response was limited.  You see, when she was asked what she would do with $100, that was the most money she could imagine.  They were celebrating 100 Days of School and they were discussing what a big number that was and when you’re five and you’ve just figured out how to count to 100, it does seem like the biggest thing ever.  And so a pipe dream like actually having $100 deserves a crazy vision…like a buying a car.  Obviously she has no concept of what a car costs or how little help $100 would be in that purchase.  She has a limited perspective.  I think if she had been asked what she would do with $10, she would say, “I would buy gum and a beanaboo.”  Actually, I am 110% confident that’s what she would do, because it’s what she did with her $10 last weekend.  She can imagine how to spend $10.  She can’t imagine how to spend $100.

What’s my point? 

Let me ask you a question.  What can you imagine?

Have you ever listened to the “world peace” speeches given by the contestants in the Miss America pageants?  I don’t mean to poke fun, but I kind of lump these answers in the category of my daughter’s answer.  “What will you do with all of your power, Miss America?” 

  “I’ll save the world!”  

She can’t really imagine what she would do with “all that power” because she doesn’t, in reality, have all that much power.    I’m not hating on Miss America (I’m not hating on my sweet little girl either).  Because my point is that we have a limited perspective as well.

So, I’ll ask again, what can you imagine? 

"Glory to God, who is able to do far beyond all that we could ask or imagine by his power at work within us;"

In college I was a part of a Bible study by Henry Blackaby called Experiencing God. It was a study I would return to several times early in ministry because of the profound questions it asked of me. One of the best was, "Are you attempting something so great for God that if He doesn't show up, you will fall flat on your face?" At the time I was attending a small Southern Baptist liberal arts college whose motto was "Expect great things from God; attempt great things for God." I was inspired. What could I attempt for God?

Not to be unwise. Not to get ahead of God and leave His path. Not to test his mercy or grace or goodness or faithfulness. Not to make a name for myself. But to challenge my own tiny world. How big is my God?  Only as big as the box I put Him in…

One hundred thousand dollars isn’t really a lot of money.  Most of the people I rub elbows with deal with this kind of figure on a regular basis.  On the other hand, I don’t have to drive very far at all to find a friend who would consider this a small fortune. 

  It’s really all about your perspective.

Sometimes I fantasize about what I would do with major money. I’m talking like 10 million or some huge number, a life changing number.  I don’t think I’m alone.  We currently live vicariously through many “reality tv” shows that pose the same the life altering situation.  I personally have imagined who I would give money to, how much I spend on myself, how much I would save. I imagine how much fun it would be to write a check to my alma maters (all three of them!) for thousands of dollars.  I imagine flying to Africa to deliver the money necessary to plant churches and clinics.  I imagine giving my brother the money he needs to finish school.  I imagine how great it would feel to see the smiles on those people’s faces.  It’s something like the stick figure my daughter drew on her page of me smiling beside my new red car.  Really, I’m clueless.  And so I go back to counting out quarters from the bottom of my purse.

It’s easy to fantasize about something that will never happen.  That’s why we call it a fantasy.  But what would you really do with $100,000?  That’s not a stretch.  It’s an inheritance.  It’s a good business year.  It’s a house sale.  I think the answer to that question comes with what is revealed about us when we describe what we would do with $100.  Would I share?  Would I give it away?  Would I save it?  Would I spend it on shoes?

I think sometimes we are afraid to share it, to give it away, to spend it on someone else because we lose control of it.  They may use it wrong, not appreciate the gift, waste it, or lose it.  “Never give money to beggars” is rule #1 when visiting another city.  Why not?  Why is it my responsibility to make sure that the recipient of the gift appropriately uses the gift I’ve given?  And if that is my responsibility, is it appropriately named a gift?  Wouldn’t that be a loan or a grant?  And who taught us that this was our responsibility?  Over and over Jesus told stories about people who wasted money by socking it away, people who criticized the owner for wasting money by giving it to someone else (because money is always wasted if it’s not mine), about people who misused, abused, and ultimately crucified the gifts that Father gave us.  Was God irresponsible in his giving of Christ to us?  I don’t think God ever intended to express “trust” in our abilities to make good choices when he gave us His Son.  On the contrary, he gave us what we didn’t deserve but so desperately needed because we had so screwed up all the other gifts he had given.  God is not irresponsible.  But his generosity is irrepressible. 

How much does it cost to be a follower of this lavish God?  Such a wise, pragmatic question!  We would applaud a young person who “weighed the cost” of an important life decision.  Jesus’ response was simple: everything.  (and what an irresponsible decision that would be!!)  We would also likely applaud the young person who, upon hearing such a startling and reckless response, decided to complete his current plans, see to his current responsibilities, and tie up loose ends.  Jesus didn’t applaud.

Because it’s one thing to weigh the cost of a new automobile.  It’s quite another to weigh the cost of life in Christ.  The one demonstrates maturity.  The other, faith…or a lack thereof.  I’ve heard all my life that we are to “consider the cost” and well we should. But when God calls and our response is, “that costs too much” we are….........................................................lost.

And if we are to be found, we need a new perspective.

What if we jumped?  Jumped off the high dive and into the deep end.  Off the bow and into the ocean!  Off of our safe platforms of rules and regs and traditions and temptations and into the secure but unsafe arms of Jesus!!  Oh where or where might he take us!!!  Some people leap.  I don’t know exactly how they are wired, but there is something in them that gives them the courage to jump.  I think the rest of us have to practice.

I was friends with a girl in college who decided she wanted to learn to sky dive.  She talked about the lessons in the gymnasium where she jumped off of a tiny platform onto a padded mat only a couple of feet below her so she could “learn to fall.” But on the day of the dive, there was only one shot to trust her parachute, and if that parachute didn’t work, her “falling” lessons were going to seem a little silly.  For me, I think God has had to give me lots of “learning to fall” lessons so I can begin to trust the parachute. 

So today’s “falling” lesson: what would you do with $100,000?  What if we prayed, “God I don’t know what to do with this money.  But You know.  You know exactly who needs it.  And I don’t know why you’ve given it to me.  But I’m thankful for the opportunity to be a conduit of your grace!  Show me who needs it.  Give me perspective and vision.  And when it’s time to jump, give me courage. Because I don’t just trust the parachute…I trust the Maker.”

What I've Learned at Buddy Walk

This weekend we will walk in our 6^th Buddy Walk, an awareness event for Down Syndrome.  Buddy Walks are held across the country this time of year to raise public awareness about Trisomy 21 and the community it affects.  But for me, Buddy Walk has become a classroom.  Here are some things I have learned at our annual Buddy Walks.

1. 1. Everyone can walk.  Our first year walking, we were invited to walk with another team.  The family we joined had been walking for five or six years, they had successfully pulled together teams of walkers, and had been instrumental in coordinating this huge community event.  I was so thankful that they adopted us in and let us experience Buddy Walk as members of the community and not as spectators.  I think that defines what I really want for my child.  I want him to live life, to contribute all of his beautiful gifts to his community.  I don’t want him to be a spectator in life, I want him to be a team player. At the time of his first walk, my little guy should have been taking his first steps.  It would be another year before that actually happened.  Fortunately, we had a great team of therapists who were undeterred: Joel would walk.  Unfortunately, we’ve already encountered  other situations where the immediate assumption is that he will ever only be a spectator.  People immediately want to define what he can’t do.  In reality, a “you can’t” attitude isn’t just applied to kids sporting extra chromosomes.  All of us have been told at some point, “you can’t.”  Which is why we all need cheerleaders, encouragers who say, “oh yes you can.”  Everyone walks at Buddy Walk.  Or rides or runs.  Little ones are in strollers, wagons, and on daddies’ shoulders.  Kids and pets run laps around walkers.  But eventually there is a single movement forward, and everyone is included.
   
   
   
   
   2. No one has to walk alone. For two years our family joined this other precious family.  Not just at the Buddy Walk.  In the walk of life.  The scariest moment in any of our lives is to think we have to face our struggles alone.  But nothing could be more false.  We were created for relationship.  And there is a family that has been created for each of us.  Some people are not born into great families, and they have to find a forever family.  Some people are blessed to find family everywhere they go.  Most of us experience a little of both.  The worst thing we can do to ourselves is hide in our fear and isolate ourselves.  Find a buddy.  The most amazing thing happens when you choose to walk beside someone: you look beside you and find someone walking with you.
   
   
   
   
   3. Long walks are better with friends.  Our third year we decided to venture to the Buddy Walk on our own.  Joel was in preschool and we invited his whole class to participate.  They made a banner for him and put their little hand prints on it.  Then we found out that a little friend in his class wanted to walk with us.  This little boy was a typical child, and was developing at an amazing rate.  He had a huge vocabulary and great athleticism, even at age 2.  Joel was walking pretty well at this point, but not talking yet.  He signed most of what he needed to communicate.  His speech therapist was trying to locate things in his world that he wanted to talk about.  Asking him to indentify random pictures just wasn’t working.  At this point he needed objects that produced “hard guttural stops” to talk about, words that start with K, hard G, or hard C.  And so we started talking about our new buddy Cole.  Every skill Joel develops is a hard won effort.  We’ve learned that these long roads of mastery are best mastered one small step at a time.  What a joy it is to find friends along the way that make the time pass, that give us joyful things to talk about, that celebrate not just the end, but every step along the way.
   
   
   
   
   4. Learn to walk your walk.  Two years ago the location of our Walk changed.  We went from making several laps around a track to one lap around a field.  I had no idea that the change would be noticed little baby Joel.  But while thousands of walkers stopped their stride to find easy rest under shade trees and tents, Joel kept walking.  He made another complete lap completely by himself, then content that his walk was now over, rested with his team.  While we need and celebrate all of the support around us, each of us has to find the personal courage to walk our own walk.  I can only be me.  Joel can only be Joel.  We’ll be miserable if we are trying to be someone we are not.  But if we learn to embrace who we are, to embrace our own stride, our own footprint, even our own meandering paths, we will discover the great strength our Creator has given us to be just who we are.
   
   
   
   
   5. Learn to appreciate another person’s walk.  Last year I again made the attempt to invite lots of people from our community to join our little team.   I was so honored that several families joined “Joel’s Heroes”, but I was most blessed to walk beside Carla.  Carla had already been to a walk that morning, a walk to “Make Strides Against Breast Cancer.”  It was pretty amazing that she would participate in two walks in one day.  It was absolutely inspiring to realize that the first walk was for her.  Carla had been fighting cancer in one form or another for most of her life.  She lost her leg during her childhood and walked with a prosthesis.  She lost her hair during the most recent battle with cancer and sported a gorgeous blonde wig.  Carla’s body had been ravaged by the disease and its treatment.  Her gait was wobbly and slow as she moved along with the Buddy crowd.  But, whose wasn’t?  Everyone on Joel’s team was so inspired by her walk with us.  I would learn over the next few months just how inspiring of a woman she was.  Carla’s physical body lost its battle to cancer this past spring.  Carla’s spirit was triumphant against cancer as people came from near and far to celebrate her life and marvel at this little woman and her strength and poise until the end.  I suspect we will have many more years of Buddy walks and I will appreciate every member of the team.  But I will never forget the year that we walked beside Carla.
   
   
   We are almost ready for our Buddy Walk this year.  We’ve had family come join us from across the country.  I’m not sure if Joel knows that all of this is for him or not.  But I believe he knows that we are for him.  And he has a team.  And each of us walks a stronger walk for being a member of team Joel.

Sermon series on RESPECT

Life is precious

I have a confession to make.   A few weeks ago I had to go to Walmart. HAD to go.  It was one of those lists that only made sense at Walmart   And I said as much to the kids.  They were incredulous at my attitude…”Mom! It’s Walmart   Don’t you love Walmart  You can get anything there!”  Never mind Disney World, just take my kids to Walmart.  “No,” I confessed to them, “I don’t love Walmart   Those aren't my people.” And there it was, the confession of my heart. When it comes to Walmart  I’m a snob.  Not that it keeps me away that much, a lot of my life happens at Walmart.

I was actually heading to Walmart six years ago when the nurse called from the Obstetricians office.  I was heading down highway 90 in Ocean Springs as she explained that my blood levels had come back abnormal and I would need to undergo further testing to determine if the baby I was carrying had a genetic abnormality.  “These things are usually false positives, but we will get the test done soon enough so you can terminate the pregnancy if needed.”  It’s amazing the details you can remember about the moment your life changes completely.  I sat in the Walmart parking lot for quite a while.  When I finally went inside, there was a family having a family moment right at the door.  Ahh, Walmart  the place you go to feel better about your problems.  The mother was facing me, and she was furious, that much was evident.  The daughter had her back to me, but she was obviously not doing what her mother wanted.  She had some school supplies clutched in her crossed arms and she was shaking her head vehemently.  My hand instinctively went to my growing waist, evidence of a half-completed pregnancy, as the unbidden thought entered my mind: “whatever problems this baby has, we won’t have that problem.”  It was that moment that the girl turned and her face revealed the delicate features of Trisomy 21, Down Syndrome.  All at once the weight of the nurse’s words and the fear inside my heart came crashing down.  I won’t take the time to tell the rest of our story, but if you’re interested, you can read more about it here.

Today, I want to talk about life.  Fragile, crazy, beautiful, scary, hard, precious life.  In our series on respect, I want to begin with the preeminent value of life.  Without life, all of our other arguments are null and void.  Now, before you gather all of your arguments about life and choice and equality and all the other political buzz words we’ve attached to the word, I’ll just go ahead and give you my bottom line.  I’m not interested in changing your opinions today.  I don’t believe myself to be that persuasive.  However, I would like to encourage you to consider your opinions, whatever they may be, from this perspective: God is the author of life, and God believes that all life is precious.  That’s the bottom line. 

^{Psalm 139 (CEV)}

¹³ You are the one
who put me together
    inside my mother’s body,
¹⁴ and I praise you
    because of
the wonderful way
    you created me.

Everything you do is marvelous!
    Of this I have no doubt.

¹⁵ Nothing about me
    is hidden from you!
I was secretly woven together
    deep in the earth below,
¹⁶ but with your own eyes
    you saw
    my body being formed.
Even before I was born,
you had written in your book
    everything I would do.

And while applying that lens to your perspective on life, would you prayerfully consider doing this as well: would you be willing widen the margins on your definition of life to make room for the mystery of God?  So many debates get bogged down in the quagmire of when life begins and ends, and how we are to treat others at various stages of life.  The reality is, we don’t know what we don’t know.  We think we know what we know about life, but even what we know about life changes all the time, but for sure, we don’t know what we don’t know.  So it would seem to foolish to assert that we know something about what we know we don’t know.  Did you follow that?  Here’s what I’m trying to say: widen the margins.  Make room for the mystery of God.  However you define life, would you be willing to say, in regards to those margins, “and maybe a little more, because I don’t know everything.” 

What is the value of a life?  Our judicial system has a formula for applying value, based on the ability to earn income and other mitigating factors.  At premium, life is worth $7 million.  That is preceded by the statement, life is invaluable.  We may be confused.

According to science, life is worth $90.  Let me explain. 

One day, a science professor had set out several vats of different-colored liquids, gases and pyrex boxes containing elemental solids. Nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, mercury... a few other elements that the human body is composed of, all in proportion to how much of each element could be found in the average adult human body. Each container had a sticker on it, the price tag, as dictated by the supplier from whence these elements were bought. At the far end of the table upon which all of this stuff sat was a folded card, like a tiny tent of paper, and on that piece of folded paper, standing up like a marquee, was the sum total of each price. It read:

"The cost of human life, in raw materials: $83.72"

 The professor picked up the card, showed it to the class and said:

"This is what the human body is worth, if you were to go out to the store and purchase the materials necessary to build one. But there's more to it than that, isn't there? You can't just take these things, mix them up in a bowl, slap them in the oven and, nine months later, wind up with a human being. It takes much more than that. These items must be arranged in a certain way, at the molecular and cellular level, and manipulated to a degree that it would boggle the mind.Genetics, cellular mitosis, osmosis, molecular replication... these are some of the processes by which a human body develops." He waved to the elements behind him. "All these things are inert, by themselves, but something is added to make them dynamic and singular. Kids, I'm going to tell you this once and once only: the human body is cheap, dirt cheap in the grand scheme of things, but the quality that gives a human body life is something neither science nor money can ever measure. You're here to learn how science works and how it can be applied to learning how things work, but it can only work up to a certain point. At that point, we must stop and wait for science to catch up. The saying that life is precious is true only in that the human experience which validates that life is invaluable. We cannot put a price on experience. You can pay for some experiences, but that is only a fiction of economics. Life is more than just your body and mind. And science cannot even begin to comprehend where life begins and where it ends. That task is best left for the philosophers and dreamers. If you came here looking for answers to life, then you're paying a significantly steep price for answers that will get you nowhere. Or, at least, your parents are."

(borrowed from the internet, unable to verify the source...however I am currently working to verify the facts and I should be able to update the cost this week...fascinating!)

So how will we define life? Value life?

Before we can begin to wrap our hearts and minds around the value of another person’s life, we have to deal with the reality of our personal value.  I’m not talking about the superficial, selfish choices we all make to bring pleasure to our physical life.  I’m talking about who we are, who we really are, our purpose for existence   Because people who understand their value, their purpose, they live differently.  Remember our lens from which we peer today: God is the author of life, and to God, life is precious.  Your life is precious.  The promise is for Abundant life and then eternal life, not miserable life and then you die.  We mistakenly believe that with Jesus we will always have either happy life where nothing bad happens, physical blessings abound like Christmas, and the sun always shines; or conversely we believe that with Jesus we will live a sad, depressed, gray, never fun uber-fundamental doldrum existence and then die and sleep in the clouds.  But we’d be wrong on both accounts.  Jesus came to show us that while in this life we will know trouble, but we can be bold, courageous, joyful, and peaceful because Jesus has overcome the world.  Jesus didn’t just come to earth to provide train tickets to heaven.  We don’t get our card punched and then wait for that glory bound train, all the while wasting away here in the shadow-lands without joy or peace in the midst of suffering.  On the contrary, Jesus lived a human life, a tough one to be sure, full of friends, joy, parties, tears, relationships, memories, experiences, humanity.  And Jesus’ life proves that your life is precious, and worth saving. 

Why would God step out of heaven, and wrap himself in flesh if not to demonstrate the value of human life?  Why would Jesus suffer the indignities of acne, gas, and in-grown toenails?  Why would God put himself through the misery of human inter-relationships?  Why would God choose to become human?  Could he not have saved us any other way?  Could he not have spoken through the mountains, the storms, the birds, the beasts?  But he became a baby, a teenager, a man.  His very painful death happened to a real human body.  Why?  Because, to God, who created life, life is precious.  It’s worth rescuing from the pits of hell, but it’s also worth rescuing from the doldrums of human existence.  What are you doing with the life God has given you?  Do you live on purpose?  Do you live understanding the price God paid to redeem your life?  Do you care?

Once we get our heads and hearts on straight about the value of our lives, we also have the capacity to appreciate the value of all life.  This is hard work.  It is one thing to value the lives of those we love, who are kind or good to us, or who society has deemed “valuable.”  It is quite another thing to extend the merits of value to every individual.  We measure, we weigh, we find others wanting.  And we forget that when we devalue the life of one human, we devalue the life of all humanity. Your life is precious.  Their life is too.  We must widen the margins and believe God has purpose for every being he creates.

Their life is precious.  God loves her, and him, and all them at Walmart  He probably wishes they would pick up some new undergarments while at Walmart, but He loves them.

My invitation to you this week is to serve life where you find it to be most precious and vulnerable.  We

confuse politics and faith quite often in these discussions.  We convince ourselves that we can convince others to believe our beliefs by yelling louder or raising more money for our politician.  But if we examine the actions and attitudes of Jesus, we will find that he didn’t press for political reform.  He pressed for heart reformation.  How do we change a human heart?  Love.  It all comes back to love.

Are you bothered by issues regarding the beginning of life?  Then the love the most vulnerable people on that front.  Serve them, pray for them, hug them, provide shelter.  Are your issues with end of life debates?  Then do the same.  Serve, pray, touch, provide.  Are you most concerned with fragile humanity caught in the undertow of bureaucracy and politics?  Don’t scream and shout…you will be never be heard.  Serve and love…and you will break down walls.

And if in the midst of serving and loving and touching and being touched, you find the margins on your definition of life expanding, all the better.  You know, before life was a game, a magazine, a cereal…before life was messy and hard or grand and a bowl of cherries…life was in God.  God loves life, God is life.  When you love, serve, touch life, you touch, serve, love God.

Birthdays in Heaven

Do you think we celebrate birthdays in heaven?  Do we celebrate the day of our physical birth, spiritual birth, or conception?  Do we celebrate the day God imagined our days?  If birthdays are a way of marking our passage through time, how does that work out in eternity?

And do such mind games matter when what you really want is to celebrate the birthday on this earth, in this reality, at this time?  And isn't that, after all, why we celebrate birthdays...because we survived another year.  Because we are still together another year.  Because I still have you this year.

I am working on a sermon this week called A Day Submitted.  It is from the fourth chapter of James.  James is really giving the church a tongue lashing at this point regarding their treatment (or mis-treatment) of others.  He challenges their "control issues" by making the point, "You should know better than to say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into the city. We will do business there for a year and make a lot of money!" What do you know about tomorrow? How can you be so sure about your life? It is nothing more than mist that appears for only a little while before it disappears. You should say, "If the Lord lets us live, we will do these things.
          
I am trying to let this word challenge my schedule.  It has helped that I keep forgetting my calendar at home this week.

This prayer by Ken Gire has also helped: Forgive me, Lord, for being so concerned about my other commitments that I am unconcerned about my commitment to others. Help me to realize that so much of true ministry isn't what I schedule but what comes as an intrusion to my schedule. Keep my schedule flexible enough, Lord, so that when my path comes across someone in need, I would be quick to change my plans in preference to yours.

It has also helped that I am preparing for a wedding for a bride who won't have her mother there because her mother wasn't given another year on this earth.

It has also helped that I went to lunch to celebrate a friend's birthday...only she wasn't there because this year she celebrates at the Lord's table, at the wedding feast of the Lamb.

Which begs the question, do we celebrate birthdays in heaven? Maybe we celebrate the day we arrive home.

What do you know about tomorrow?
I know we make a lot of assumptions when we plan for it.  I don't think that's sinful.  But I don't think it's fruitful when we forget Who causes the sun to rise on our world, Who puts the breath in our lungs or the beat in our hearts.

Teach me to count the days...teach me to make the days count.

What would you do with one day left to live?  Not a very original question...it has been fodder for books, movies, blogs, songs.  What is moving is watching someone with one day left to live.

She brought them in, one at a time, and she told them how much she loved them.  She told them how much they meant to her, all she had learned from them, gained from them, grown from them.  She summoned strength from heaven knows where to wrap tired, thin limbs around each neck, to place dry, cracked lips on each cheek.  She spoke words that each of them needed to hear.  She knew her children needed her to say, "It will be okay.  I'll be with you.  I have everything worked out for you."  She knew her mother needed her to say, "Thank you.  I need you so much.  You taught me to be strong."  She knew her friends needed her to say, "I have loved being your friend.  Thank you for being mine."  She knew her pastor needed her to say, "I have learned so much from you.  Thank you for the faith you've taught me.  You have comforted me and my family so much."  She knew her husband needed her to say, "I love you.  You are my soul, my heart.  You have faithfully loved me, fought for me, done everything you could do.  I know I am loved by you."  How did she know to say all those things?  Because she lived all the days beforehand loving, listening, serving.

A few days before she died, she and I retold the story of Jesus's words to his friends the day before his death.  How he pulled them all around one table.  How he told them that he was praying for them, how proud he was of them...of all that they had done, of all that they would do.  He told them he wouldn't leave them, not really.  He told them he loved them.  He told them that if they ever struggled to remember, to celebrate this way:

Share a loaf of bread. 

 Remember the way he gave himself.  Remember the way he fed their hungry mouths, their hungry souls.  Remember the way he so easily brought up the nets, lifted their heads.  Share a loaf of bread...with each other. And then with someone hungrier.  And He would be right there.

Share a cup of wine. 

 Remember the way he poured himself out. Remember the way he gave water. Remember the way he redeemed water.  Remember the way he controlled the water, walked on water...trampled on fear.  Share a cup of juice...with each other.  And then with someone thirstier.  And He would be right there.
How did he know what they needed to hear?  Because he had been there, the day before and the day before that.
He was there when they decided to follow.  He was there when they turned away. He was there when childish imagination gave yield to adult anxiety. He was there when the first breath of oxygen was inhaled.  He was there when the first kick against warm womb was given. He was there when the first beat of the heart screamed LIFE! He was there then, loving, listening, serving.

Which leads me to think, He celebrates when we get home.  Who knows, maybe we celebrate lots of birthdays in heaven.  Maybe there are all kinds of "births" that God has noted in our book of days, proud of the passages we have braved, trusting the shepherd that has guided us through the valley of the shadow.  Jesus does make heaven sound like one huge celebration.

I guess I'll have to wait to find out.  And that's ok.  I have a lot to celebrate here in the mean time.

Jus' Jon

 
Today we celebrate a freckle-faced, uber-smart, high-energy, all around great American kid: Jon Burris!

Let me tell you about Jon.  I tell Jon, "You've been arguing with me and insisting on your own way since 30 weeks in utero."  He just tilts that squirrelly head sideways and grins.  I was the full-time, student mother of a 7-month-old, high-maintenance baby when I found out I was pregnant with #2.  I cried.  I went to the little altar at the country church Cliff was pastoring and prayed: "God I can't have another baby.  I already have a baby!"  The OB/GYN (who encouraged me to stop breast feeding the 10 month old, as it is difficult to support 3 life forms) told me: "You will hate yourself for about 3 years, and then you'll be so glad they're so close in age."  I tried to believe him.  When we found out that #2 would also be a boy, we began praying over him a spirit of friendship for his brother.  If they were going to be "Irish twins", we wanted them to be best friends.

I woke up from a pregnancy dream (you know, those really vivid, crazy dreams) knowing his name would be Jon.  In the dream, I was standing next a "holy figure"....I don't know a better way to describe it.  Maybe an angel?  He was "testing" my knowledge of Bible hero stories.  Maybe a seminary professor?  Anyway, the final character presented in this test was John the Baptist.  I identified him correctly and the figure said, "There arose a prophet named John."  And I woke up.  We decided on Jonathan, David's best friend.  We would call him Jon.  Just j-o-n.  Jon.

I was six weeks from graduating from seminary, and 30 weeks pregnant with Just Jon when he decided he was ready to enter the world.  Always ready, that kid.  The doctor and I agreed to override his decision, but it required medication and some compromises on my part.  While I wasn't willing to drop out of school (6 weeks left in a 4 year journey, people!), I was willing to watch some classes by video and drop out of all other activities.  It worked.  Jon stayed put until 37 weeks.  The week of graduation I was selected by my class to participate in the senior worship service.  I was worried that the mere activity of walking up the aisle in the processional and standing in the chancel would trigger labor.  We sang the following hymn during that service:

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth;

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide.

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow

Blessings all mine, with 10,000 beside.

Great is Thy faithfulness, great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.  

All I have needed, Thy hand has provided.

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

Jon as Houdini in the 4 Year Old Circus

Feeling the kicks of that little guy as the organ and the congregation affirmed God's great watch-care over His creation was an unforgettable experience.  As was his birth.  A week after graduation, and three weeks before his due date, I went to bed thinking we would end up in the hospital.  I packed all the bags, and went to bed ready for whatever.  I woke up about 5 a.m. with contractions.  As I laid in the pre-dawn stillness of our parsonage, I read the day's Upper Room while watching the sun rise and counting minutes between contractions.  The chosen scripture reading for that day, June 4, 2002 was the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth naming John.  Wasting no time (Jon received the "wastes no time" award last year in school), Jon arrived before noon.  It was only after he was snuggled into my arms that I had time to tell Cliff about the devotion.  Jonathan Zechariah was finally allowed to make his debut into the world eleven years ago today.  His attitude has ALWAYS been, "what do I get to do today?"

Jon posing with "Tiger Woods" at Madame Tussaud's

That kid has packed a lot of life into 11 years.  And a lot of smiles.  His mouth has been open since birth...and not to eat, either.  Oh, to get Jon to sit still long enough to eat a plate of food!  He is either laughing or telling a story or both.  With a grin that literally splits his face wide open, his smile is infectious and life-giving.  And behind that smile comes friendship, creativity galore, and just enough mischief to keep it interesting.

We had Josh attending a preschool in Morton where we lived.  Jon was too young to go, so I would bring him with me to the Hispanic mission where I worked.  The pastor's wife would keep Jon (and teach him Spanish).  But he desperately wanted to go with Josh.  Finally, when he was 18 months old, the school decided he could attend...but he had to wear a uniform.  So we found little navy and white onesies, had them monogramed with the school insignia, pulled the khakis over the diaper, and sent Jon to school.  That's where he met Ms. Thelma.  Ms. Thelma loved her some Jon Burris.  While all the other children were napping, she and Jon would sit and talk.  (Wait, how old was Jon?  That's right, 18 months old.)  She told us one day that she tried to call him Jonathan, but he said, "Ms. Thelma, I'm jus' Jon."  Every day at the preschool, after reciting the pledge and their Bible verse for the week, the students would recite a poem in which they proclaimed, Excellence, I pursue you!  Jon would muster up all the seriousness he could find in that little mischievous body and declare boldly and proudly: eskalence, I p'sue you!

Getting Jon to sit and eat has always, always, always been a challenge.  We had gone out as a family to a bbq restaurant (not Jon's favorite because he has been a self-declared vegetarian since 6 months old).  Jon was, again, standing in his seat and being loud.  Cliff and I had already corrected him multiple times.  Finally Cliff, in a very controlled yet firm voice said, "If you don't sit down and eat your meal, I'm going to take you to the restroom and spank you. Do you hear me clearly?"  Without missing a beat, Jon said, "My name's not Clearly, it's Jon."

Later that year Jon found out he would soon become an older brother.  Josh was not the least bit interested in this new phenomenon, but Jon's imagination was completely engaged.  He stood about as tall as my belly button, and he regularly noticed my blossoming shape.  One day he said, "Mom, can the baby see me?"
"No, Jon, but the baby can hear you."  Jon pressed his face to my belly and said in a very low man-voice, "Baby, it's me Jon."

As Jon continued to watch my shape change, he became very concerned about the baby's exit strategy.  "How will the baby get out, Mom?"  I was not prepared for the birds and bees talk, especially with this particularly verbose preschooler.  "I will go the hospital, and the doctors will take her out."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"How will the doctors do that?  Will they cut your stomach open?"
Now this is where you and I will probably have a difference of opinion because it would have been very easy to say, "yes."  But I knew I wasn't going to have a c-section, and while I didn't want to have an anatomy conversation, I also didn't want to give him false information.
"No.  God gave mommies a tunnel for the babies to come out of.  The doctors help the baby come safely through the tunnel."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"Do they crawl like this?"  I nearly ran off the road laughing as I witnessed him through my rear view mirror doing a mock military crawl in his car seat.
"Uhm, no.  The doctor and I push on my tummy and she will slide out."
"Like going to the bathroom?"
"yeeeeahhhh....something like that..."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"What's at the end of the tunnel."
Oh Lord.  Why is my house so freakin far away.  "Uhm, a hole for the baby to come out of."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"Can I see the hole?"
That's gonna be a "no."

Jon wakes up talking.  His dad doesn't.  His dad takes him to school every morning.  (Oh to be a fly in that vehicle.)  Jon has this cute way of tilting his head and raising his voice an octave to ask questions.
"Dad, do you think we'll ever be able to see the internet?"
           "Dad, how cold does a cold-blooded reptile's blood get before hypothermia sets in?"

"Dad, would you rather die of hypothermia or heat stroke?"
               "Dad, who had more faith, Noah or Moses?"
"Dad, when you were a teenager (Cliff LOVES these questions) did you hate smoking like I do?"
      "Dad, how many children do you think I'll have?"
Cliff has learned to engage the children in prayer on the way to school.

But Jon's head is not just full of thoughts; his heart is very thoughtful.  He told Josh recently, "We really are best friends."  Just this morning he gave Zoe some of his birthday money to buy a ball cap.  His teachers always tell me about the acts of kindness he performs at school.  Jon probably has a million thoughts a minute...and a sizable number of them are about how to help you.

My OB/GYN was more right than he could have known.  What is the source of laughter, debate, experiments, mischief, and delight in our home?  Jus' Jon.

What a month!

Joel as Easter Lovey Bunny

Ahh, Easter!  I love Easter.  It's what I do, you know??!?  Really, I've loved Easter since I was a kid.  But wowser, it does a number to my calendar.

Easter Love

Add to that a birthday...a vacation...confirmation...youth Sunday...sickness...sickness x 3...a new dog...a tragic loss...baseball season...

3 Kids in 3 leagues = 5 days of baseball per week = crazy town!

...well, you get the picture (and just in case you don't...I've attached a few).

Confirmation 2013: Josh was in this class.  Perks of being a pastor--confirming your child.

.

I have been busy writing all the while, just not busy publishing.  So, hopefully soon I will start rolling out some of these thoughts that have spilled over to paper-screen as I have celebrated LIFE over the last month.  I hope you stay tuned.

Zoe is 7.  Pink and purple are still her favorite colors.  She is still my favorite princess.

We've grown by four feet: Meet Winston.  He's a Labradoodle.

Josh stealing, Jon catching, Zoe batting

 Fun times in Kentucky.  Josh and Jon were born there...and were ecstatic about posing outside of the hospital.  Will (the big kid in the picture) was a Kindergartner when we lived there.  His mini-me look-alike is Luke, his ten year younger brother.  Zoe and Luke hit it off big time.  Joel fit right in too!

Youth Sunday

The youth group at Trinity led worship the Second Sunday after Easter.  Their theme was discipleship.  Over the next several weeks, I am going to post some of their essays.  Amazing!

Last week our congregation said goodbye to a beautiful lady.  Julie's friends and family gathered to celebrate her life and encourage her precious family (mother, husband and 3 children).                        I love this picture of Julie.  It speaks of a promise, a secret that Julie knows.  There's more!

World Down Syndrome Day 3-21

Joy in the Moment

In April of 2007 I assumed I was pregnant with our fourth baby.  If nature took its proper course, I would be having a Christmas baby. Sure enough, the due date was set for December 11. I knew this would be the caboose.  We planned for four, this was the year that I planned to have number 4, and this would be just the planned space between numbers 3 and 4.  I also planned to have a little girl, a playmate for number 3 who was a girl.  So many plans…

Pregnancy and childbirth were easy for me.  Cliff tells me I shouldn't brag about this.  I might find myself clawed in the eyeballs by some poor woman who experienced every symptom in the book with a conclusion of 36 hours of labor.  Oh, I had morning sickness, and some crazy rash.  My back hurt…and still does!  But overall, good experiences, can’t complain.  Childbirth was so easy that I stopped using an epidural after number 2 and the OB started scheduling inductions because he was afraid I would give birth on my own.  He was probably right.  “So,” he chided, “don’t plan anything for the week before your due date and we’ll decide what day to bring you in.”  A planned delivery…

Around July it was time to have the blood tests you take midway through pregnancy to rule out any abnormalities.  This not being my first rodeo, I rolled up my sleeve, offered my blood, and bee-bopped my way out of the office without a second thought.  Two weeks later I was on the Fort Bayou Bridge heading back to work after lunch, trying to squeeze in a trip to Wal-Mart when my cell rang. It’s amazing the inconsequential details you remember when life takes sudden u-turns. 

“Mrs. Burris, do you remember taking the alpha-fetoprotein test?” asked the OB nurse.  Yes, I know I have pregnancy brain, but I do remember you sticking the needle in my arm. 

“Sure.”  Now my heart is starting to beat a little faster.  Is she about to tell me I am having twins?  (It tests for that, and in my secret heart I've always wanted twins…but as numbers 4 and 5?!?!?) 

“Well, your levels came back elevated, and sometimes that indicates a chromosomal abnormality, but you are so young and these tests come back with false positives all the time.  All the same, we want you to go to Mobile for some extra testing.  Mrs. Burris?  Did you understand what I just told you?”

 Uhm, I think you just told me that there may be something wrong with my baby, but MAYBE I DIDN’T HEAR YOU ON MY CELL PHONE IN TRAFFIC.  “Yes, I understand.”

 “Okay, well, you can call back if you have questions, but you will get a phone call from their doctor to schedule your appointment.  They will call soon though, because you will want the chance to terminate the pregnancy if something is wrong.  But I’m sure nothing is.” 

“Okay, great.”

I sat in the Wal-Mart parking lot.  Just sat.  I didn’t cry, scream, call anyone, I just sat.  I don’t know for how long.  I just didn’t know how to conduct myself in the next minute, so I let it wait for me.  Finally I got up the nerve to walk in the store.  A mother was fussing at her teenage daughter for being so slow.  The girl was willowy with wispy white-blond hair and she was standing in the flow of traffic with arms crossed and not moving.  Her back was to me, but the mother’s back was not.  The mother’s face was red with frustration and embarrassment.  Ah, Wal-Mart--the haven where I can always find someone with bigger problems than mine.  The thought skittered through my mind: “Well, whatever is wrong with my baby, we won’t have that problem!”  The girl turned and I saw the angelic features of a child with Down Syndrome.  I went home.  The next moment had to wait for me too.

I was able to tell my husband, my mother, and my pastor.  I couldn’t figure out how to tell anyone else, even my other children.  They laid their little hands on my belly and prayed, “Lord Jesus, make our baby strong and beautiful.”  I would cry and beg for it to be true.  Further testing revealed an otherwise healthy fetus so my OB decided not to talk about it.  I tried to make normal plans.

I chose to name the baby Joy.  I actually did not know if the baby was a boy or a girl.  I had found out with the other 3.  I wanted that storybook moment when the doctor said, “It’s a girl,” or “it’s a boy!”  Some days I would wonder what if…what if this baby is born with an abnormality?  What will happen?  What will I do?  My mind would spin with disaster scenarios, then the baby would kick and the Spirit would remind me, “Joy is within you.  Do not let life’s circumstances steal your joy.”  I would place my hand on my little Joy and tell sorrow and fear to wait a minute.  But, still, I did not talk about it. 

Sometimes I would go to websites or chat rooms for parents of children with Down Syndrome.  Those were terrifying places.  They reported that many individuals with Down Syndrome will also have other complicating conditions and life expectancy is only 60.  “I just couldn't keep my baby,” mother after mother wrote on the walls of those pages.  “I couldn't live with the pain.”  I would put my hand on my little Joy and turn off the computer.  I couldn't talk about it.  I needed a minute.

I bumped into families with Downs kids all the time.  Why had I never noticed before?  Was it a sign?  Or was I just sensitive, like seeing your car everywhere after you buy a new one?  The holidays were quickly approaching and I was growing past the cute pregnant size to the uncomfortable size when everyone wants to know when the baby is coming.  I still couldn’t talk about it, even with my husband.  I requested my maternity leave from the church where I preached; I planned to return after 8 weeks. I didn’t know how to make different plans. 

My last Sunday I offered communion to the faithful even as I counted contractions.  My husband went to work Monday morning and I stayed home for my first day of leave with our little girl.  She poured an entire bottle of bubbles on the bathroom floor then proceeded to slip down and hit her head on the tub.  I had to squeeze my huge self between the tub and toilet to rescue her and clean up the mess.  I put her down for a nap and cried, “God, I can barely do this with a normal child.  I can’t have a special needs child.  I don’t want a special needs child!”  I couldn’t talk about it because I didn’t think I should be saying that.  But there, I said it.  After a minute I collected myself and made gingerbread houses as planned.

 I went in for a 39 week check up on Wednesday.  There were magazines on the table in the waiting room and I flipped through a holiday one that gave cute ideas for decorations and cookies, and then I started to read an article about a family with four children.  Baby four came along with much joy and then, to their great surprise, he was born with Down Syndrome.  He had heart problems, vision problems, and diabetes, but he was the joy of their life!  I was horrified.  “Mrs. Burris, the doctor can see you now.”

 I lay on the exam table and watched my big belly roll with the kicks of a baby who has run out of space.  The doctor took several minutes to get there.  I was completely alone…me and the baby.  Unbidden tears leaked down my cheeks.  “GOD! How could you let me read that today?!  Didn't you hear me?  I don’t want a baby with special needs! This is not in the plan!”

In the next minute the Spirit spoke.  “Who do you think you are?  Did you make that baby, or did I?  I made you too.  You were born spiritually blind and I had to give you sight.  You were spiritually deaf to my voice and I had to give you ears to hear.  You were slow to speak, move, and obey my voice, and I waited patiently for you to respond to my love.  This child that you shun only demonstrates physically what I do for you each and every day spiritually.”

My spirit quieted and the doctor came in the room.  “Leanne, did you know you’re in labor?  Take yourself straight to the hospital.  We are having a baby today!”  I called my husband and my mother as I drove down the road to the hospital and checked myself in.

Three hours later I was pushing a new life into the world.  The OB hadn't talked to the nurses about the possibility of the baby’s abnormality.  I hadn't talked to the pediatrician.  My mom and husband knew, but we hadn't talked that day.

 But I had no more minutes.  With just two or three pushes the doctor was holding my baby and I was straining to see: was it a “Joy” as I planned, or would I need a new name?  “Well? Is it a boy or a girl!?”

 Suddenly the OB remembered, and the nurses realized, and my mother grew concerned.  “Oh… it’s a boy.”  It did not have storybook quality.  The little boy wasn't crying and a nurse was taking him to the other side of the room.  My mother rushed to the nurse’s side.  She looked at the bluish baby with great concern, then looked at me with reassuring eyes.  Maybe she didn't realize how small the room was.  The baby perked up, the OB was satisfied that I was taken care of, and he left.  The nurses took the baby.  My husband and my mother and I stared at each other.  We couldn't talk about it. 

Mama left to follow the baby and my husband asked if I thought the baby had Downs.  “I couldn't tell.  They are all so squished looking when they’re born.  Mama looked worried though.”  Hours later, nurses brought the baby to us.  “He is doing great!”  And he was.  They couldn't talk about it. 

Finally, late that evening the pediatrician brought me pages from one of those scary websites I had visited months before.  “Mr. and Mrs. Burris, we believe your son may have a condition known as Trisomy 21, or Down Syndrome. Had you made plans for this?” 

I was awake to see the sunrise the next morning.  “Okay, God.  So what now?  How do I proceed?  In a minute I have to engage this new reality.  Is there a plan?  What will we do?”  At that moment the nurses brought our tiny little boy into the room, crying for breakfast.  “What are we going to name him?”

  “Joel.” 

“Do not fear, O earth; be glad and rejoice, for the Lord has done great things!  O children of Zion, be glad and rejoice in the Lord your God.” Joel 2:21

It goes almost without saying that December 5, 2007 forever changed me.  Joel is a joy, both beautiful and strong. He is five now, and sticky, stinky, clingy, defiant, terrible two’s-three’s-four’s all in one glorious package.  But no one quiets my spirit like Joel.  When he sits in my lap and pats my shoulder with that stubby hand crossed permanently with a tell-tale palmar crease and lets that little tongue loll out ever so slightly, I know that every other plan can wait just a minute.  Together we sit and we talk about it.