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.