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.

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.