Tuesday, March 13, 2007

So last week wasn’t one of my better weeks. Threw up Tuesday, passed out Wednesday and hit my head on the doorjamb, dreadful cold Thursday and Friday. But things have really picked up since then . . .

1) I am officially published!!! A year ago, while still living in Prague, several people encouraged me to submit my sermon on Nathaniel and the Psalms to a magazine. I had no idea how to go about doing that but finally figured it out and sent it to the Christian Leader, the Mennonite Brethren denominational magazine. The editor was very encouraging but then I heard nothing for a year. In January, I heard back from the editor and was told they were going to do a special issue on Lent and that my article would work well. So this March, they published my article!!! Peter reminded me that he is supposed to be the one doing the publishing but his time will come. I had forgotten that there was the possibility of remuneration so when I received a check in the mail I was very surprised. I was even more astonished by the substantial amount written on it!

2) I may have a piano to play in Zambia!!! We have been corresponding with the MCC Country Representatives in preparation for our move in August. In my last e-mail to them, I narrowed down my 300+ questions to only 11 or so. Some of them were quite pertinent, concerning our passports and malaria, but I stuck in one more question at the end that was a little less consequential. I wanted to know if there was a piano at Mindolo (the institute where we will be living and teaching). The country rep replied that it was a good thing I asked because they were in the process of getting rid of their piano and would just “schlep” (her word) the piano several hundred miles north so we can enjoy it at Mindolo. I just might need to have some place to play in case I get into another funk. Playing the piano is a life-giving thing for me, and since I will be seeing AIDS all around me instead of reading about it in the library, that particular thing may not get me out of a funk again. It’s always good to have several funk-reducing options.

3) Dalmatian has been found!!! Jason’s precious Dalmatian dog stuffed animal has been missing ever since our frustrating car caper the weekend we went up to Big Bear at the end of December. If you remember, we had Dad’s car entirely packed and then realized that Mom and Dad had both sets of keys and they were already several hours away. We managed to move everything into a friend’s car or so we thought. But somewhere in the process, we misplaced Jason’s Dalmatian dog. We looked absolutely everywhere and it remained a mystery as to its whereabouts these last three months. This afternoon, Jason and I went to pick up Brendan from school in Dad’s car since our van is in the shop. Jason happened to open up the console between the seats, and there was Dalmatian, crammed into a very tiny space. We had one ecstatic almost four-year-old boy in our house. He was jumping around and laughing and he kept saying, “He was lost and now I found him!” Then he moved on to saying, “I have to tell Daddy! I have to tell Grandma! Dalmatian was lost and now he is found!” Jason vividly acted out the main characters in the parables that Jesus tells in Luke 15. One additional story about Jason and Bible stories: Jason came home from Sunday School having studied the story of Zaccheus. He announced at the dinner table that Zaccheus wasn’t a good looker. He was looking for Jesus and had to climb a tree to see him. Good thing Jesus is a good looker.


Here is my article that was published in the Christian Leader:

MOURNING INTO DANCING

Easter Monday 1999, I went to the doctor for my regular six month prenatal appointment. Instead of simply being weighed and listening to the baby’s heartbeat, the doctor decided to do another ultrasound. The ultrasound revealed black spaces in the skull, revealing that the baby’s brain wasn’t developing. That afternoon, my husband and I went to see a genetic specialist who confirmed that there indeed was something wrong with our baby and that the prognosis was poor. The diagnosis was Trisomy 13, a rare chromosomal abnormality. Most babies with this condition do not make it full-term and if they do, they rarely survive the first year because of their severe disabilities. We expected to miscarry and so we waited and our church waited with us. We met with our pastor and his wife during the time we were deciding on a name. We had chosen Nathaniel which means “God gives a gift.” We struggled with the name, knowing that it was the right name, but not feeling the truth of it. Our pastor reminded us that Nathaniel is also a gift to God, and helped us to see beyond ourselves. Eventually we would be able to recognize his gift to us as well. In the process of naming Nathaniel, we also became more attached to him, something that I had tried to avoid, knowing the pain that would come with bonding. As my due date approached and Nathaniel still hadn’t miscarried, we decided to induce labor in the hope that we would get to hold him alive rather than delivering a stillborn. On July 11, our families joined us in the hospital and awaited Nathaniel’s arrival. He lived for three hours and we were able to take turns holding him and loving him for his brief life. One of the nurses commented that Nathaniel received more love in his short life than some people receive in a lifetime. Several days later, July 14, our community came together to lament with us at a memorial service.

The year following Nathaniel’s brief life was a difficult one for me. After taking the first few months off from work, I returned to seeing clients as a marriage and family therapist. Peter and I had tried to embrace our grief, engaging in various meaningful rituals, and wonderfully supported by our family and church community. But I still rode waves of mourning that seemed to keep coming. I took a class at Fuller Theological Seminary on the Psalms later that spring. One of the class texts that I found extremely helpful was Walter Brueggeman’s book, Message of the Psalms. I discovered that one can categorize psalms in three ways: psalms of orientation, psalms of disorientation, and psalms of reorientation. When life is good and going as we expected, it is easy to pray psalms of orientation. In my 29 years of life, I had known much joy and found I gravitated toward these uplifting and positive psalms. Then something happens, a tragedy or affliction of some kind, and we are thrown into a tailspin. We begin to question all that we assumed to be true. We are angry and frightened. Through my experience with Nathaniel, I was suddenly opened to pain and grief that I had never before encountered. The beauty of the psalms of disorientation, or laments, is that we can express exactly what we are experiencing and feeling to God, even if it isn’t theologically correct. I prayed for my baby to miscarry early on so that I wouldn’t feel more pain or be left in a difficult situation that I didn’t trust I could handle. I was angry at God and this was one of the ways I remained connected to God. At some point, God surprises us by acting in some way, by changing the situation, or by drawing close to us. Once again, we are able to praise God and give thanks, but our suffering isn’t very far removed. In these psalms of reorientation or thanksgiving, we may assert the same things as in psalms of orientation but we are forever changed by the period of suffering.

God surprised me on Ash Wednesday, April 2000, nearly a year after we received Nathaniel’s diagnosis. I was relaxing on the couch and I heard God say to me, “Be content.” The message itself spoke to numerous areas in my life, but the significance was simply in the fact that I heard God speak to me again. God felt near after a long period of distance. A complete shift happened inside and I felt as though I had woken up from a long sleep. I felt alive again, full of energy, and spiritually hungry. The year before, we had received Nathaniel’s diagnosis on Easter Monday and I remember thinking on Easter Sunday that Lent had been difficult for me to contemplate since there was so much joy in my life. My Lent started Easter Monday and continued all year until the start of Lent the following year. I was prepared to participate in Lent and meditate on the suffering of Christ, myself, and others around the world, when I had this experience of “waking up.” I realized that, instead of the traditional Lenten period of forty days, mine had lasted a year. Personally, I recommend the forty days. When I awoke, I realized my current Lent was over.

One of the changes that happened with this awakening is that I found my voice again. I began to journal and process what I couldn’t for the past year. I gave words to my thoughts during our time of waiting with Nathaniel and following his death. That morning, I wrote a psalm of lament, written from the perspective of how I felt at various times over the previous year, but particularly during the waiting period. Two days later I wrote a psalm of thanksgiving, a psalm that reflected my movement into a new orientation. This was April 5, exactly a year after we received Nathaniel’s diagnosis.

Psalm of Lament

Oh God, Creator and Maker of the universe, hear my cry for deliverance.
In my anguish I call out to you – why me?

Healthy babies are born by the hundreds each day, but not mine,
What happened to having a baby that is fearfully and wonderfully made?
What happened to receiving bread from the Giver of good gifts? I received a stone.

Some say, “You need to have more faith. This baby won’t be healed unless the mother has faith.”
Some say, “You are so strong so it is good this tragedy happened to you. Your faith can handle it.”
Is this how my faith is measured?
Is this my reward for being strong?

No one should have to watch their little son die in their arms, gasping for breath.
No one should dream of having a baby to rock to sleep, only to have their hopes dashed to the ground.

Why should I trust in you? Why should I believe you are in control?
When does the happy ending come, when all things work together for good?

Take this cup from me. I cannot drink from it.
Hear my cries for deliverance, I cannot bear the sorrow.

Here’s where I’m supposed to say, “Yet I will trust in you.”
But I can’t say that yet.

Until then, I will depend on those around me to remember your goodness and steadfast love.
Their faith will be my faith, their trust will be my trust.


Psalm of Thanksgiving

All praise to Emmanuel, the God who is near!
He is present in our trials and delivers us from the deep.

I was swallowed up by darkness, death surrounded all my thoughts.
There was no escape from sorrow, my thoughts were laced with loss.

My newborn son, snatched away before his time.
We had three short hours together, the hope for more denied.

Waves kept crashing over me, my grief felt unending.
The tears eventually ceased, but it was not peace.

When I could not pray, you sat with me, and simply said, “I’m here.”
You listened to my silent cries, my voiceless prayers were known.

You were present in the dark places and knew my hidden pain,
You honored the space I prepared for you and filled the emptiness.

I awoke to your gentle voice, speaking after silence.
I awoke and felt hungry, famished after slumber.

All praise to the God of the broken hearted!
You are present in the darkness, then surprise us by the light.

I will remember your faithfulness when the darkness covers me, I will trust you are by my side.
I will rejoice in the light that floods me, I will give thanks for this new illumination.

What was once my greatest sorrow has become my sweetest joy,
All praise to the God of life, for death was not victorious!

The Psalms, in all of its forms, link us with the joy and pain of others. Grief, more than joy, tends to be a lonely experience. Yet the Psalms give us the words of others who have been in similar dark places, though the circumstances may be different. We are given community in the midst of our loneliness. Their words resonate within us, sometimes giving us words when we don’t have any. They give us the freedom to relate to God in our pain and our sorrow, not just with praise and adoration. While we may not have the ability to praise, lament inevitable leads us into praise. The two are inextricable connected and we continue in an endless cycle where we call on God when we are in need, we wrestle to keep faith in God despite our suffering, then we experience God turning toward us and answering our cries with his presence, out of which joy and praise emerge. This cycle takes us into a deeper and more mature faith.

Each year during the Lenten season, I remember the gifts Nathaniel gave me. One of these gifts is an honesty that allows me to bring my anger, my pain, my sorrow before God. God isn’t only interested in my praise and thanksgiving but in all dimensions of my life, as reflected in the Psalms. Nathaniel also gave me the gift of embracing disorientation, not fearing pain but knowing that our mourning will turn to dancing. God’s steadfast love reaches into the dark times, keeping us company whether we know it or not. God loves to surprise us with his nearness, his compassion, his light, when we feel the darkness surrounding us.