A Time to Be Born

It was in a cold hospital room that I found my voice for a couple who desperately needed to be heard. Their infant son was born that morning. No one knew exactly why but he wasn't breathing. The call had come in right after church. Our pastor wanted to know if my husband could stop by and pray with them. As I relayed the message to him it was clear, this was my visit to make. This one fit me. Shortly after I arrived it was clear, I couldn't just pray and leave. They needed someone to advocate, minister and cry with.

It was only a few years before that I worked upstairs in the emergency room. Working with the patient advocate office gave me experience with families facing trauma and death. Parenting a child with medical anomalies helped me see the other side as well. My position was phased out the year after we left the church that had been our home for so many years. It felt as if everything I did was a copy of someone else or a feeble attempt to create a place to serve. On that day though there was no trying, it was a matter of surrendering to the calling. It was being willing to to be drained in order for another soul to find strength.

The mother has some developmental disabilities and the father would probably best be described as delayed. The father understood more of the situation but still couldn't grasp enough to even help with the most minor decisions. The nurse assigned was his Special Olympics coach and a few months pregnant herself. The doctors and nurses were fighting valiantly to save the life of this precious child in the other room but nothing they did could keep him with us.

After the decision was made to cease all heroic efforts, we readied the mom as best we could to say goodbye to her newborn boy. The father sat nearby proclaiming that he couldn't "go through this again" and he wasn't going to hold him. The pediatrician carried him in, the only sound was the rhythm of the bag on the mask pressed into his perfect face as she kept the oxygen flowing through his little body. He was placed in his mom's arms. The breathing tube was removed.

As mother cradled son, the irrepressible sobs behind me broke through the stillness. She kissed his soft head and we prayed. In her innocence she looked up at me, asking more than once "I don't get to take him home?"  I could only shake my head subtly as a whispered "no" forced past my throat. Not completely understanding the gravity of her situation, she picked up his hand and let it drop a few times against the swaddled blanket.

In a prayer that fell awkwardly out of my lips, he was dedicated to Jesus. There were no words to fit this moment. Nothing made sense so we thanked God for the strength He would grant a grieving family. We offered gratitude for the presence of an almighty Creator who knew the pain of losing His only Son in a cruel, fallen world. This was no longer just a hospital room, we were standing on sacred ground. The Holy Spirit brought comfort and undeniable peace we would treasure as strength.

Soon she placed him in my arms, physically light but the weight of the privilege pressed into my arms. Drawing him to my chest I whispered over his body, "You are safe now and so very loved." I brushed his face against my cheek allowing a tear to fall across his face. When I had my fill, I handed him to another waiting comforter in the room. More than once a prayer was prayed in the muffled sobs. Bit by bit, we cleared the room leaving a couple of friends to help prepared for the photographer.

Five days later I presided over my first infant service. Speaking of pain, comfort and destiny my words echoed through the small chapel. Light blue balloons disappeared against the cloudless sky that afternoon as we sought to release our sorrow. We hugged doctors, nurses, family and friends. 

Every life, every soul, every breath we take is more precious than we know. The shortest lives still hold deep significance to the story of this world. They connect us in ways so unexpected yet no surprise to our Creator who says we are "fearfully and wonderfully made." They move us to pray, seek and hopefully love.

May we never allow the sacred moments in life cease to change us. Even the saddest ones.

Always,


 Hope

This story was shared with permission, please do not copy or use it without contacting the author first.

A Personal Look at Hurricane Katrina

Seven years ago this week, many of us sat in our living rooms in stunned silence as images of destruction flowed across our screens. In the following days, the situation deteriorated beyond anyone's wildest imagination. The combination of nature and human error tore in as hopelessness weighed on all of us.

I wasn't in my living room. I was almost four hours away from home in a children's hospital with my youngest child. After a failed heart catheter procedure, they opened up my tiny little girl to repair one of the few things on her body that was considered "fixable". 

We sat for several days in a surreal fog with stories of disaster mixed with unbelievable stories of heroism. We were a captive audience in that tiny hospital room. Switching between dvds and news stations, we tried to preserve our sanity.

While watching our daughter closely, we were doing everything we could to help her pull through. She has a complicated anatomy and when it comes time for surgery, we always hold our breath. The world focused on the French Quarter and we focused on the beeping monitors, draining tubes and vital signs of our precious girl.

Today, as the Gulf Coast faces another storm, (Hurricane Isaac) we made our way to Portland again. This time for an annual checkup but I must admit, it was a strange feeling. We didn't expect anything big with our visit but you never know. The forecasters are predicting a milder storm but they don't always know either, do they? As it turns out, all is stable and we will return next year at the same time.

Sometimes I mark major world events with whatever is going on in our lives at the same time. Honestly, I'm sure that we aren't the only ones who mark these times with something personal. We often forget that even when the world is focused on major disaster, there is still someone, somewhere, walking a rocky path in their life. The difference is, they are doing it alone without the spotlight of tv cameras and news crews at every corner.

My Creator knows all of these things. He knows what will happen next, how we will react and what we need to thrive. He holds us through every storm if we let Him. He even knows the storms we face when life goes on around us. His focus is on us, on me, on you dear one.

Psalm 31:24 "Be of good courage,

And He shall strengthen your heart,

All you who hope in the Lord."

Today and throughout the week, we will continue to pray for the safety of those in the path of the storm. We hope the lessons learned from the past will help to keep the damage to a minimum. My prayer is that as the waters recede and the winds die down, we will be reminded that we all need each other.

Always,

Hope

Soothing My Soul

Worship is one of the things I love most about Sunday mornings. The gathering together of the saints to celebrate our Saviour and to encourage one another in the faith is priceless. I know that the freedom to meet together should never be taken for granted so every time we can, we do. (We don't meet out of obligation but out of pure joy!)
Yesterday, the worship team led one song that struck a chord in particular. There is actually a story behind it for me.
When my mom passed away, as we planned her memorial, I requested two songs that we would sing all together. "Because He Lives" reminded me that God would give us the strength to get through. I also chose it because Mom loved that song. We sang it at my niece's service many years ago and Mom found comfort there. I remember her telling me so.
The second song was "Blessed Be Your Name" written by Beth and Matt Redman. It had already been a balm to my soul and I wanted to share it with my family. The middle verses were especially perfect following 11 years of watching her battle a long drawn out illness that stole her away bit by bit.

"Blessed be Your name

When the sun's shining down on me

When the world's 'all as it should be'

Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there's pain in the offering

Blessed be Your name"

During the service the piano started to play and I knew within three notes, the old hymn, "Blessed Be THE Name" was ringing out. The pastor leaned over and began to profusely apologize. He had even checked with me ahead of time to make sure but somewhere along the line, the worship leader got it mixed up. The song I wanted to share, would stay tucked away.

So yesterday, as we have so many times since that day, I had another chance to soak it in, to sing it out and to once again feel the comfort of the Spirit pouring through me. Instead of this song taking me back to a most difficult day, it takes me forward, closer and more intimate with the Saviour whose name truly is blessed. No matter where my road leads, no matter what the path holds for me, "my heart will choose to say, blessed be your name".

Always,

Hope

The Cross Through the Eyes of a Mother

During this Holy Week, I can't help but reflect on the most precious gift ever given to humankind, the gift of life. This gift is the most priceless as well. It took enormous sacrifice, we as Christ followers know this. We have heard the story for years told in so many ways that we often get immune to the depth and the price that was paid.
Our church body is in the fourth year of presenting the story called "The Passover Lamb". It is a beautiful portrayal of Jesus during the last days of Holy Week and Passover. A few months ago I was asked to portray Mother Mary and I accepted. During the first rehearsal of the crucifixion scene, the director gave me a picture of how she wanted this part to come across. The horror that Mary saw when she looked upon her son hanging from a cross, beaten, bloody, dying and being mocked by the crowds that surrounded her was to be conveyed.
As I kneel at the foot of the cross during each performance, I see a very small glimpse of what Mary must have seen. It is chilling. My ears tune in to the jeering of the crowd. The voices of the same people who earlier in the week would have been shouting, "Hosanna", "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord"! After He dies, we are left alone, the only sound you hear is the wailing of His friends. As He is carried away by the guards, another wave of grief sweeps through and the reality of His sacrifice sets into another layer of my soul. Then there is a time of hollow mourning. Where numbness and grief intersect. There is no more energy for wailing, only empty sadness.
Then it happens, as it did in reality, the triumph of life over death. The stone rolls away to reveal a risen Saviour. Our God who came in the flesh to pay for what I could not, emerges from the tomb.
The hope that He brought with Him on that day is my constant companion. It has carried me as I am sure it carried Mary on the dark day so long ago. We know the accounts of what she saw on the day He died, we can imagine the joy when He rose but today represents the in between. Today, on the day in between, the confusion, the suffering, the sadness she walked through on that day. Although she knew what He had taught, she also knew that man has freewill and perhaps it was freewill that murdered her Son.
Today, during the "in between", as I prepare to celebrate His resurrection, I will contemplate the heart of a mother whose pain was real. A woman who willingly accepted what it meant to serve God with everything. She never once turned from her commitment and continued to trust in her God, even in the middle of the unimaginable. The God who asks us to trust Him with everything we have as well.

Have a blessed Resurrection Weekend!


Always,


Hope

Seeing The Season Through Grief's Filter

I have amazing memories of the Christmas season. My feelings of anticipation are colored by the warmth it pours into my soul every year. The giving, the celebration, traditions and making memories are always things I look forward to when Christmas rolls around. Adding to the joy, I became engaged to the Coffee Guy (at that time the FedEx® Man) on Christmas Eve and three years later gave birth to my Ray of Sunshine the day after Christmas not to mention the Princess was brought home from her birth state in December as well.
Those things will still bring joy this year though at times it is muted by the pain of this being the first Christmas without my mother. Even when she lived far away, there was the trip to Macy's to see Marsha (the sweet sales clerk with years of experience) to pick out the right outfit. There will be no phone call or anticipated pictures from my Dad. Instead, this year, we will pick out a special ornament that represents her. We will think of some of the great gifts she made or found for each of us. Gladness will fill our hearts when we picture her first Christmas in Heaven and sadness will spill in tears down our cheeks when we face the empty void in our hearts.
I am aware that I am not the first person to lose their Mom, nor do I believe it was the most tragic of losses. She lived a good long life and left a beautiful legacy. What I do know that it is our lives will never be the same. Christmas this year won't be quite as vibrant and I need to keep reminding myself that little things will seem bigger. My emotions may seem unstable but its from a heart that is still healing.
To my fellow bloggers who have experienced loss this year, I pray for God's comfort to envelope us and for His peace to heal our wounded hearts.

Always,

Hope