Valentine’s Day 2019
Two weeks ago the plan was to finish the Oxford Schools Early College program and graduate with his AA in May of 2020. And, as things often go, in a time of suddenlys, my first born, Colie, decided to leave the program, graduate high school with his 43 college credits this May, and join the Army.
We didn’t see this coming.
I first read The Giving Tree in Ms. Connelly’s 1st grade class. I mean, it was ok and all...but I preferred laughing obnoxiously out-loud with Billy Costello and Shannon Zito listening to Shel Silvertein’s 18 Flavor’s, and how Peggy Ann McKay feigned sickeness in a last ditch effort to skip school until her glorious revelation that she woke up on a Saturday. Now, that was where the literary prowess was at!
The Giving Tree? Meh, it was kind of a downer.
36-ish years later tonight I sat down to read The Giving Tree to Whit. If truth be told, I had unsuccessfully spent the prior 5 minutes searching for my copy of Where The Sidewalk Ends, all before succumbing to plan B. I guess some things never change.
Admittedly, I can get lost in the details. Such has been the case during two separate Amazon.com visits, searching for the perfect alarm clocks for my boys. Months ago, I spent some time I will never gain back trying to find an efficient, and yet aesthetic alarm clock for each of them. Two separate times I have closed down my browser with nothing saved to my cart. So, you can imagine my surprise on Tuesday morning when a random package from Amazon showed up at my door with 2 RCA alarm clocks inside.
I googled: How to figure out who sent me an amazon package without a receipt.
It’s not something I actually talk about a lot, but one of the weightier things about having a child with special needs is the designated isolation.
There is a physical isolation that happens as a result of not being able to attend, for example, a Sunday afternoon barbecue without either Tim or I having to be ‘on.’ If one of us wants to sit with the adults, the other parent will be required to entertain, engage, and chase Whitney the entire time. Then your left with two choices… guilt or work, and both lead to fatigue, when the purpose of any given event was to restore. I am not using an absolute for dramatic effect when I say that there are no relaxing family outings. This is a staple of the grieving process for parents like us.
As a family, we decided to eat our New Year’s Day black-eyed-peas-with-Louisiana-hot-sauce dinner in front of our fireplace. Partly because this inviting setting felt demonstratively festive, but mostly because I live in Michigan, and it is ridiculously frigid in my dining room these days.
Ridiculously.
After dinner, Tim asked the kids to share their goals for 2018. One by one, in between the boys wrestling on the couch, the dog growling while play-fighting with the cat, and Whitney whining/crying/talking 100% of the time, we went around the room and shared. As Tim was wrapping up, and speaking some beautiful encouragement over our family, I asked him to stop.
‘I can’t even focus on anything you are saying…let’s put her in her room to play for a second…’
But he reminded me that this is our life, and I knew what he meant...Whit’s a part of our family, she needs to stay.
A few weeks ago I heard this term, used by Christine Cain in an interview she was giving, coined ‘Compassion Fatigue.’ For all intents and purposes, compassion fatigue in the church can be described as the exhaustion of the soul, mind, and spirit that Christians face, as they absorb the weighty realities that exist between vision campaigns and hope rallies, and the un-glamourous, messy work of the gospel.
Anne Lamott describes in her book, Some Assembly Required, a visit she took to India. Moved by compassion towards the begging children she saw on the streets of India, she handed them some of her currency. And, as an unintended consequence, she was mobbed.
A few months ago I asked Eric Brown, a gifted photographer from the Nashville, TN area, if he would be willing to share the story of his daughter Pearl on the Flesh & Gold podcast. Pearl was born with Holoprosencephaly, a condition where the brain of an embryo fails to form into two hemispheres. In the last almost 5 years, Pearl has survived surmounting medical difficulties, and her loving family has endured them right by her side.
Quite unexpectedly over the last few months, I found my heart deeply transformed not only by the life of sweet Pearl, but by the humility and the perspective of this profound family. In a world that rewards us for building platforms, achieving greatness, and flexing our strengths, the insights that the Browns carry with them concerning value, and weakness, and worth, emphasize the refreshing grace and freedom found in a life that abides. And Pearl has a powerful way of revealing the generous and abundant love of God; she affords us a glimpse into the eyes of the One who looks at the heart.
