Let's Get Physical

I know. It is the name of a not-so-spiritually-enriching song. But it is the words that come to mind when I think of the deep significance of what my family did yesterday. On August 16 we learned that our grandson due in December had died in utero. On August 18 our daughter delivered this precious little life. He was named Elijah Evan. We determined to mark his life on Labor Day weekend when our immediate family and his paternal grandparents would be present. How do you do a memorial service for a little boy whose life ended at five months in the womb? With just a few family members gathered in the back yard, how could we adequately mark the immense depth of the experience of love and loss? Words are powerful. God’s word is especially so, and there was plenty of that spoken and heard. But with such gut-wrenching pain, with such physically visible sorrow, how could we memorialize Elijah in a way that would be remembered and cherished? I realized in reflecting on what we did, we got physical! For Elijah’s memorial we participated together in some very physical ways.

Our son wrote a song for Elijah. Wow! As Elijah’s father said, “How many children have a song written for them?” This five-month-old, taken-before-he-was-born little boy does! This was such a physical expression of remembering. My son spent a week writing and practicing. He played it on his guitar and he sang it for them. His sister sang with him. It is called “Little Feet.” The chorus says, “Li’l Lijah was just too good for this world” and “his little feet never even made footprints in the dirt.” The songs speaks of our sorrow but also our hope that someday “we will see his little smile and touch his precious face.” It was a physical act born out of sadness and love and hope. We all were in awe. We all were in tears. It was such a physical experience. And the wonder of modern technology allowed my son to record and send the song for Elijah’s parents to keep.

Our daughter wrote a poem. It too was born out of sorrow and loss and hope. In her own reflection time she wondered how she could be so sad about a little boy she never saw. Then she realized she had seen him in her heart and mind. Her poem chronicled all the ways she had seen him. She had seen him in the joy in the faces of his mom and dad preparing to introduce him to the world. She had already imagined him playing with Laurel, our granddaughter born in July. She had imagined him visiting me and me scooping him up in my arms and not wanting to share him! She had already envisioned what future Christmases would be like for Elijah. And she had seen in her heart and mind her own child someday joining these cousins. Her poem was a very physical expression of how such a young and unseen life could create such a visible and heart-wrenching loss. We all “saw” Elijah with her, and as she read her poem we all physically mourned. Beautifully framed and mounted in an originally crafted work of art, the poem will hang in Elijah’s parent’s home, an enduring physical reminder of Elijah.

And we all planted something. On Sunday, September 4, in memory of Elijah Evan, I had ordered an arrangement containing seven separate plants for our church’s Communion Table. I had planned to pot each one to give to different family members in memory of him or to plant them around the yard. My daughter, Elijah’s mother, wanted to plant them. So at the close of our time of remembering, we did. What an incredible experience! Some of us took a turn of the dirt. Some of us helped to water. Under the careful and experienced guidance of Elijah’s paternal grandfather, each of us participated and watched as these plants were given a new lease on life. And two of them were planted next to plants from the memorial service of my father who died in 2006. Elijah’s plants right next to Great Grandpa Davis’—this was such a physical act of hope for all of us. The closing of Elijah’s memorial was very physical.

Through the song and poem written for him and through the plants given new life we will have constant and beautiful reminders of Elijah. These acts promote healing as well. We got physical. It was healing and it was very spiritually enriching.

Everyone has had experiences of loss. Many have known the loss of a little one like Elijah. What are the ways you or others you know have memorialized a loved one that has helped you to remember and to heal? Add a comment and let the readers know.

Mercies in the Valley

I have been gone. This blog will explain why. I hope it will also encourage all who read it in their own journeys through the valley of the shadow of death.

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It is a deep numbness marked by frequent flashes of pain. To describe it is very difficult. To experience it is excruciating. In an instant giddiness turned to profound grief. One has to wonder about all the capability of modern medicine and its machinery.

We were at an optional (you pay extra) ultrasound to “see” our grandson now almost five months along in utero. Our kids were pretty sure the baby was a boy, but this image would be definitive at five months. We had seen the DVD of the last ultrasound done a month earlier. The technicians can enhance the sonogram image and make it 3-D. They put the whole thing to music and even watching the DVD was quite emotional for me. This little baby, my grandson, not yet five inches in length, was exercising his arms and legs. But it was just a DVD.

Now our daughter and her husband invited us to come with them for this amazing experience in real time. The anticipation was palpable. This technology would allow us to see this little life still in our daughter’s womb. We were all in the room as the technician projected the ultrasound image on the wall larger than life. Almost immediately I sensed something was wrong. The heartbeat we heard was slow, not the rapid heartbeat of an unborn little boy. And the little guy was not moving. It looked like he was sleeping. I wondered, “Do babies sleep in the womb?” I could not remember. The technician had our daughter roll on her side to see if perhaps she could arouse the little man and get a better sound. It did not take long to see this produced nothing more. And then the fateful words came. “Guys, I cannot find a heartbeat. You need to go to the hospital,” she said. And then silence and she left the room. She was just a technician after all, and obviously not trained professionally to deliver such news. No matter the words or how they were delivered, we were all in shock. It happened so quickly. One second we were waiting to see this precious child squirm and to hear that unmistakable sound of life—his rapid heartbeat. The next second we were in grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression—all at once overwhelming our consciousness. I thought I might pass out. Our dear daughter and son-in-law, these wonderful and anxious young parents were suddenly slammed down into the deepest fear and grief. You have to wonder about the capability of modern medicine and its machinery.

It was later confirmed at the hospital. We had lost our dear little December baby. We were not prepared for this. We thought we were past “the time” when these things happen. The following day our daughter’s wonderful doctor confirmed the technicians words but with extraordinary bedside manners. He explained in detail to us all that had likely happened and all that lay ahead of them. He kept apologizing. Regularly, he stopped and said, “I am so sorry I have to tell you these things. “ It was profoundly comforting because he was sincerely communicating that he had some clue about how very difficult this must be for them. Still through it all, now 20 hours later, the numbness was profound. And the occasional flashes of pain seemed to be going deeper. I felt somehow like I was drowning, submerged and unable to get to the surface for air. I was hoping it was a dream and that any moment I might wake up.

It was not a dream. The grief and pain was real. The next day our precious daughter and son-in-law were admitted to the family center to be induced to give birth to their son who the doctor estimated had died sometime in the past week. The sight and sound of live babies were everywhere. The doctor apologized for this, too, but explained the concern now was for our daughter’s health, and her best care could be provided in this place.

The sadness is too deep and raw for me to write much more detail about all that transpired after she was admitted. But in the midst of all the sorrow and pain the mercies of God were scattered all around. We had prayed for two things: as quick a delivery as possible (the doctor had said it could take anywhere from 8-30 hours!), and safety for our daughter. Of course we prayed for strength to make it through, too, but we were certain God would provide this. We had no guarantee of the other requests. Though we know we will need much more of God’s mercies in the days and months ahead, we are profoundly grateful for God’s mercy shown to us. The body of my grandson was delivered just under eight hours after our daughter was induced. And 72 hours after the tragedy began, our daughter was home and resting comfortably with every indication that physically she will heal well.

Our daughter and son-in-law named him Elijah Evan. It means “My God is the Lord.” Our God is Lord. And the Lord’s mercies were all around us. We are profoundly thankful for family close enough to gather together. We cried a lot, but there were also moments of laughter--one of God’s greatest creative medicines. We have been blessed with top of the line adult children who have chosen top of the line life partners—a priceless mercy. Immense mercies in the prayers of family and friends near and far poured over us like fresh rain and the wonders of modern communication meant that we knew of these mercies moment my moment. Throughout the ordeal, the Word of God dwelling in us richly and called to mind by God’s ever present Spirit reminded us regularly of God’s promises. All of these mercies will continue to accompany us in the days ahead.

This is not the blog I had planned to write about my grandson that was due in December. It is the blog that has come. Written through tears I am reminded that the Psalmist says that God stores our tears up in a bottle—valuing each one (56:8). And I am reminded that Jesus loves the little children and the Lord knows us by name before we are ever formed in our mother’s womb (Jer. 1:5). Though we will wait a very long time to hold Elijah Evan, we are confident that he is in the arms of his heavenly father. A dear friend reminded me of another mercy. My father who passed away five years ago and was absolutely baby-crazy, has surely found him and will likely be holding and rocking Elijah Evan for us.

Worth Waiting For

I waited a long time for a grandchild. Our son married right out of college nine years ago. I think I was discreet about it—the waiting, that is. They knew how much I love babies. But I knew how much they had in their plans that made having children right away not practical. I just did not know how hard it would be to wait. All my friends sending me their Christmas cards with their couches and laps overflowing with grandchildren seriously tested my patience! It was cute at first. Then, year by year, it became torturous! I think my discretion weakened these last couple of years and I probably not so subtly expressed my longing—if not with my actual words, my face around babies probably said it all! Or maybe it was two Christmas Eves ago at church when I brought a little baby over to my son to show him what one looked like!?

I confess. I had my own selfish expectations. I got married young and when my son married younger, also, I just planned on being a very young grandmother. I am still young, relatively speaking, but not as young as I had planned. I did tell the kids I just hoped they would have children while I could still get up and down off the floor to play! And I guess I did warn them recently that if someone did not have a baby soon I may end up in jail for stealing a small child.

But finally the day came. Last Thanksgiving our son and his wife announced during the Thanksgiving meal that they were expecting a baby! Wow! What a great context for that announcement! And, true to my anxious grandparent’s heart, I already had a baby gift waiting! I immediately went into my little hope closet and got the soft little blanket square with a critter in the middle and gave it to them. I had purchased it two years earlier when I just could not help myself anymore. I had passed by so many sweet baby things. This one I refused to pass by. I bought it and put it away. It could wait with me for the time when my hope became substance!

But in November of 2010 July 4^th of 2011, the due date, seemed so far away! I had waited over eight years. I told myself I could wait another few months. I did. It was so worth the wait! She was three days late, but Laurel Ana was born at 9 p.m. July 7^th. All fingers and toes accounted for. Healthy lungs to announce her arrival. Though I could not be there, my son sent me the audio of her screaming she was here. Beautiful dark hair. No conehead and no visible marks or swelling from the long hard 24 hours of labor she extracted from her beautiful mother. She is perfect! Really! I know every grandparent says that, but Laurel really is. And she has already shown signs of inner beauty to match her outward gorgeous looks. She is as sweet as any baby I have ever been around and I have been around a lot of them. She has been so alert and observant. Though I know their little eyes do not focus clearly for several weeks, Laurel is sure looking intently at every face and everything put in her line of sight. You can see that she is searching for meaning in her environment and from those who care for her. Her little mouth already trying to make the shapes that make sounds. She rarely cries or fusses. She is pure sweetness.

Her inner beauty was really tested when she was only three weeks old and dragged to her Auntie Anne’s wedding on the 30th of July. Such a trooper! She made it to every party and celebration and was passed around to relatives, young and old, and friends too numerous to count. And rarely a peep out of her! She just searched faces intently, thrilled us with smiles occasionally (you can call it gas if you want, but the timing in response to people smiling at her makes me stick to my story—she was smiling at three weeks!). Then she would close her searching eyes to rest from all the hard work of exploring her new world and all these crazy people called relatives. And I just want to say, her mom and dad deserve a medal for their gracious and generous attitude in sharing this precious young life with so many folks without proof of hands properly cleansed with antiseptic wash or Red Cross training for child care.

Dear little Laurel was definitely worth waiting for. Did I say she is the most beautiful and personable little baby girl I have ever met? Ok. So I am over the top. All discretion aside, being a grandmother who has waited so long there is not time for such silliness. Oh! And I have another grandchild coming in December! This one a little boy. No doubt he will be the most handsome and charming young grandson to ever arrive on planet earth. I bet you can hardly wait for that post!

Communication that Changes the World

Now there’s a bold idea. What kind of communication can change the world? I know communication that can change my mood, and it doesn’t take much! I am familiar with communication that can quickly change a relationship by strengthening or destroying it. And, of course, there is non-verbal communication which can change all sorts of things, especially because it can be so easily misunderstood. High tech communication can change a person’s life in a matter of seconds as has been demonstrated on You Tube. But communication that changes the world?

In order for communication to change the whole world that communication would have to do one of two things. It would have to come from outside the world—a break through kind of communication for all the world to see. Or, it could start with just one person in the world but be communicated so deeply and widely that it could be described as having gone viral. Interesting, now that I think about it, there is one communication that I know of that has both of these characteristics—break through and grass roots viral. It is the incarnation. God becoming human flesh and living among us is exactly this kind of communication.

God, in Christ, came from outside our world. This was God communicating in living color! And, the message Christ brought both by his coming and in his teaching has changed the world, one person at a time—a tax collector, a prostitute, a shepherd, a fisherman, a leper. And it has spread so rapidly and so widely that, indeed, the whole world has been changed by what Christ communicated. The numerical denotation of history hinges on his arrival. The language of love he spoke transcends all languages. Christ’s message has reached the highest mountain and penetrated the deepest jungle. The desire to spread his message inspired great discoveries, spawned empires, inspired the printing press and gave birth to the world’s cutting edge linguistics. The message of Christ—for God so loved the world that he gave his only Son—has changed the world.

The power of this message is what keeps my communication focused on Christ. I can be a powerful storyteller and people will be spellbound…for awhile. I can construct and deliver a creative and compelling speech and people will be mesmerized…for awhile. I can make people laugh and cry and move them emotionally… but they will recover and forget. But when I communicate the love of God demonstrated in Jesus Christ, the Spirit of God can take that communication and use it whenever and wherever and however he chooses because it has eternal power. The word of God always accomplishes God's purposes (Isa. 55:11). Long after the image of my face and the sound of my voice and the passion of my heart fade in the memory of those who hear me, the world changing message of the love of God remains. The incarnational love of God communicated in Jesus Christ has changed the world and one day will change it for eternity.

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away . . . And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals . . . he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.‘ “ Rev. 21:1-5

However, the power of the message does not relieve communicators of the responsibility for excellence in how we communicate. For over 25 years Dynamic Communicator’s Workshops http://www.DynamicCommunicators.com has been helping me fine tune my skills in communicating this world changing message. The workshop’s emphasis on clarity, focus and creativity combined with the personal attention and coaching, make it a stand out in the field of communication seminars. The power of the love of God communicated in Jesus Christ in the hands of communicators committed to excellence is changing the world.

The Power of Hatred and Forgiveness

I met Col. Glenn Frazier in June in Pittsburgh at the second annual Descendants of the Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor (DADBC) Convention. Like my father, he was a WWII exPOW and survived to tell about it. Unlike my father, he hated the Japanese—all of them. He hated them so much that he could not even stand to be in relationship with anyone who did not hate them too. Though he had been very successful as a soldier and in business after he retired from the military, his hatred destroyed his first two marriages and left him estranged from four children. Colonel Glenn Frazier had reason to hate the Japanese. He had suffered torture and starvation, and witnessed unspeakable atrocities at the hands of the Japanese in World War II. Glenn is a member of the Battling Bastards of Bataan. He survived the Bataan Death March, O’Donnell Death Camp, a Hell Ship, and forced labor in Japan. Glenn had suffered a lot for almost four years. And every day of those four years his hatred grew. Glenn Frazier is a member of the Greatest Generation who fought to secure freedoms every American enjoys. But as the Camp O’Donnell Memorial Cross on at Capas National Shrine in the Philippine Islands states clearly, “Freedom is not free.”

On July 4 we celebrate the birth of the United States of America. We celebrate it wildly with waving flags, fireworks and parades. And, of course, we eat sumptuously with family and friends! All this we are able to do because over the years men and women of the armed services have paid dearly. As the veterans like to say, “All gave some. Some gave all.” My father also was a prisoner of war of the Japanese for three and a half years. So were some 300,000 other men and women. One hundred thousand perished. These ex-POWs understood the cost of freedom and they appreciated every day thereafter and every meal they were able to eat after they returned home. But for Glenn, the survival and return was bittersweet. His hatred of the Japanese tainted every part of his life. He was a free man living in a free country but he was imprisoned by his hatred. His nights were sleepless, filled with horrific nightmares. His days were filled with arguments and tirades with anyone who dared to own a car or anything made by the Japanese. His health was failing and hatred was killing him.

Then along came a young Japanese student. You can read Glenn’s story in his book, Hell’s Guest. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Hells+Guest&x=0&y=0 But the book does not tell about the young Japanese woman who was an angel sent from above. Glenn told me this story himself when I met him recently at the annual convention of the Descendants of the Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor. Through an extraordinary act of grace and compassion this young Japanese student asked Glenn to forgive the Japanese who had caused his suffering. But she did not stop there. She asked permission to take off his socks and shoes. Then she took a basin filled with water and washed Glenn’s feet. When she was done, she prayed for Glenn to let go of his anger and forgive the Japanese for what they had done. She prayed that he would be freed from the hatred that had imprisoned him all these years. And he was! After this, within three weeks, Glenn’s nightmares ended and he was sleeping through the night. Hatred gone, he began to build relationships with people and to serve joyfully in his church. Glenn’s third marriage is holding strong, and he has reconciled with two of his four children. And Col. Glenn Frazier now takes every opportunity he has to tell people that freedom is not free. America’s freedoms have been won by the suffering and sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of men and women. But more important, Glenn takes every opportunity to tell people that the ultimate freedom is the freedom from sin, like Glenn’s hatred and anger, and that freedom is only found in the grace and mercy of God. Spiritual freedom also is not free. But thank the Lord, someone else paid the price! Jesus Christ suffered and bled and died, so that we might be free from all that imprisons us. The love of Christ delivered a man named Glenn Frazier from fifty years of hatred and anger and the wake of destruction it left in his life. Freedom is not free. But Christ has paid the price.

Love Hate Relationship with Technology

Sometimes I love technology. Sometime I hate it. It is a love hate relationship. I cannot live without it and yet, at times, I would like to try! This week my computer decided to shut me out of the network in my office. I cannot access files. I cannot do a lot of thing necessary for performing the responsibilities of my job. Our computer tech person took one look at my computer and said, "I have no idea what happened." At times like this I hate technology. Especially when even highly technical people cannot figure out what it is doing or why.

I am a moderately educated user. I get by. But frequently my computer does things and I have no idea why. I assumed that was because of my relative idiocy when it comes to all things computer technical. But if even our tech guy is stumped, what's a person to do? I also hate computers when I encounter people who have become trapped in the vices it provides. And I encounter a lot of these people. Pornography, sites that prey on people, online affairs and addictions of all shapes and sizes make the computer and the internet high on the list of potential evils.

And yet, I do love the technology as well. Especially this last week. Last Thursday my first grandchild was born in San Diego, California. Laurel Ana was safely delivered at 9 p.m. on the 7th of July, screaming her healthy lungs out! For a variety of reasons, I could not be there. But my son sent me the audio of her birth. On my Iphone I have the recorded sound of my granddaughter announcing her arrival. It is amazing--both her lung capacity and the fact that I was able to hear it (and have the sound to play over and over again)! I love this technology! We live in Los Angeles about two hours away from my son and daughter-in-law and new baby. With Southern California traffic it can take four hour to travel the 100 miles to San Diego! So I cannot run by their home every day or even every other day to see this sweet baby. But thanks to technology we can Skype and see this little family in living color, live anytime they allow us. Two nights ago I watched as my son held Laurel and explained how sweet she was. He said, "She is so cute I just want to squeeze her really tight! But she is so tiny I know I have to be careful." How wonderful is that? Because of this technology that I cannot begin to understand, I can literally see and hear my little Laurel Ana and her wonderful parents every day! I love this technology.

And because of this technology I can also share some of these sacred moments with my extended family and friends. The beautiful picture in this blog of my son hanging over the basinette adoring his little daughter says so much. His wife Jackie sent this picture to me this morning from her Iphone and I was able to share it with all my siblings immediately...no waiting til the next family reunion to share pictures.

Wow! Its a rough call. Technology can be horrible and it can be wonderful, but because it can enhance connection between us when we are separated from those we love, I think I will go with the, "I love it!"

Of Thee I Sing

My father was a WWII POW. He was in the US Army just 19 months when he became a prisoner of the Japanese during WWII. He was starved and often brutalized and suffered for three and one half years until Japan surrendered in August of 1945. He was liberated about a month later. He did not re-enlist. But he often said, “If my country needed me and I could serve, I would go again.” He was very patriotic. And one of the signs of his patriotism was evident whenever the national anthem was played the tears would roll down his cheeks. Whenever the flag was raised or any patriotic songs were sung or played my father would silently cry. These symbols of our country moved him deeply. He lived to be 85 and I don’t think the emotion ever subsided. I have witnessed this over and over again with the American people, and veterans in particular, in a variety of contexts. Patriotic music moves people—especially people who understand the cost of our freedom.

As a pastor and worship leader it makes me wonder. So often I sit in worship and observe people singing songs about the love of God, the sacrifice of Christ, the price he paid for our sins, the grace and mercy and forgiveness of the Lord, the new life we are given, and yet I would dare to say the majority of people sitting in worship are at least visibly unaffected by what they are singing. Now, don’t get me wrong. I do not believe that tears are the primary or necessary evidence of heartfelt worship. I am just saying that the contrast between what I see when veterans sing the national anthem and what I see when many Christians sing in worship makes me wonder. It makes me wonder if we understand the cost of our spiritual freedom? I do not see the same level of engagement with the lyrics of the words of worship music as I do with patriotic songs. Animated and enthusiastic is how I would describe patriotic singing followed by clapping and whistling and cheering. Not so in worship in many churches I preach and worship in. And heaven forbid, if someone actually moves or raises their hands during the singing! Even when the song’s lyric’s say “we lift up our hands” few venture to actually do such a demonstrative thing.

The important question for person to ask is, of whom or what do I sing? What makes my heart sing? What gives me goose bumps? What makes me want to shout for joy? What causes me to silently be in awe? These are questions especially important for people claiming to be set free by the blood of the Lamb. Tears will not reveal the answer to all of these questions but they do indicate some level of deeper engagement in the music and its words. The question for me is clear, no matter what the visible signs, who is the “thee” of whom I sing?!