Lenses for Life

When the proof came I could not put it down. I was holding in my hands the result of an intensive labor of love. Twenty years of labor to be exact. Well, there was a several years hiatus in there somewhere. The labor slowed way down when I began ordained ministry full time in 1996 and then it came to a painful screeching halt when Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimers disease in 1999. We lost him in 2006. But the labor began again in earnest in the spring of 2009 when I began painting his story and preparing to travel to the places he was held prisoner in the Philippine Islands and Japan during WWII, which I did in February through April 2010. From fall 2009 until Spring 2011 almost every spare minute was taken up in writing and rewriting the story. It consumed me.

It started out as an attempt to record my father’s WWII POW story for the sake of our family. I did not want it to be forgotten. It ended up a very personal journey. As I studied, and read, and traveled, and reflected, it became increasingly apparent just how much my father’s experience had shaped me. So much of who I am and what I do echoes my father’s life.

I was not much interested in the kitchen or cooking. I was fascinated with tools and spent most of my time in the garage or outside with my father. I knew what a crescent wrench was long before I knew what a spatula was. I crawled up on the fender of the car and watched my father fix engines. I loved to be with him and I loved to be up high so I was driving nails on the roof long before I ever baked my first cake. To this day I do not know if my attraction was primarily to be with my dad wherever he was or if it was to mechanical and outdoor tasks. I just know that I was with him a lot and I learned so many practical skills. What I did not realize until much later in life was that I also acquired my worldview from him. I saw the world through the lenses my father wore—not physical lenses, but the lenses of his experience as a young man captured and made a prisoner of war just after his 21^st birthday. He suffered and survived three and a half years of deprivation and unspeakable brutality.

Yet, the lenses my father gave me allowed me to see a world filled with possibilities rather than a world filled with obstacles. Somehow, though poor, and small, and average in almost every way, my father helped me see a world where I could do anything I set my heart and mind to do. The lenses my father gave me allowed me to smile through life’s ups and downs. He saw the good in everything and everyone. My father helped me to see faith in God as the best lense of all to see the world and others clearly. My worldview was shaped by a man who had survived unspeakable brutality and had escaped death over and over again as a result of these lenses. I learned to see the world and myself through them and as a result am an optimistic, determined (stubborn?), hopeful, God-dependant person.

The book about my father’s story and how it shaped me is available on Amazon (link below) in black and white ($14.99) and a color edition ($30.00). It is a very personal story, but it is also a national story. Men like my father who survived and came home from WWII continued to sacrifice and serve in order to build the life and nation that subsequent generations often take for granted. When my copy of the final book arrives I think I will not be able to put it down. I think I will sleep with it. It is a labor of love. I hope all who read it will think about those who have positively shaped their own lives—given them lenses with which to see the world and themselves as filled with possibilities, full of goodness, and because of faith, full of hope.

When I blogged about my personal journey discovering how much my father’s experienced shaped me, friends who read it encouraged me to write it for a wider audience. I have. If you or someone you know are part of that wider audience who might benefit from a read you can order it from Amazon.

JUST IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS, FORGED BY WAR: A DAUGHTER SHAPED BY A WWII POW STORY.

http://www.amazon.com/Forged-War-Daughter-Shaped-Story/dp/146799149X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322626305&sr=1-1

Technology that is Personal?

After twenty years, some of which I was more actively engaged than others, I am very close to publishing a book about my dad’s experience as a POW in WWII and how it shaped me as a person and a pastor. My father died in 2006. His mother, my grandmother, died when I was a young child. And yet the book I am about to publish has my grandmother’s handwriting on the cover. How can this be? The wonder of modern computer graphics! My daughter Anne, who is a graphic artist, designed the cover of my book. I knew she would make it creative and beautiful. I didn't know it would be so extraordinarily personal.

In writing my dad’s story my mother gave me all sorts of materials related to his time as a prisoner of war. Among the artifacts were several telegrams that were sent to my father while he was a prisoner of war in Japan. He didn't receive any of them. They were returned “undeliverable.” At some point after my father was liberated and returned to the United States, my grandmother gave him the telegrams. My mother passed them on to me. I gave all of the documents and photographs to my daughter to scan in order to put them in the book. When I asked her if she would design the cover, the only thing I requested was that she include on the cover a picture of my dad holding me when I was a young child. The rest was up to her. What she did was stunning, and when I first saw it, it brought me to tears.

The front cover background is one of the telegrams with the government stamp with the date Dec 1945 clearly displayed. The closure flap of the telegram is also visible along with the government instructions for delivery. Though technology can be a menace at times, in this case it was a creative gift. The electronic scan of the inside of the telegram allowed my daughter to capture my grandmother’s handwriting one letter at a time. Then she used those letters for the title of the book and my name. The effect is stunning. Stunning because the use of the telegram and it’s written message makes the cover of the book a literal peek into that period of history. Stunning because the story is about how our parents' life experiences shapes us. My father’s mother is part of this string of life-shaping history. Her actual handwriting on the cover of the book is a remarkable testimony to this fact.

The back of the book also employs creative use of technology. My daughter was able to find a picture of the skin of aircraft panels online and use them for the background. This whole area of computer technology amazes me. I have no idea how it works, but it certainly is changing the way we are able to communicate in all sorts of mediums. In this case, for good; it visually communicates the book’s story. History shapes us and especially as it is absorbed through our significant relationships.

When history is communicated as story, it elicits images that can make it very compelling and very personal. Thinking about the power of the cover of my book got me thinking about the gospel. We have artifacts but we do not have actual pictures of Jesus and his time. We have the written story told meticulously from at least four angles in the Gospels. But the “images” of the gospel that bring the story to life and give it authenticity are the people whose lives have been shaped and transformed by the story of Jesus. His life and death and resurrection--the gospel--has shaped their lives. Their stories are the pictures and images of the life shaping-power of Jesus. Like my father’s story, the telegram, and my grandmother’s handwriting, the “images” of people whose lives have been shaped by the gospel story are what make the story so compelling and so personal.

· A man imprisoned for serious and violent crimes encounters the gospel while in prison and is transformed. A serious student of the Bible while still in prison, when he is released he becomes part of a local church and is a dedicated follower of Christ, serving and ministering to the power of the gospel.

· A woman imprisoned by drugs for most of her life and in and out of jail for related crimes had her children taken away two times. After a third time she began recovery. This time she encountered the living Christ in the gospel message and has turned her life around. Now sober four years she has regained custody of her three children. She has completed a certificate program in dental hygiene and is partnering to assist other parents regaining custody of their children. She too is a serving and contributing member of the local congregation, inspiring others to be shaped by Christ.

· A woman abused as a child and in unspeakable slavery to evil for almost thirty years is told by her Jewish psychiatrist that it's a miracle she is even alive. The scars and pain of her early years will never be forgotten. Three Christmases ago she stumbled into an Advent service and began to encounter the Christ of the gospel. She continues in therapy, but her life is now being shaped by the love of Christ and the love of his people who have surrounded her and taught her what love and trust really looks like. She, in turn, is helping to shape the Christian community as she gives her time and talents as an artist to a program for children after school and as a deacon serving others.

All these are stunning examples of the shaping of people’s lives by the gospel of Jesus Christ. They are pieces of history, images that display in living color the power of the gospel story. These lives, like the font of my grandmother’s handwriting, are being lifted up for all the community to see and know that Jesus is alive and shaping lives for eternity. This too is stunning and brings me to tears.

Newlyweds 36 Years Later

There we stood. Side by side in front of the bathroom mirror. In our underwear. Brushing out teeth. If it were not for my husband’s more reserved nature and the potential for Internet misuse (not to mention basic Christian modesty) it would have made a great picture for this post.

As I stood there brushing my teeth, I realized this is marital bliss thirty-six years later. This is true romance at the deepest level. Two people so comfortable with each other that mundane daily routines are causes for deep affection. Thirty-six years ago we could never have envisioned we would be standing here like this. Well, we certainly hoped we would be together thirty-six years later, but young love never contemplates the body thirty-six years later. Never could imagine all the miles and all the experiences shared along the way.

I had just finished a session of premarital counseling the day before. I could not help but wish I could have shown them this picture. This young couple is pretty exceptional. They understand, at least intellectually, that marriage is not primarily about romance and that the ideal peddled in movies and songs is a complete sham. But can they really understand how much marriage is about everyday sharing of things like brushing your teeth? After years of being frustrated by Christian books about marriage (I always had to disclaim two or three chapters) I have finally found an excellent one for modern young couples biblically sound and in touch with reality. It is Are You Waiting for the One? by Margaret Kim Peterson and Dwight N. Peterson, published by InterVarsity Press. I highly recommend it. In fact, I am going to recommend that our church’s student ministries program use it for our teens. The message of the book is epitomized in this statement. “Marriage is a school for character. . . an arena in which we can practice the art of faithfully bearing with one another in the midst of all that life brings.”

Further, the Peterson’s offer a very helpful alternative to the often polarizing choices of headship (where the man holds the power) and egalitarianism (where power is equally distributed). They offer the metaphor of teamwork, mutual “cooperation that relies on each other’s strengths and covers for each other’s weaknesses.” No matter what a couple calls their relationship, the reality of everyday life is lived out through teamwork more often than anything else. This is what I saw in the reflection in the mirror that morning—thirty six years of cooperation, teamwork.

Back to the bathroom mirror picture . . . Both my husband and I are in fairly good shape so with the range of possibilities the reflection wasn’t so bad. But it was the simplicity of the reflection in the mirror and all the everyday moments that it represented that got me thinking. Though some authors and some theologians would press husbands and wives into a one-size-fits-all mold, the Petersons’ book was refreshing because it more accurately reveals the reality of what marriage is like. There is no custom mold for marriage. Just as our reflection in the mirror differs from every other couple’s reflection, so the relationship between and husband and a wife differs with every couple. God has created each one of us unique. Two unique individuals joining lives are going to create unique patterns of living together, but always shoulder to should, side by side, navigating one day at a time.

The reflection got me thinking about how very seldom the long-term commitment of two people living very ordinary lives is portrayed in the media. Actually, though many would find fault with some of the material, the television program Modern Family and the marriage of Phil and Claire comes as close as I have seen. Though they are often challenged by cultural expectations of what their marriage should be, they always come to the realization that what it is—comfortable and ordinary but committed and faithful—is really what matters.

The reflection got me thinking. Flowers and gifts are wonderful. Words of kindness and love are precious. Romance is fabulous. But the everyday ordinary acts of faithfulness are the real warp and woof of a marriage that lasts. Taking out the garbage when it stinks, doing a load of laundry when the bin is overflowing, emptying the dishwasher, working in the yard, filling my car with gas when I have not even noticed it is close to empty, reminding me (forgetful as I am) to close the windows on my car, faithfully (and without complaint) waiting for me when one more meeting goes longer than I anticipated, a new tube of toothpaste appearing in my basket when the last one is squeezed to death—all of these are expressions of affection and commitment that are not glamorous but, like our reflections in the mirror they are who we are and what much of life is made up of. The simple things year after year add up to profound trust and deep comfort.

I will not be able to show to the young couple I am counseling the picture of us standing side by side brushing our teeth in our underwear. But I will talk with them about these things—reflections of love that last a lifetime. I can only hope and pray that thirty-six years from now they will be standing side by side brushing their teeth and looking in the mirror, too, and giving thanks for a marriage that is built on love that is demonstrated through the simple, every day acts of sharing life together, side by side.

Thirty Thousand Prisoners Released: Danger or Opportunity?

The anxiety level is palpable. Due to overcrowded pisons and the budget crisis, the state of California will soon be releasing 30,000 prisoners. Some will be released to county jails (also overcrowded) and others will simply be paroled (to a system critically short on parole officers). You get the idea of why there is anxiety and why the result may be dangerous. But how could this be an opportunity?

What if every church in California prayerfully and carefully considered being a host church for one of these prisoners? Many churches are doing prison ministry already, but I know what most smaller church folks are thinking—this would be too hard for us. It is hard. It is very hard. I know because the church I serve is doing it. In February of this year our congregation welcomed a man who was paroled after thirty years in prison. He had been in the juvenile justice system many years before that. We have other people in our congregation who have spent some time in jail, but never this kind of a parolee.

I will call him George. As providence would have it, George found our church through a free Google call service with directory assistance and talked to one of our prison ministry volunteers who just happen to be volunteering answering the phone that day. For three years we corresponded about what might happen if he were released. Like many prisoners, George had come to faith while incarcerated and his life was transformed. He had become a serious student of the Bible and had not had any incidence of violence or crime for 20 years. But each year when his parole hearing came around, his parole was denied. His crimes were very serious ones and spanned most of his life. He was deemed a threat to society. He was a changed man, but the justice system did not believe it.

But through more providence, George ended up with a very attentive young public defender who was a devout Christian and came to believe in George. Through his efforts George was finally released. George was on his way to First Presbyterian Church of Downey. There is no way we could ever be adequately prepared for such a relationship. And, at times, I wondered what we had gotten ourselves into. Especially the day George met with a group of elders and told them his story—his whole story! I remember thinking and praying , We are not equipped to do this! I heard a voice inside me say, “No, you are not, but I am, and where else can he go?” And so, we submitted to the providence that had brought George to us. Though, I know there is still much work to do, so far God in his grace and mercy is walking with us. George is being greatly blessed, but so are we!

Even a small, resource-challenged church like ours (about 325 active members and friends) has been able to make a difference. Some of the things we have done are simple. The first things we provided did not cost much but were critical for his re-entry. We provided George with a cell phone (and taught him how to use it!) and a thirty-day bus pass. The cell phone made sure that he could contact any one of his support group or his pastor at any time. His lawyer had helped him get a bike. But George was spending hours getting to and from appointments and job interviews. The bus pass helped him to get around much more quickly.

Some of the things we did were more difficult. George was living in a shelter when he was first released from prison. Though it was a roof over his head and one meal a day, there were dangers there for George as well. In his extremely vulnerable situation legally, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, again, would send him back to prison. So, a member of the congregation had apartments and a couple of them were in the process of being updated. This member made one of these apartments available for George. After a couple of months, when George’s character was more proven, this member provided a room for George in his own home. According to this member, George is a hard-working person who contributes to the family and brings a great deal of laughter and joy to them.

We have utilized George for odd jobs around the church. Some he did as a volunteer—he needed constructive use of his time—and other jobs he was paid an hourly rate to begin to provide income for him. In this we were able to see his work ethic and whole-heartedly recommend him as a laborer to others. Another member of the congregation helped George purchase a used truck to accommodate his finding a job.

And, because we know this is a very complex situation, we have partnered with professionals along the way. Professionals and experience with other people that pose some risk in the life of a church helped us. A document called a limited access agreement is drawn up to set the boundaries for the participation of persons who pose any risk to the congregation. And to assist with George’s safe and positive acclimation into the life of our congregation a team of men was formed to be his support at all times. Any time George is on church property or with church members, he has one of his support group with him. This provides risk protection for the congregation but also for George. Due to his long history of incarceration, he is very vulnerable. A simple misunderstanding or misspoken word or an entirely false accusation could result in his return to jail. These wonderful Christian men are always with him to help guide him in the right way but also to protect him from false accusations. This agreement will remain in place until professional counsel says it is no longer necessary.

All this, by God’s grace, has meant that for the first time in thirty years, George is a free man and enjoying the simple things in life that most of us take for granted. But our congregation is being blessed as well. The grace and power of God evidenced in George’s life is amazing! If God turn his life around, God can do anything! George’s knowledge and love of the Scriptures and his eagerness to give testimony to what God has done in his life puts most of us to shame! George has inspired us! George is living proof of the transforming power of the cross of Christ.

So, what if 30,000 prisoners released from prison were to be adopted by 30,000 churches? What if 30,000 churches took seriously Christ’s teaching that as much as we do this for one of the least of these (including prisoners!) we do it for him? What if 30,000 prisoners released is an opportunity for the power of the love of God to be demonstrated to the watching and fearful world? I am just saying . . . What if?

Risky Business

It was really risky. Because the congregation had reached somewhat of a plateau in its redevelopment and because of the serious financial pressure created by the economic downturn of the last three years indicated the congregation would not be able to sustain all three full-time ministry staff, I threw my hat in the ring with the other staff. The “ring” I threw it into was an ad hoc group of lay leaders who were scheduled to meet with a human resources consultant to pray and deliberate about future staffing for the mission and ministry of our congregation. I threw my hat in the ring because I knew I had came to this congregation with a call to turn their self-absorption outward and help them to do mission and ministry so that they would grow to reflect the changed and continuing-to-change community they were in. From 1990 to 2010 the community demographics have completely flipped. Once 70 percent Anglo and 30 percent Latino, the 2010 Census revealed the reversal. It is now over 70 percent Latino and less than 20 percent Anglo!

By the power of God and with the partnership of two other ministers who are Latino and lay leaders willing to take great risks, the congregation has been transformed. A third of its members were over eighty, 98 percent were Anglo, and most were middle and upper middle class. Eight years later we are over 50 percent non-Anglo, 60 percent under fifty and as diverse socioeconomically as anyone can imagine. The congregation has been transformed and much more accurately reflects the surrounding community. But now it needs to be taken to another level of transformation. Though my heart longs for stability and job security, my heart longs even more for this ministry to thrive and make a difference for the kingdom of heaven. I wanted the congregation—very well represented by this lay ad hoc group meeting with the consultant—to be able to openly and honestly deliberate about what kind of leadership the next level of development would need. So I threw my hat in the ring.

I really expected them to thank me for my years of service and the critical role I played in the transformation of the congregation up until now, but to say they needed a very different leader for the future. It was scary. But I determined to practice what I have preached and to trust the Spirit of God working in these lay leaders to discern together what leadership they needed for the future. This is one of the distinctive of reformed theology and significantly shaped the polity of the Presbyterian form of government. We believe God speaks most clearly through his gathered, praying, studying, worshiping people. It is not easy to trust God in times like these when both your professional and personal future is at stake. But I knew that Christ cares for this ministry even more than I do and that he cares for me too. And I had seen the spiritual growth of these lay leaders and their engagement with the tremendous changes that had taken place in the congregation. I had to trust the Spirit of God would lead them. I had to trust that the Spirit would provide for me and my family as had always been the case in the past.

After several meetings with the consultant they asked me to join them in order to inform me about their process and to get my input. What a surprise! I was actually left speechless at first. I am hardly ever speechless! The ad hoc group had determined unanimously—Latino and Anglo members alike—that my particular leadership was still necessary for the next phase of redevelopment. I was stunned. I had already begun to work on networking for other employment. When I regained my speech, I questioned them. I challenged them. My main concern is my very limited Spanish. They remained steadfast in their determination.

A few days later I was in flight to Pittsburgh for a conference and some study leave time, and I read A Future for the Latino Church by Daniel A. Rodriguez. Holy cow! It is full of the affirmation of this group’s decision. The U.S. Latino population is increasingly bilingual and increasingly English dominant. According to Rodriguez the most rapidly growing Latino churches have Spanish-speaking ministries, but they are predominantly English-speaking congregations.

I am so grateful that I trusted these lay leaders. I am grateful to God for their risk-taking spirit and for their dedication to the ministry and mission of our church. I have renewed energy and commitment for what lies ahead. I have very little idea what it is going to look like, but that is exactly where I found myself eight years ago. God was faithful through it all. He will continue to be faithful. That completely changes the risk factor.

For anyone in ministry facing cultural shifts of any kind I would highly recommend Rodriguez’s book. The principles are transcultural and really helpful in understanding the current changing demographics of the United States. If you have other recommendations for a good read on the subject please share that with the readers in your comments.

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.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

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.