Answers

America,

He asked him to sacrifice his child. It's a horrible, ugly, agonizing thought. Who would ask that of a parent? Who would ask someone to give away their only son?

It's a thought too painful to fathom. Yet it is something that I understand for the first time in my life in a more tangible way than ever before. He asked me to sacrifice my child. He asked me to give up minutes, moments, snuggles, memories, experiences, etc. He asked me to lay it all down and turn around and walk away, and to find peace in His plan. His plan that I couldn't understand, and I couldn't grasp, but I knew was better than what I could hope for.

In the biblical narrative of what God asked of Abraham and Sara, we don't read about the tears. We don't read about the emotional agony behind the steps of trusting God. We don't read about the sleepless nights or the emotional exhaustion. We only read about the actions of faith. His faith was credited to him as righteousness.

My son was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa. As a result of this my only son is going blind. For some unknown reason, his vision is disappearing very rapidly (a reality that surprises his opthalmologists). In a period of 9 months, he went from no longer needing to see an opthalmologist to being legally blind at night and having lost a significant portion of his peripheral vision. In the past three months, his field of vision has continued to decline at an alarming rate and he can no longer see the color purple.

I am a homeschooling parent. How does one homeschool a child who can not see? I'm not so naive to think I can figure everything out on a whim, and my son is so smart! He deserves the best possible education he can get. Because of this, and a LOT of narrative in between that I won't bore you with here, we had no option but to look at a residential school for the blind.

I can go on and on about the hurdles that had to be overcome in regards to this residential school. I can't tell you how intensely I sobbed when the door was even opened to him. I cried so hard I couldn't even breathe, and I think my sister's (who was on the other end of the phone) quiet tears and prayers and hugs from miles and miles away, helped me to get myself back together so I could leave my room and keep on parenting that day.

There have been months and weeks of gathering medical records, evaluations, documents, and then the final "test" of summer camp (this was a camp connected with the school, where they would evaluate my son's ability to attend). If you're unsure about my emotional state, click back to my previous post. You'll see that I was a complete mess. Sacrifices, even ones taken with complete faith, are not without agony. Let me say that again. I had to lay down my dream of everything for my son. I had to let go of what I hoped would be, let go of homeschooling him, and pendulum swing to the opposite end of homeschooling, and grasp an empty bed, an empty room, an empty chair at the dinner table, and more for my ten year old child. I had to let all of this go, and walk.by.faith.

He came home from camp and we were torn about what to do. We decided to trust in God's plan, made known to us by whether or not he was accepted in to the school. If he was accepted, he would go. If not, that was our sign that something else was in store.

It's amazing to me how devoid of agony things can appear, when we are no longer waiting for answers. I'm incapable of sharing with you how broken my heart was. I can't even begin to say the oceans of tears I have cried. The idea of my son's empty bed... even now sends me into sobs.

My spiritual director advised me to pray a novena. For my non-Catholic readers, a novena is a specific prayer prayed in increments of nine. It could be nine times in a row, or over nine days, or some other multiple of nine. I am on day six of that novena. The school called me today to give us the news. My son was accepted. But...

For the sake of comic relief, I could let that "but" linger here. I could write about how my dog is currently pestering me for attention, or my children are asking me about eight thousand variations that they would like to add to their dinner. But I'm sure you'd like to know what the "but" was. Yes? No?

The "but" is that we have to be resident's of a state that we are not resident's of. The school reached out to the state's board of education to see if there was a possibility to waive that requirement with my son. This is a testament to the passion for helping visually impaired children that this school has. Their support, encouragement, and helpfulness goes beyond what I could have ever hoped for or imagined. They even went so far as to call the nearest military installation to see if it would be possible to have my soldier transferred there so that my son could attend (or to see if there was anything else that could be done). Unfortunately, there is not. The door is wide open for my son's attendance, if and when, we sell our house and move. So basically? He can't go. At least not in a few weeks when school begins.

I wish I could tell you the joy I feel over the clear answer. I am so excited to see what God has in store for my son and our family this year. The waiting is over, the answer has come. I was asked to be willing to let him go. I was challenged to examine Whom I really trusted. I was forced to put my money where my mouth was, and in this moment, I have been spared the agony of having to actually do it. We went all the way, as far as we could go. The door has closed, at least for now.

In the past couple of weeks, we have been blessed with options for continuing to homeschool my son.
At summer camp, we met another family who homeschools their visually impaired child. The school recommended several adaptive technological devices to continue my son's education at home (they knew that there was a chance he might be unable to attend. They created a packet of resources and recommendations that are specific to each child they evaluated at camp. Just another way that they are amazing!).

Today, we have a lot of decisions to make about what's ahead. Today, I don't know what tomorrow will look like. Today, I am so so thankful that the waiting is over and the answer is here. Today, I can't even begin to define the joy of knowing that in a few weeks I don't have to drop off my child and drive home without him.

I'll take it.

Trainees

They sit there staring at me, with pleading eyes.

What's it all really like?
What's your favorite duty station?
Are you happily married? They say you can't be and be in the Army.
Do you care about us?

Every time I see them, something in me is changed. Every time I drive past, my heart aches. I love seeing how they change around their families, the version of them that I am blessed to spend time with disappears, confidence swells and joy overwhelms. America, I wish you could see how these boys are brave. They have a courage that I can't define, and it's simultaneously wrapped up in what-the-heck-have-I-done???

I tell them how much I admire them. They joined knowing that we are at war. There are no illusions in their minds about what they are facing. They know that a fight is ahead of them: fights against their fears, their drill sergeants, their desire to sleep, the enemy...

My husband asked me why it impacts me so. I told him it's because I know what's ahead. I've been to too many funerals and hospitals. I've had a front row seat for too many divorces, and fears. I know the enormity of the task before them, and I know that the vast majority of them will have an extremely difficult time handling it. I know that they will desperately look for someone to comfort them, and then make it almost impossible for them to come anywhere near to their heart. I know the walls that will exist, and I know the effort it takes to tear them down. So I feel compelled. I feel burdened. Pour in as much Love, as much courage, and as much Goodness as I humanly can, in the few hours I spend with them, as those walls are being built up. And I hope that it will stay there, with them, forever.

Easter

I find this "holiday" to be painful. I find it difficult to celebrate and cheer. I find it brings my heart much grief and sorrow. Before you start trying to quote scripture at me about how He has risen (I DO, in fact, realize that He has risen), keep reading. :)

I hope that if you consider yourself to be a Christian, the recollections and events of the past few days have brought silence and contemplation in to your life. I hope that you have pondered what it means for someone to actually die for you. I hope that renders you quiet and serene. I hope it causes you to evaluate and question yourself in the grand scheme of this world and possibly change some things.

On this symbolic day, oh so many years ago, women walked to a tomb with broken hearts. Their hopes were dashed. Their understanding of everything was destroyed. They were devastated. This person, that I believe is the Messiah, showed himself to them (or possibly her) first. Not to his bro's, or the hot shots that killed him. He showed himself to broken hearted women. In a society that seems hell bent on destroying the value of women, I find this move astounding. I find this action to be powerful. Women are who He went to first, before He went to the Father (John 20). Maybe this is God's way of saying Hey females, I see you... You are not forsaken or worthless... 

The greatest challenge for me is what believing demands, what it requires. Jesus said it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven (Matt 19.24). I am that rich man. It's bizarre to acknowledge that in a society which is constantly seeking out more, and evaluating what is lacking, but it's the truth. In this big blue planet, I'm one of the rich guys... So, it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for me to get in to heaven. Say what!?!?!?! You mean it's not just popping over to church and participating in the Eucharist? You mean it's not reading Bible verses and praying prayers and going on with everything like usual? No, America. It's not. And that's where I grieve. Because the reality is, I like stuff. I'm addicted to this world. I'm not so excited about the ideas and realities that Jesus laid out for me to follow, if I'm honest. 

Easter makes me stand still and question. Easter makes me realize that I have choices to make. It's all or nothing, to be honest. I don't get to be comfortable and go to heaven. I either have to be all in, recklessly abandoned, or just give it up. Oh how hard it is to love Jesus more than the things of this world. Back to that old camel through the eye of a needle... 

I find it exceedingly difficult to battle those addictions where I am living now. I hunger for the homeless of EP. I hunger for the needs of people bombarding my face at every opportunity. Here I feel to sheltered, too secluded and it is feeding the lust of my soul for creature comforts. Don't get me wrong, America, the broken are here. The hungry are here. They seem to be hidden away and not pounding my eyes at every intersection. My sinful heart brushes their existence to the side and gives me the space to believe my donations to a shelter make me "good". Bullshit. Jesus said sell everything, give everything away. Not just my cast-offs. Give until it hurts. Care more about Him than stuff, or money, or power, or status. 

Easter makes me ask am I really a Christian? Am I a fraud? How do I love Him more than this world? What does that look like in my every day?

Ehyeh

Ehyeh,

There are moments where You appear to be a thousand miles away. I get caught up in vanity and appearances and you seem distant and disconnected. It's hard to believe in a Father who rescues when I grew up in an environment of unending self sufficiency. No one would rescue me, I would have to do it myself.

We live in an atmosphere with salvation is an impossible concept. We live in a society that no longer rescues. So how do we transplant the idea of salvation and rescuing from this completely imaginary idea, to a real-life-true-story scenario.

I talked to You about the desire of my heart for the emotional experiences that I so often encountered in the Protestant church. I talked about how much I missed the mood lighting and the music that was purposefully chosen to create a romantic thought in my mind. I actually missed being manipulated. When I brought those feelings to You, You told me that you weren't make-up, you were razzle-dazzle, that you weren't a whore... dressed up and dolled up and shoved down my throat for my own amusement or distraction. You scolded me for desiring that. You then reminded me of your simplicity.

So I asked You to help me meet You. Not the falsified ideas that I believed to be You, but the real-carpenter-simple You. I asked You to help me fall in love with You.

It has been a gradual process. Erasing the dramatic experiences from my mind has been difficult. Finding elation in the quiet moments of sipping coffee together on the back porch has been new. Hearing You in the hymns, prayers, and sunlit church has been different.

After weeks of this new relationship, today You punched me in the face with You. Today you rocked me to my core with your Magnificent Glory, minus all of the falsified TV drama... Today it was all about us and it felt amazing. Everywhere my eyes looked, I saw Your Salvation. I saw Your Rescues. Today You rescued me. It was too magnificent to attempt to pacify it with "good luck" ideas. Today it brought me to tears. You brought me to tears. You did it with birds, and sunshine, and clouds, and golden mountains. Today You showed me a side of You I've never seen before. Today it was a love song, played out with music I've never heard, and with images I've never seen.

I'm sitting here trying to write it all down, because I don't want to ever forget it. I'm trying to figure out how to tell You what it meant to me, and I'm fresh out of ability. I don't have words, or a love song, or anything that I can offer. But I can whisper, from the depths of my soul, that I am desperate for you, my simple Beloved One. You are quite genuinely the most beautiful Beautiful I have ever seen. Being alone with You and lost with You is indefinable. I am in awe.

I just want to scream... You rescue! You rescue me when I call.

Hope

I will never understand why the Catholic church does not kick out these priests who destroy the dignity, value, religion, and sexuality of the children they molest. I will never understand why the Church ignores when Christ says that it's better for you to throw yourself in to the sea and drown (AKA commit suicide) than for you to cause a child to stumble (or to do all of the things child molesters do). I will never understand why there is an idea of tolerance to those individuals who are called to be the pillars, backbone, and strength of the Church. And why we all as Christians in general (and the Protestant realm is equally guilty of these things) constantly make excuses like well they're sinners too... BS. When you accept the calling of priesthood/pastor/leader in ANY way within the religious realm, you no longer get to use the excuse that you're "just a sinner". You don't get to permanently damage another human being, call yourself a sinner, and move on about your way (often times at other Parish's/churches).

The scars of molestation and rape are permanent. Even if the individual is able to come to some sort of notion in their mind of forgiveness, their view of sex is forever changed. Their marriage will be effected, how they parent, everything they do is viewed through the lens of the actions that this leader and mentor did to them. There can be no allowance of continued behavior. There can be no chances offered for them to do this to someone else. There can be forgiveness. But forgiveness does not mean lack of consequence. Forgiveness does not mean that the person should continue working in their field. Church leaders are called to incredibly high standards for a reason. When they fail to uphold a life worthy of the calling, they should be removed from their position. No ifs ands or buts about it.

It is my prayer and hope that the new Pope will have the firmest stance against child molestation the world has ever seen.

Wrestling with God

There are moments in every mother's life where you are walking out of a giant thunderstorm, the kind that are capable of destroying your home and entire family. The clouds roll away and the sun starts shining again. You can still see the storm on the horizon as it fades away, but the sun's rays are powerful. They're healing.

Miracles do happen. Whether you or I want to accept, believe, or trust in that, they do. It's not something that can be denied. Just as oxygen is undeniable, so are miracles.

It's strange to be in that place. It's strange to be gut struck from the sheer powerfulness of the storm. I almost feel stunned in place. I almost feel frozen. I was blindsided. Not by the circumstance, but rather my emotional reaction to it. I had never felt so broken, so battered, so utterly pissed off at God in my entire life. And I think that's saying quite a lot, given what I have lived through. I was enraged. I was so angry that I couldn't communicate. I was so devastated that I didn't want to talk; to God, to Chief, to myself...

I was done. I had reached the limit of what I was capable of enduring.

I stopped believing in the possibility of hope. I stopped believing her even to be capable of being all right. I stopped praying, because I was too afraid to. I lost my faith. I lost my hope. I lost myself.

The week before we were to receive the "ultimate" news, I had this strange moment within myself. I was talking to my friend and he told me (paraphrased) to be afraid, but to not lose hope. That hope was the opposite of fear and to not ignore either. I had a reason to be afraid. But I always have a reason to have hope.

I argued with him. It's very much so the nature of our relationship: we speak truths, argue, but most of the time end up coming to very similar conclusions. It just might take one of us a while to get there.

That Sunday in church, I knew that the Holy Spirit was talking to me. It was almost surreal, how well I knew it was Him. It was so clear: Let. it. go. There was no promise that everything would be all right in the end. There was no assurance, or comfort (in the context of what every mother wants in these scenarios), just a command: let. it. go. In other words, let her go. I remember saying in my mind I can't. Don't ask me to do that. I can't. The response was quick, because it's one I have often said to my children: If it's more important to you than I am, it's an idol that you've built up in your heart, and you shouldn't have it. BINGO. Nail on the head. Flashing sign, blinking lights, arrows pointing. My child's health had become my idol.

I cried through the whole service. I wrestled and fought and I ultimately let go. I put my child on that altar and I said "Okay. She's yours. Come what may."

The next morning, I woke up feeling completely different. I felt resigned. I felt ready. I felt strengthened. I also felt like the idea of my child having cancer was finally, not the essence of the end of my life. I finally felt ready to be there for her.

That night I finally had the courage to ask for what I wanted. "God? Please don't let my daughter be dying. Please don't let her have cancer. PLEASE don't take her away from me."

It was several days later that we went in for the results. It was several days of peace and living in the moment. It was several days where we felt almost "normal". And I promise you that when we walked in to that office, hand in hand, we believed he was going to say that she had leukemia. So when he said "I can say with 100% certainty that your daughter does not have cancer." Chief and I froze. It had to sink in. We had to almost do a double take. We were ALL so surprised.

I learned a lot from the scenario. Probably more than I can adequately communicate. I learned to trust God more. As strange as that may seem to read, it's the truth. Trusting God is probably the most difficult thing for me to do. I can't even seem to bring myself to trust the people I am surrounded by, let alone a physically invisible God, who can often times seem like a complete jerk. But I specifically asked Him for my child's health and He gave it. I asked Him for it, without genuinely believing that He would give it to me, and He still did. And maybe that's what having the heart of a child is really all about. Desperation. I have a need and You are the only one who is capable of giving it to me, so PPPLLLEEEEAAAASSSEEEE!?!?!?!

What I can clearly say is laughing, playing, and living right here in front of me. I have no idea what the future holds for her, or for me, or for anyone for that matter, but I asked God and He gave. For that, I am eternally grateful.