in memory and in hope

Two years ago this week, my nephews Phineas Jon and Abraham Steven met Jesus before they were born, at 24 weeks gestational age.

They ran into the arms of their Heavenly Father before their earthly parents got a chance to see their smiles or hear their laughter. And although since then the Lord certainly has Multiplied our Joy (the precious gift of my niece, Josephine Joy), still the hole in our lives remain; memories of twin moppy-haired, brown-eyed toddlers fill the heart of this out-of-town auntie--memories left unmade.  I adore my ten-month-old niece and wouldn't trade her for all the world, and yet it is impossible to not wonder about the would have beens. All of our anticipation and dreams and excited giggles waiting for these two boys were shattered in a moment. 

When some people think of miscarriage or stillbirth, they think of it as merely a great disappointment, one of life's major let-downs that will pass with time and more children. I suppose I did, too, before August 2013. Then I learned that the weight of all those unformed memories is an insurmountable and inarticulate grief. Those lives are unique and irreplaceable; their names and faces will never be forgotten. So please, please be gentle with your friends or neighbors walking that difficult road.  

This year more than in years past I find myself reacting strongly against the Evangelical tendency to pass over grief with claims of a greater good. We attempt to bandage wounds by looking on the bright side or finding the purpose, as if believing that this utterly heart-wrenching loss could be worth something somehow dampens the sting. (I can tell you, it does not). I don't think this reasoning is biblical. See, sometimes, there simply is no purpose in suffering.

First please hear what I'm not saying. I'm not saying that God is not mysteriously Sovereign over these things. I am not saying that suffering does not result in good, as Romans 8 and 1 Peter 1 so clearly attest. But I am saying that I don't think God orchestrated the twin's conception, growth, and death for some abstract greater good. I believe that death is a result of human sin, and sickness and stillbirth are symptoms of creation groaning in it's bondage to decay. I am saying that Vanity is something that does actually exist and it plagues this fallen world. I can say this out of the conviction that this earth is not the way it's supposed to be, and contrary to our instinct to blanket grief with shallow happiness, we actually honor what was lost by joining mourners who wander in the wilderness.

I believe that grieving what was lost and lamenting the vanity of that pain actually makes me yearn for God's promised restoration, and I rejoice in hope. 

Scripture does say that God will bring good from evil. It does say that our faith is not in vain, because we will receive a richer inheritance that far outweighs the sufferings of earth. That's why we have hope. That's why we can count on our glorification. The brokenness and vanity of this world is plain, but so is the promise of all things being restored. I can say with certainty that this family will one day hear those giggles and see the smiles of our two boys. I love to imagine that day, the day that God finally does reverse the curse of Vanity and brings true Shalom--all things as they should be--once again. 

How to build community (after Day One of being a Graduate Resident Assistant)

1. Make a solid start (if you're not trying now, chances are it won't happen.)
2. Always have room for another friend.
3. Understand that you won't be friends with everyone.
4. Push yourself past what's comfortable.
5. Make it organic.
6. Food should be involved.
7. If you say it, mean it. If you mean it, do it.
8. Plan for spontaneity. Be okay with scheduled chaos.
9. Get in touch with your weaknesses and don't hide them.
10. Drop your expectations; fuel everything with prayer.
11. Don't put people in a box.

What I've been up to this summer

Summer is at its end.

I know this because the sun rises at 6:15 am, a good 45 minutes earlier than it was rising about a month ago.
      ...and I know this because this summer I finally got my natural sleep rhythm adjusted to where I function best, so that I've seen the sun rise more mornings than not these last few weeks. That's one of my biggest personal accomplishments.

I feel a bit dizzy looking back over these last three months. These months were filled with more Life than I even thought possible.

1. Summer kicked off with a week in Haiti. 
2. I soaked in a delightful visit home. 
3. I got back just in time for an Educational Ministries class. 
4. I went camping. 
5. I job-hunted like a mad woman while completing papers and projects for aforementioned class. 
6. I spent two days a week taking fifty children to fun activities. Then my client load doubled (from 2 to 4). 
7. I left two jobs. I started two jobs. 
8. I went backpacking on an island.
9. I went fishing.  
10. I went dancing in the city, twice.  
11. I became an R.A. 

The year ahead becomes even more dizzying. In the next nine months, I intend to: 

1. Complete at 20-hour per week internship. 
2. Finish my last three Master's level classes. 
3. Be a good R.A. 
4. Teach a Sunday school class and lead workshops for my church. 
5. Work 20 hours a week with little children and with horses (not at the same time).
6. Be a youth leader. 
7. Pass the Comprehensive Exam. 
8. Pass the National Counselor Exam. 
9. Get a real job for the first time in my life. 
10. Move.  

I'm learning so much, especially about community and Sabbath and empowering people. I've learned that I'm bad at these things, that I have so much more to learn. I'm learning to slow down even though life is filling up. I'm learning to breathe in the quit moments whenever possible, to sit in the boredom before I turn to facebook for distraction. I'm trying to honor the person in front of me as the most important person in that moment. I'm practicing peace and joy as both necessary disciplines and seasonal fruit. The friendships around me have become so enriched this summer, and now I begin to prepare my soul for their resolution, for bittersweet goodbyes so that a new chapter can emerge. Most importantly, I learned to stop waiting for my dreams to actualize, because I realize that I am living it all right now. I couldn't ask for anything better. 

Even on my bad days...

Most days, my job brings me so much joy.

Most days, but not today.

Most days I am blessed to experience the thrill of connecting on a significant level with another human being, of meeting them in the brokenness that we all share, and maybe, if only just a little, lifting them out. Few things in life that are as fulfilling for me.

Today, though, I was in a slump. Today as I tried to prepare for tomorrow's sessions, I felt clueless and inept. I couldn't summon the creativity that guides good counseling. I felt impatient at the long, slow progress of relationship-building. Instead of the usual excitement, I felt a bit anxious at the "Unknown" that would fill the hour ahead of me. What would happen in this next session? How much do I plan for, and how would I respond? Today, my inexperience weighed heavy on me.

Today, my client never showed, didn't even answer my phone calls. When working with children who aren't old enough to drive, these scenarios come about when parents are less than invested in their children's therapy. I already knew this particular parent wasn't completely sold on the concept anyway. How can I, a 20-something, stand before a stranger--one who has been through a whole lot more difficulties in life than I have--and convince that person that paying large amounts of money every week to let their children play games with me is actually essential for their child's future well-being? How do I do that when I sometimes struggle to convince myself?

Many days, the irony of these things goes unnoticed. Sad ironies, sick ironies, like how my coworker has a job doing supervised visitations because some fathers aren't to be trusted taking their kids out to ice cream alone. Like how its my job to help this little boy learn how to adjust to life without daddy at home. Like how the kids who need services the most consequently come from families too chaotic to facilitate consistency.  It's like some days I rejoice over picking up the broken pieces, and other days I get a glimpse of how big the mess is and its too much.

Today, I'm sitting in Chicago rush-hour traffic after waiting out the hour in vain for my client to arrive, trying to let this reality permeate my cynic heart:

"I'm no longer a slave to fear. I am a child of God."  

Most days, I feel adequately confident, but some days I can't argue with my incompetence. After all, there are lots of things I'm not good at. 

But I'm still a child of God. 

I don't know how all the pieces fit together. It's not about me making a difference because some days even that much is too hard to see

...but I'm still a child of God. 

And while I hope and pray that this parent recognizes the necessity of intervention for this child's future, I don't have to be a slave to fear. My status as student or counselor, youth leader, professional, employee, nothing compares with that truth.  I am a child of God.