Playing God

So much sadness in the news the past few months that I haven't been able to write.  Yesterday, I read the book, Owl Moon, to the boys and the final sentence made me emotional.  Current events have been draining me of my hope. In this beautifully illustrated children's story, the narrator is recounting owling with her dad and what is required to experience that moment of beauty and wonder looking the owl in the face:

"The kind of hope
that flies
on silent wings
under a shining
Owl Moon."

Reading the news throughout the day has almost become a daily blow to hope and vitality: watching thousands of refugees flee, reading of the atrocities committed against those Syrians who attempted to speak out, finding victims of human trafficking dead in the back of a van, watching videos and interviews of those harvesting unborn children, hearing about police officers randomly killed or prisoners killed by officers, reading a detailed article about a beloved star from my childhood who has been revealed to be serial rapist, and this morning I read of children killed by parents, and for all of this, my heart is heavy.  I feel like I have been torn inwardly like Ezra's outward grief in chapter 9 who tore his tunic and cloak, pulled out hair from his head and beard and appalled, fell prostrate and prayed: “I am too ashamed and disgraced, my God, to lift up my face to you, because our sins are higher than our heads and our guilt has reached to the heavens."

Yet there is hope: our God is merciful and just, filled with lovingkindness and grace for those who repent.  It is our duty as Christians to share the good news of Christ's love and to love our neighbor as ourselves.  How exactly this is worked out in these situations I don't know and I pray for wisdom.  That's all I can say about those tragic issues.

 But upon reading responses in the New York Times just now to a law in Ohio considering banning abortion following a fetal diagnosis of Down syndrome, I will say more.

One man, telling about his dearly loved sister with Down syndrome, said, "She was still wearing diapers when my parents were able to get her into a state home so that my mother could go back to work in order to get us out of a rat-infested three-room apartment.  The decision caused her much pain and she bore it her entire life.  I know that faced with a decision about having a Down's child my mother and all Joyce's family would choose an abortion."

Another tells of her mother, with a sister who had Down syndrome, who aborted her child when his prenatal test showed positive:  "I have no regrets at all and never have. . .Sadness, yes, when I opened the post-op report and read about a 5 cm left foot and that it had been a boy, but not even a twinge that I chose to end this potential life in order to make my life, and those of my already born daughter and son who arrived two years later, a family that was not broken, tortured, and hell to live in as my own had been."

I love my mother and I know she will tell me to quit reading the news.  And my funky friend Shawna will say, I told you to write about silliness for a happier read.  But I cannot let the above comments pass.

As for having to put a child in a state home, I am relieved that I have not had to make that choice, that D is not violent or, as yet, require more care than I am able to provide.  One day I will not be able to care for him, but that day is not here.  I thank God that I have respite care in NC so that I am able to keep him at home with his family and home school my other two. But avoiding the pain of placing a child in a state home by having an abortion makes no sense.

And aren't we all broken?  Isn't every family you know broken in some way? Or is it just me, imagining problems for others to make myself feel better about my brokenness?

As for the "tortured and hell" part, I must admit I have used the word "torture" before when talking about what D is doing that is driving me crazy, and sometimes not really about what he is doing but what he can't help but do.  But I have also used the word to describe my other two when I am trying to get them to clean their playroom or about my husband when he wakes me up before D does early in the AM.  And there have been times in the car when D has been uncomfortable due to his hunger or need to toilet that he has pinched and pulled the hair of his brothers in a way that they would probably qualify as torture. So would I rather he not be alive? That is absurd.

When he spends a week at my parents' house or at the Civitan camp in the summer, I feel guilty because I enjoy my days being a bit easier, more relaxing, but when he comes home and thanks me for giving him a bath or kisses me on the head with his awkward lip smacks 300 times in the morning because I don't want to get out of bed and he is ready to eat, I don't regret the "difficulty of D."  When he says "YAY!" and claps his hands because a singer has just lauded the saving grace of Jesus, I know my life is richer, my faith is deeper, and my love is better because of D being exactly who he is.

His body is starting to curve a bit to the right side as his muscles on his side get shorter, reminding me that he does have a degenerative disease, but his therapist cannot say enough about the strides he is making as far as increased balance and ability to follow commands.  My boy is doing well, better than predicted.  Is he making our lives a living hell? Don't ask me that question at 4 in the morning when he is playing his favorite choir rehearsal CD at volume 10 or maybe when he has an upset stomach and I am out of wipes, I may not be able to say a resounding "No!" with all sincerity.

But what makes me really want to pull out my hair and sit resignedly appalled is not my child with extraordinary needs, but my own sin, my selfishness, my pride, my callousness, my impatience, my discontent, my condescension, my covetousness, my greed; these are what make my soul tortured.

D and I were able to spend a wonderful weekend celebrating my sweet Aunt Nancy with her family in Atlanta and driving down we listened to lots of different stations.  Several songs spoke to me, but "Flawless" by Mercyme is one that really stands out;  "Grace, grace, God's grace" made D clap every time!  Here is an excerpt:

No matter the bumps
No matter the bruises
No matter the scars
Still the truth is
The cross has made
The cross has made you flawless
No matter the hurt
Or how deep the wound is
No matter the pain
Still the truth is
The cross has made
The cross has made you flawless

Could it possibly be
That we simply can’t believe
That this unconditional
Kind of love would be enough
To take a filthy wretch like this
And wrap him up in righteousness
But that’s exactly what He did


Praise God I do not have to remain in a tortured state or experience true hell in this life or the next.  Jesus declared "It is finished" on the cross.  His redeeming work is done.  If we believe in Jesus, confess our need for Him, repent from our sin, he has made us FLAWLESS.

God's word and prayer need to be my antidote to the daily news.  Not that I plan to stop reading the news or disconnect from the hurt others are experiencing, but I will fix my eyes on Jesus: "the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." Hebrews 12:2b

God's plan doesn't remove us from pain, but provides us the strength and grace to work through whatever we face, enabling us to love others who, too, experience the pain of this life. 

Here's the song if you care to listen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZ7EyPTOltw

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Villanelle on Slavery

Tag! You're it! The Meme

"Noche Oscura"