Tag Archives: Suffering

No More

17 Tuesday Nov 2009

Posted by in Life at Home

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Today’s newspaper headlines should glisten with unshed tears:  “NICHOLS HILLS DOCTOR….JAILED IN SON’S DEATH”.

Nichols Hills is where money lives and breeds here in central Oklahoma.  And after reading a few details — 9 years old boy, Mom bruised in attempts to protect her son  and allowing myself a mere glance at the photos of the dad and son — I can bring myself to read no more. 

Why God?  Tell me how such a thing like this could happen?  Would any answer matter?  A little boy is dead.  This young boy was alive on Sunday.  Maybe he was happy then.  I’d like to think so.  Yet, sometime between Sunday happiness and Tuesday news headline, all hell broke loose.  Something terrible went wrong in Nichols Hills.  And it’s all over but the crying.  And I am terribly sad.

I grieve the loss of this young boy I did not know.  And I wonder about the irony of one who can take the Hippocratic oath “to do no harm” and do the worst sort of bodily harm that can be done to another.  And to his own child?  I am not consoled by my belief that this child is “now in a better place”, even though I believe it is so.  How can I not, when I allow myself to skirt thoughts of the last scary seconds of this boy’s young life?

Some will ask — as I just have — why God allows such suffering to happen in the world?  Why does God grant us such freedom, such power over another’s life, that human kind (or in some cases, human evil) could play God and snuff out the life of some young child — or some old man — or some whoever.   Minds better than mine have written on this topic — Philip Yancey and C.S. Lewis are two.  I must leave such high places of thought where angels fear to tread.

But a response does come at me like a freight train; God gives us such power so that we can make the right choices, so that we can love as we all want and need to be loved, so that we can bring up each other in the way that we should go, as the old Proverb says.  God entrusts the needy to us, hoping that we will shower them with love rather than with bullets — that we will feed them when they are hungry, clothe them when they are naked and give them shelter when they are cold. 

I don’t know whether this young boy died by a bullet wound or in some other way.  I didn’t let myself get that deep into this real-life horror story that is worse than any horror flick ever made by Quentin Tarantino.

Forgive me Father God.  For I need to go bury my head, like a baby ostrich in the sandbox, not ready for the scary sands of primetime news stories.  I want to pretend that everyone lives happily ever after.  And as for this boy, who now lives in the happily ever after, there is no need for pretense.

I offer this gift of words to this little boy that is no more; a boy that is no longer here at least.

And I offer this boy a prayerful hymn to accompany him on his journey.  It’s a tune of Carly Simon’s, one I’ve told my son Kyle that I wish sung at my own funeral some day.  It’s a great unknown song — for a great unknown little boy — a song that talks about coming home.  This is the best and only way I can love this boy right now — to let Carly sing him home.

 

No Regrets

14 Monday Sep 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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Today’s blue plate special is white milk sky and drippy outside.

It was the same yesterday when I put on my rain jacket and ventured outside to sow grass seed.  I was going against the experts when I decided to sail full steam ahead and sow my seed in the rain.  Sometimes I ignore well-meaning recommendations and do what my heart and gut tell me is right.  And with all the lovely Irish rain we’ve received, this time I’ve suffered no regrets from doing it my way.  

Wouldn’t it be nice to live ALL OF LIFE without regrets?   I think some people can do this fairly successfully.  People like my husband for instance.  When he makes a mistake, he doesn’t beat himself up.  Instead he shrugs it off — knowing he’s done the best that he can — and then doesn’t look back.  How I wish I could be more like that.  Is it self-confidence that allows this man to sail through trials so easily? 

One of my children is going through rough seas right now.  Part of me wants to throw out a life preserver to keep my child from drowning in sorrow.  But  I sense this situation may be a life-defining moment for one who tries to live life as a people-pleaser.  So I’ve forced myself to give my child space to swim out of the storm without my well-meaning intervention.

The situaton reminded me of a letter I wrote to one of my children not too long ago.  In it, I tried to string together a few motherly pearls of wisdom on this very subject. 

While it’s not easy asking for help or admitting mistakes, you can do both with grace and often with a sense of humor.  But if I’m going to keep this real, you do not do this as quickly as you could or should.  Humor your mother by allowing me to offer lessons I’ve learned from the school of hard knocks:   Be vulnerable – accept that you do not always need to be strong or right.  Especially trust in the goodness of those who love you.  Don’t sit on bad news (or what others might perceive to be bad) that needs to be shared.  And don’t worry about other’s opinions – seek the input of those you love then own your own decision – make no apologies for living your own life.  It’s yours to live.  It’s a funny thing that we humans strive for independence when I think God designed us to be interdependent, one on another. Why else would each receive different gifts and graces, if not to give and receive help?  Child, I think your life choices have shown you the value of dependence.  If others knew the story of your life, they might think the trials and challenges of school were a cakewalk in comparison.

It’s hard to see those I love suffer.  And though I’ve made sure my child knows that I am here if needed, I know that this trial is something that must be overcome without my direct involvement.  So even now, I sit on my hands and take solace in the words of the good book when it teaches that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope and hope does not disappoint.  And in my book, one who experiences no disappointment is a close cousin to one who experiences no regrets.