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Category Archives: Adversity

A Day of Hope

Gracen and Hope (left to right)

Gracen’s third semester at John Brown University brought her a brand new roommate. That is when Hope (and I mean that in more ways than one) literally entered our lives. Hope is a confident, lively, opinionated, fierce and determined little thing. In a word, she’s a spitfire!

Gracen and Hope compliment each other. Gracen helps Hope keep track of things and Hope gets Gracen out in the world. But what makes Hope unique among Gracen’s friends, family and acquaintances is one singular thing. She is disabled – or uniquely-abled – as I prefer to think of it.

Gracen was born with a genetic disease known as ARSACS – a progressive neuromuscular condition which is a rare form of Muscular Dystrophy. She has been wheelchair bound for the last three years as a result of injuries sustained in a car accident and the progression of her disease. 

Hope was born with Cerebral Palsy, a condition that generally occurs as a result of birth trauma. She gets around aided by two cuff canes and/or a scooter. Let me tell you, that girl can move! It’s absolutely shocking how quickly she gets from place to place with those canes.

Parents of special needs children worry about a great many things. Big things, small things and downright crazy things. That old saying that encourages people to major on the majors is really not applicable in a lot of special needs homes. That’s because things that are minor for average people are anything but for the uniquely-abled. Molehills are mountains and life demands the constant awareness of your environment or other impediments encountered in the outside world, from accessibility to socialization and adaptability. 

From the time Gracen’s disease became apparent, I have been responsible for paving the way through and around the things that hinder her progress. But there are some things a mother cannot do for their child; uniquely-abled or not. The list just seems to be longer for Special Needs Moms. Among the things I’m incapable of providing for my daughter, friendship ranks high on the list.

As a mom, I can provide opportunities for Gracen to connect with others, but I can’t make real friendships develop. Over the years I have watched from the sidelines as Gracen (and her younger sister, Katie, before her death) navigated through the quagmire of social situations. 

I’ve seen her overlooked, ridiculed behind her back (sadly by adults in some cases) and marginalized. It’s not something we openly talk about, but Gracen isn’t mentally disabled. She’s not unaware of what goes on around her nor of the motives of others.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner! ~ Dirty Dancing

Through the years, Gracen has surprised me in innumerable ways. I have watched her insert herself into activities and conversations repeatedly. There’s a line in the movie Dirty Dancing that describes Gracen well. 

If you remember the movie at all, Baby is the youngest of two daughters. The family dynamics portrayed in this film show Baby to be sidelined by the (perceived) superior talents and beauty of her older sister. Baby’s the afterthought. She resides in the shadows, or on the periphery of family interactions. Johnny, the resident bad boy recognizes this reality. And at the end of the movie, in the triumphant moment, Johnny says, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner!” just before sweeping her onto the dance floor and publicly showcasing her talent.

That line, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner!”, describes Gracen to a ‘T’. The only difference being that Gracen doesn’t need someone to stand up for her. She has routinely refused to be overlooked. She refuses to be relegated to the corner. I don’t think I’ve ever attended a Parent-Teacher conference where a teacher hasn’t been surprised by her outspoken class participation. I’ve seen her insert herself among her cousins at family gatherings, her peers at church and in innumerable other situations.

I really don’t think this demand for acknowledgement is a personality trait so much as it’s a subconscious response to the way society as a whole treats the disabled. It’s as if she is silently telling others that they don’t have to like her, but they will not ignore her. Hope confronts the world in the same way. Still there’s a vast difference between being acknowledged and being befriended.

In the world we live in people have all kinds of motives for the ways they interact with others. Sometimes inspired by simple curtesy, shared interests or as a ministry project. Sometimes motivated by what another can do for them. Social interaction is a complicated and messy endeavor.

However, Hope and Gracen cannot be found silently sitting on the sidelines, enabling others to pridefully pat themselves on their backs for their inclusive character or acts of service for the Lord. No, Hope and Gracen can be found at a prominent table in the center of the room living large with strong opinions and copious amounts of sassy sarcasm – holding their own and dismissing those who see them as less than others. 

And you know what? Hope and Gracen gladly invite you to their table because they have something of value to offer others, not because they have any need of help themselves. They don’t need the benevolent kindness of others (when it’s motivated by nothing more than thinly disguised pity) in lieu of true friendship.

The bottom line, of course, is that we all want to be liked and appreciated for who we are underneath all the subterfuge of human interaction. We all desire to be understood and wanted, warts and all.

Hope is her name, but it is also the gift she bestows upon Gracen and others who have found themselves living outside the norms of society. She serves as a reminder to others that their lives hold purpose and contribute to the world at large. 

Hope is not the girl who goes silently into the night. Hope sweeps in like a hurricane, disrupting and reordering the people around her. She doesn’t leave a trail of destruction behind her; but she does leave others with the awareness that she is a person, not a project. 

In Hope, Gracen found the first person who understands her from an experiential perspective. And that’s huge. 

Indescribably Huge!


They have shared attitudes, feelings and frustrations. They look at the world though a lens others cannot fathom, let alone comprehend. 

We all have a room in our hearts I refer to as the Ugly Closet. It’s the place where we hide all the feelings deemed unacceptable by society when everything within us cries out that those feelings are both reasonable and justified. When someone comes along and echoes those hurtful thoughts and feelings that door gets flung open in immediate and overwhelming relief. 

It looks a bit like that famous scene from When Harry Met Sally*, when Meg Ryan demonstrates a woman faking an orgasm in the middle of a diner (minus all the moaning and head tossing). She slaps her hand on the table emphatically shouting, “yes, Yes, YES!” in a comical portrayal of physical release. But I’ve seen that exact response (I mean the table slapping and shouting) when an individual completes the sentence, I feel like . . . the same way another would, “Oh my goodness (Slap), yes, Yes, YES (Slap)! That’s exactly how I feel (SLAP)!

That was the first gift of Hope.


“Yes, Yes, YES! (Slap)! Oh my goodness (Slap), yes, Yes, YES (Slap)! That’s exactly how I feel (SLAP)!

And those words, that sentiment, has echoed repeatedly through the air every time Hope and Gracen spend time together. Hope carries true friendship with her every time she powers her way through the front door. (She doesn’t really walk – she’s too much of a force of nature to do something so mundane).   

That’s why, anytime Hope comes to visit . . . 

I refer to it as a day of Hope.

*Okay, the When Harry Met Sally scene is not the best example (it’s kind of tacky), but I seriously couldn’t find another where the hand slapping and yes, yes, yeses were so emphatic, and that’s the image I want to leave you with, because it happens just like that.

 
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Posted by on September 11, 2017 in Adversity, Muscular Dystrophy

 

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And Then I Saw Her . . . 

I stopped by my local Walmart today to pick up necessities like creamer for my coffee, coffee for my creamer, chips and peanuts (because there is actually protein in them – you know, something good for you). I looked for bing cherries and plums which sadly could not be found ANYWHERE! And I bought frozen pizza because I needed to make dinner tonight. . . and I just don’t do that anymore. 

I remember thinking that I need to relearn how to make dinner everyday. I know, it sounds crazy doesn’t it? But when life falls apart – it really falls apart in ways others just can’t fathom. I’m not really sure how it happened – or even when it happened – but I have lost my way in so many ways that it’s just completely bewildering to me. 

And then I saw her. A beautiful young teen, completely bald, with a germ prevention mask . . . Cancer. . . it’s such an ugly, devastating and frightening word. She looked completely healthy, even happy. . . but my heart hurt . . . for her . . . for her family.

As luck would have it (or divine assignment more likely) we had parked next to each other. The young woman climbed into the car while her mother unloaded their groceries into the trunk. I commented to her about the beautiful weather as we both went about filling our vehicles with the must haves and the I just wants that filled our Walmart bags. But, I really wanted to say more. To speak of things far more important than a beautiful day. 

I just didn’t know how.

I wanted to tap the sticker on my van door. The one with the wheelchair icon that reminds others to give me plenty of room when they park beside me. I wanted to say, “You are not alone. I understand what living with deep depths of fear feels like.” 

I wanted to tell her that she is a warrior . . . a brave, brave woman in this broken world. I wanted to tell her that I had prayed for her daughter – for her as I pushed my cart out to the car. I wanted her to know that there are others out there putting one foot in front of the other, doing the next thing, holding it together as best they can and trusting the Lord in spite of being terrified at what He might allow to come to pass in their lives. 

I just wanted to let her know that I understand her – who she is deep down in her soul, in ways only those who have lost, or live in constant fear of loss, can possibly understand.

But I didn’t. 

I just didn’t know how. And I hate that. 

She seemed so together, and yet I wonder if she is really just good (far too experienced) at putting her game face on – for her daughter and for the world at large.

The greatest of these is love . . . was written across the back of her purple t-shirt. 

That there is her strength on days she feels all too weak. 

The love of God – holding her up – carrying her through. 

I wish I had spoken up. 

I wish I knew how. 

I wish I could have helped her to feel just a bit less alone. A bit less afraid. A bit more fortified for whatever else the day, week, month, and year might hold in store for her. 

And as I exited the parking lot the tears began to flow for that mother – for her child – for innocence lost – naïveté forfeited to rogue cells multiplying and hiding until the destruction they wreck could no longer be hidden and the world as she knew it began to crumble beneath her feet. 

I cry for the brokenness around me. Everywhere I go I see brokenness like flashing neon signs.

It hurts! 

How can God stand to look upon it – to be unable to overlook it or ignore it. How can He stand to hear the unrelenting cries of fear and sorrow that must surely rise up from the hearts of His creation every minute, every hour . . . Every day? 

Does He endure like Christ did on the cross for the joy set before Him? 

Is He fortified by the joy of the presence of the saints who have already joined Him before the throne of grace? 

What does a day in the life look like for God? It is beyond my ability to comprehend. 

The birth of a newborn baby, the salvation of a lost soul, a life destroyed by drugs, alcohol, abuse, neglect, and all manner of evil, welcoming a saint into their eternal home. . . 

All in a days work. 

Maybe God longs for that day . . . the day after judgment day . . . the day after evil has been defeated and the saints gather around His throne . . . more than we ever could. 

If the whole world is in His hands, the full weight of the world also rests squarely on His shoulders. Have we ever stopped to consider the cost of His long suffering love for creation? It’s higher, much higher, than the price of watching His sinless son die on the cross. 

What does it cost to love so much that you endure because you are not willing for any to perish? 

“The Lord does not delay [as though He were unable to act] and is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is [extraordinarily] patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance.” ~ 2 Peter 3:9 AMP

Sin entered the world and with it death and disease and unquenchable evil as Satan seeks to destroy that which he cannot conquer. And in the meantime, God works out countless stories of redemption in broken hearts and lives. And if Jesus did only that which He saw His Father do (John 5:19*) then how many oceans are filled with the tears of God (John 11:35*) while He lovingly catches every tear we cry (Psalm 56:8*) and keeps them in a bottle? 

He never asks us to weep for Him, but He does for us and every tear we cry is precious in His sight.

What kind of love is that?

One beyond my ability to comprehend. (Jeremiah 31:3*)

I dare say I did not cry alone as I left the Walmart parking lot today. No, I’m pretty sure God the Father weeps for that beautiful young teen as chemo and radiation wreck havoc upon her body in an attempt to destroy the cancer cells before they destroy her. And I’m fairly certain He weeps for her mother as she puts one foot in front of the other as she fearfully walks her daughter through treatment. I even think God weeps for my lost and bewildered self as I struggle to regain my footing after the loss of my girls and in the face of the degenerative disease that is slowly and systematically doing its best to take the only child I have left from me.

He sees. He hears. He protects and provides. He weeps. 

He loves.

*Reference verses:

“So Jesus replied, “Truly, truly, I tell you, the Son can do nothing by Himself, unless He sees the Father doing it. For whatever the Father does, the Son also does.” ~ John 5:19 Berean Study Bible

“Jesus wept.” ~ John 11:35 Berean Study Bible

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” ~ Psalm 56:8 (NLT)

“The Lord appeared to him from far away. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.” ~ Jeremiah 31:3 ESV

 
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Posted by on September 8, 2017 in Adversity, Faith

 

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Just Call Me Jonah

Image by Rev. Henry Martin/FreeBibleimages.org


I’ve had a lot of time to think following the day I watched in disbelief as the court dismissed the felony charge against Troy Robins in spite of having evidence in hand of his guilt. A lot of time – aside from the moments I pushed it away refusing to go there in my mind. Afterall, what’s the point? It’s undoable.

This past week I’ve flipped through my Bible aimlessly reading highlighted and underlined passages and tiny notes squeezed into the narrow margins of the thin pages. Searching . . . but not quite clear what I’ve been searching to find. Encouragement? Explanation? Maybe nothing more than a theological distraction. And as I did my biblical wandering, I encountered the book of Jonah, a minor prophet.

Jonah intrigues me. Maybe because he is the only prophet I can think of who fled from the command of God. God said, “Go to Nineveh”, and Jonah said (highly paraphrased), “No way. No how. Not going to do it! Absolutely not!”

Without the knowledge of the historical background we find it hard to understand Jonah’s absolute refusal to obey God’s directive. And the backstory makes all the difference in the world. 

The Assyrians were the inhabitants of Nineveh. They were known for their abject cruelty to their enemies, and the Israelites were definitely counted among them. They flat out tortured their captives in front of the city walls so that the screams of terror were heard by the inhabitants of the city under siege. They staked the desecrated bodies before the walls so that the watchmen on the walls could see the fate that awaited them once the Assyrian army breached the city walls. The nation of Israel had no love or compassion for the Assyrians. You could safely say in fact, that the Israelites hated the Assyrians with good cause.

Jonah must have been flabbergasted when God called him and told him to go proclaim impending destruction should the inhabitants of Nineveh fail to repent. He was likely scared for his own life but also completely opposed to God treating the Assyrians with compassion. And so he ran and we all know what happened next. 

Eventually, Jonah, the reluctant and defiant prophet entered the gates of the city of Nineveh where he then preached the message God gave him for the Assyrians. In forty days, Nineveh will be overthrown. That’s it. Short and sweet.

And low and behold the Assyrian King took heed of the warning, and decreed a fast throughout the land in repentance clothed in sackcloth and ashes for their evil and violent ways in hopes that the God of Abraham, would turn from His planned destruction and save their lives.

And, of course, God did that very thing. 

“For My hand made all these things, Thus all these things came into being,” declares the LORD “But to this one I will look, To him who is humble and contrite of spirit, and who trembles at My word.” ~ Isaiah 66:2

And Jonah . . . he was livid! 

He was so angry that he offered this prayer before the Lord:

“. . . I pray thee, O Lord, was not this my saying, when I was yet in my country? Therefore I fled before unto Tarshish: for I knew that thou art a gracious God, and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repentest thee of the evil.

Therefore now, O Lord, take, I beseech thee, my life from me; for it is better for me to die than to live.” ~ Jonah 4:2-3

And God replied, “. . . Doest thou well to be angry?”

Well, Jonah . . . he got a good mad on so to speak. 

He left the city and sets up a booth so that he can watch to see what will become of Nineveh. And God provided a gourd to keep the hot sun off Jonah, but then causes a worm to eat the gourd. 

And Jonah . . . he just got madder. 

Have you ever had something bad happen only to have another bad thing happen directly thereafter and looked up to the sky and muttered, “Really? Seriously? Wasn’t it enough before and now this!” That’s exactly how Jonah responded when the worm destroyed the gourd.

And God, in His frustratingly perfect righteousness, again enquires of Jonah:

“. . . Doest thou well to be angry for the gourd? And he said, I do well to be angry, even unto death.”

I wish it were not so, but I can relate to Jonah’s anger – even unto death.

I get it. 

God’s forgiveness feels like a free pass from accountability for the evil and cruelty the Assyrians were known for. Jonah knew God’s heart. Back in verse 2 Jonah said, “for I knew that thou art a gracious God, and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repentest thee of the evil.” From Jonah’s all too human perspective, the very characteristic of God’s love and compassion for him is completely unpalatable when applied to his enemy.

And to add insult to injury, Jonah is taken to task.

“Then said the Lord, Thou hast had pity on the gourd, for the which thou hast not laboured, neither madest it grow; which came up in a night, and perished in a night:  And should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand; and also much cattle?” ~ Jonah 4:10-11

God loved the evil, violent and cruel Assyrians because He created them. He laboured for them. He made them grow. And because they were helpless to discern between right and wrong. The Assyrians were God’s creation just as Jonah was.

And that’s the end of the book of Jonah. 

It’s a bit of an odd place to end don’t you think?

We are never told that Jonah feels remorse over his lack of compassion for the Assyrian people. Maybe that’s because Jonah was never able to let go of his anger and indignation. Maybe in his humanity he found it utterly impossible to be thankful for the repentance of the Assyrians. 

And oh my, . . . I can relate. 

I am Jonah.

When I think about Troy Robins repenting and finding salvation I feel torn. From an eternal perspective, I can stomach spending eternity with him because I know. . . I know he would be a new creation. He would in no way be the same person who killed my daughters. . . But when I think about the time Troy Robins would spend here on earth between salvation and eternity, I feel sick. 

Absolutely nauseated. 

Frighteningly angry. 

Resentful. 

Oh, so resentful! Because repentance results in God’s mercy. 

Mercy – not getting what we deserve. The just punishment for his actions, attitudes and choices forsaken . . . vengeance gone . . . And from the perspective of this wounded mother’s heart . . . well, that’s just unacceptable. 

It feels like a betrayal of the worst kind. 

The courts gave him a free pass. It is unconscionable that God would do the same. 

And like Jonah, I want to respond when God asks me, “Doest thou well to be angry, Janet?, 

“I do well to be angry, even unto death.” 

That’s what I want to say. 

By golly, yes I have a right to be angry. 

I have a right to be livid. To be enraged! 

And yes, this request, “O Lord, take, I beseech thee, my life from me; for it is better for me to die than to live.“‘, it makes perfect sense to me. Not that I would take matters into my own hand. That’s just not right. But pray for death? That I could do.

Maybe I won’t always feel this way. 

Maybe the Holy Spirit will change my heart. 

But right now. . . right now, I have absolutely no desire to cooperate with Him in that endeavor. 

I will not pretend to be more pious than I am. I know all to well that my attitude is wrong. However, that doesn’t change the way I feel. 

I will gladly bow to those with a greater degree of holiness and accept any criticism my fellow saints wish to chastise me with. I won’t argue with the rebukes you, or God for that matter, cast my way. 

I absolutely prefer to die before I am forced to face God’s mercy bestowed upon Troy Robins. 

Come eternity. . . when I am made perfectly Holy and Christ-like. . . I will, without a doubt, embrace God’s mercy and loving kindness. . . Until that time, I don’t want to have to address the matter anymore than Jonah did.

I am not sitting around reveling in the idea of this man burning in Hell. Honestly, I think that’s a little extreme. I don’t wish Hell upon him. I just want him to pay the fair and just price for his actions. 

Nothing more. 

Nothing less. 

If the Holy Spirit wants to work on my lack of compassion for this man, I invite Him to do so. I just want Him to do it behind the scenes of my heart. 

Because just like Jonah. . . I don’t want to participate.

Fellow believers are always quick to remind me that God is a God of justice, that He will repay, that I can trust Him to avenge the great wrong done to me . . . but they would be wrong! 

It’s just not true! 

Not all the time anyway.

Isn’t that one of the hard truths the book of Jonah teaches to the wounded?

God’s grace is available to everyone.

Everyone!

And none of us are deserving.

None of us!

Should Troy Robins repent, his sin will be forgiven . . . 

and forgotten . . . 

just like mine. (That truth hasn’t escaped me).

And like the prophet Jonah, I don’t want to see the one who hurt me so deeply escape punishment.

I am filled to the brim with righteous indignation. . . but it ceases to be righteous when I would stoop so low as to withhold the gospel from another.

I know this.

So I’m thankful God hasn’t called me and sent me to witness to what amounts to my enemy.

And yet my humanity howls . . . just howls at the mere prospect of facing the same circumstances Jonah found himself in. 

Twice I’ve sat helplessly by and watched as justice was denied all three of my daughters, my husband, myself. 

I don’t want to wake up and go to sleep over and over for years to come knowing with absolute certainty that the hope of justice has been lost entirely.

So, don’t come tell me if Troy Robins gets saved! Don’t expect me to rejoice with the angels in heaven.

Right or wrong, I just don’t want to know.  

Doest thou well to be angry, Janet? 

Maybe not. 

I am Jonah. 

I am no more Holy than he.


 
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Posted by on September 4, 2017 in Adversity, Faith, Grief

 

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Dropping the Ball & Matters of Forgiveness 

This post is painfully authentic. It’s an unvarnished look at how this bereaved mother feels since justice was once again denied my children. It’s peripherally about my faith, but blatantly reveals my humanity. So, if you can’t handle the truth and the inability to fix the unfixable, it’s best if you walk away right now. Otherwise, pull up a chair and virtually hold my hand as I walk you through the hard stuff.

It’s been a bit of a crappy week. For every minute that my mind has not been fully engaged in fiction or shut down by sleep it has cycled and recycled through the events that took place in the courtroom Monday. 

There have been moments when I’ve felt like a heavy weight has been lifted from me. I can finally completely turn away from the man-child who killed my daughters. Every obligation I had has been satisfied. (I should clarify that I don’t refer to Troy Robins as a man-child to speak of him in a derogatory fashion but rather as an acknowledgement of who I see him to be). A grown adult who has not put away childish thinking and behavior. I can’t even hate him; instead I pity him. Regardless, I really don’t want to talk about him. I like to think he’s beneath my consideration. I know that’s not very Christ like, but I don’t feel terribly charitable towards him. If I wanted heaping hot coals to take up residence on his head, I’d pray for him. I can barely pray for myself – for David and Gracen. So praying for him, my enemy in the eyes of many, is not something I invest my time in.

I didn’t get much of an opportunity to enjoy the freedom that resulted when my obligation for the safety of others was satisfied. No, it took no time at all for the fury over the complete lack of justice to rear its ugly head. I keep swallowing the rage because there is no satisfying or acceptable way to vent it. Voicing it and writing about it are the best I can do but neither dissipates the feelings. So I expend what energy I have left vacillating between the shocking feelings of absolute horror and doing my best to exercise self-control to contain the rage.

But worst of all is the self-condemnation I feel for not trying to speak up in court. The rage I’ve felt has always been directed toward others but it is so much harder to know I forfeited the very last opportunity to see justice served by failing to speak up. I feel as if I fumbled the ball a step from the end zone. 

After taking so many steps to see that justice would finally be served why didn’t I stand up and ask if I could address the court? The worst that could have happened is the denial of my request. So now, I am as enraged at myself as I’ve been at all the others. 

Today, I really need a heavy duty helmet because I just want to beat my head against a wall. 

Repeatedly. 

Unendingly. 

Again and again and again.

I fear that I will torture myself with that one failure forevermore. 

This is pure torment. 

Satan got the victory again and I handed it to him.

That kills me!

Please just shoot me now!

A good friend commented yesterday that she couldn’t imagine what that drive home after court was like for me. I fought tears for much of the ride and especially when I passed the accident site where two crosses stand defiantly proclaiming that Bethany and Katie’s lives were valuable, not disposable, as the courts have implied by their failure to uphold the law. As I drove by those crosses Monday morning I was assualted by the fierce longing to no longer be a part of this world – again. Believe me I’ve been there before.

I’m not suicidal, but there is this very, very common feeling that is rarely spoken of even in the loss community. Many among us long for death. It is an allconsuming desperate desire to escape, to just stop everything. To fall asleep and never wake up again. Suicide by neglect, if you will. There’s no desire to eat, to sleep, to shower or even crawl out of your bed ever again. 

In the movie Forrest Gump, Jenny prayed that God would allow her to fly away from her abusive father. And after Jenny’s death Forrest laced up his sneakers and just started running. Both characters displayed a desperate desire to escape the reality of their lives. Neither had a specific destination in mind – they just wanted to be anywhere other than the place they were currently at. I know that feeling in various forms from itching restlessness to deep, dark, unfathomable emptiness. Monday, on that drive home, I revisited that deep, dark, place where I have already spent far too much time in the last three plus years. And later in the week that itching restlessness reappeared driven by the unforgivable dropping of the ball. 

I have brand new forgiveness issues to confront. With the Judge who cavalierly suggested dismissing the charge. To the prosecutor for failing to respond to either of the two emails I sent asking what I could expect in court so that I could avoid being blindsided by the unexpected. And of course, the person who made the final decision to dismiss the charge. 

I could simply bow my head in obedience and by route request forgiveness for the parts each individual played in this miscarriage of justice but I know it’s not really that simple. All of scripture tells me that God is more interested in the motivations of my heart than obedience. Every parent knows that defiant obedience cultivates resentment. I’m going to need supernatural help to allow me to grant forgiveness from a heart that pleases the Lord and oh, how I wish I did not have to retrace those steps.

But far more difficult than forgiving those who contributed to this miscarriage of justice, is the ability to forgive myself for dropping the ball just short of the goal line. All that effort, all the hours spent over the last three years, lost in one single moment in time. 

There will be no wings to help me fly away from that reality. No road long enough to flee from my own failure. And there’s not enough chocolate in the world to sustain a sugar induced coma that will grant me escape from the fact that I could have asked one simple question that might or might not have made a difference. Just the chance that one question might have mattered – I can’t get over that. It’s a steel reinforced cage of self-condemnation because it doesn’t really matter if God, Himself doesn’t condemn me. I am too disappointed with myself for failing in the one thing that I could still do for my girls – for my immediate family. 

I’m not sure there is enough supernatural power in the world to grant me peace for this one misstep not because God isn’t powerful enough but because I don’t think I really want to forgive myself. This thing feels like the unpardonable sin of motherhood. I miss my girls but now I feel utterly unworthy of them. And no number of comments to the contrary will allay my guilt. So, yeah, I pretty much meant it when I said just shoot me now. If not for Gracen . . . well, let’s not go there.

 
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Posted by on August 18, 2017 in Adversity, Faith

 

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Court Is In Session

Monday, August 14, 2017, court is in session, the honorable Judge LePage presiding. 

Court is an interesting experience in and of itself. From my perspective, at least on pretrial conference day, court is little more than an exercise in fine assessment and future scheduling.

The defendant is called. He or she stands before the judge who reads aloud the charges the prosecutor (who is not present) filed. The defendant is then asked if they understand the charges and asked how they plea. A guilty plea results in fine assessment or setting of a later trial date. A not guilty plea is followed by the defendants presentation of evidence of innocence. The charge is dismissed and the next defendant’s name is called. Basically it’s the equivalent of wash, rinse repeat over and over again. 
It’s enlightening and it’s sad. There are those who just couldn’t locate the necessary paperwork when they got pulled over for a traffic stop. Those who made downright dangerous choices. Those who were frankly told that they would be serving time. And those whose lives seemed to be riddled with one problem after another, be them of their own making or not.

Then there were those who came to lend support to the defendant. Parents, siblings, friends and children. That last one is heartbreaking to see. 

And then there was me. 

I had no business with the court and was not there to support another. No, I sat in my corner waiting to see what would become of the felony charge leveled against the man who was responsible for the accident that killed my daughters three and a half years earlier. I noticed all this as I sat on the back row in the far corner waiting with increasing anxiety every time the courtroom doors opened. 

Would it be him?

How would I feel the moment I laid eyes on him?

He entered the courtroom after the bailiff went in search of him. He glanced my way, then stood behind the podium before the judge. I don’t think he had any idea who I was. I wish I was blessed with the same ignorance. 

I was surprised when the initial charge read was a felony stalking charge. I knew he’d been arrested for stalking but didn’t realize that charge would be addressed today. Finally the judge read the charge I was interested in. Felony driving without a license. In the state of Missouri the first two citations are misdemeanor offenses; the third a felony. This was actually Troy Robins fourth offense. No mention was made of the fact that the defendant had been eligible to obtain a driver’s license for seven years. Two prior offenses were mentioned however, no mention was made of the fact that on the date of his third offense he caused an accident that resulted in two fatalities.

The judge asked if he had secured an attorney and the defendant responded that he wasn’t sure if he’d need one. The judge then pointed out that he was looking at a four year maximum sentence on each charge. 

Troy Robins volunteered the fact that he now had a driver’s license. I sat in stuptified wonder as the judge turned to a woman seated across the courtroom and asked if she intended to throw out the charge since he had acquired a driver’s license. I held my breath then exhaled in complete disbelief when she responded yes. I wasted no time in rising to my feet and exiting the courtroom. I couldn’t stomach anymore. Just what was the point of upgrading the charge to a felony only to throw it out? Color me not only disgusted but also confused.

I’m sure a driving without a license charge appears insignificant to the court in comparison to the stalking charge and a good number of other charges that I’m sure are routinely presented before the judge. I guess it’s a throw away charge deemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

I’m not sure what role that woman in the court served, but after recycling the events through my head repeatedly today, I concluded that she’s probably the prosecuting attorney’s clerk. I have learned that only the prosecutor can bring charges so I assume the prosecutor, or his proxy, are the only ones who can withdraw charges as well.

To say I’m shocked by the outcome of today’s proceedings is a bit of an understatement. I never expected the charge to be dismissed outright but thought it more likely that he’d be sentenced to little or no prison time instead. What’s sad is that had I not notified the city attorney that his name was misspelled and this was not his first offense on this charge, he would have at least been convicted of another misdemeanor and paid a paltry fine ($80).

Silly me, I honestly thought it was a God thing a few weeks back when I was told that the county prosecutor had agreed to take the case and prosecute the felony charge. I say that because I was able to notify the city prosecutor of the errors only one day before Troy Robins was scheduled to appear in court on the misdemeanor charge. The public docket indicated that several delays had occurred prior to that day. It felt as if God had allowed the whole thing to be strung out until the real crime he was guilty of could be discovered so that he would not escape justice yet again. But I guess that was an erroneous assumption on my part. Once more I found myself sitting by helplessly as justice slipped away. Could I have waved my hands and offered the court the pertinent information they seemed unaware of? I don’t know. Most of what I know about courtroom procedures comes from television and interrupting the proceedings is portrayed as a definite no, no.

I find myself filled with righteous indignation but beyond that I’m just numb. I had no desire to track Troy Robins through the parking lot and run him over with the wheelchair van we now need in part because of his actions. 

There is no fight left in me. 

Had Troy Robins been convicted and sentenced for driving without a license today I would have firmly believed it was a work of the Lord. But now? Not so much. I don’t hold God responsible for what transpired in that courtroom today, but I do assume He allowed it for a reason. Maybe just not one I cared to entertain.

When I discovered Troy Robins most recent ticket I asked for prayer on Facebook that the prosecutor would amend the charge. A local McDonald County resident or two shared the post which eventually made its way to some of his friends. As a result I found myself under attack. I was proclaimed pathetic, vindictive and bitter. I was accused of attempting to intentionally hurt someone who unintentionally hurt me. I was mocked as a hypocrite for the forgiveness I’d said on past blogposts I’d granted. I was maligned for failing to have compassion for the young man who struggles with feelings of guilt, self-medicates with drugs and had poor judgment because of his tender age of 19 at the time of the accident. I was accused of both stalking and harassment for accessing public arrest records.

Like any other human being my knee jerk reaction was one of angry defensiveness. I knew better than to respond to those allegations directly so instead I began writing responses that would never see the light of day. Round and round my mind circled over and over again. And when the dust settled a bit I turned inward and began to once again examine my heart. Is there any truth to the allegations that have been thrown at me, I asked myself.

I talked this through with a longtime friend and this is what I discovered. By and large my motives are pure. I sincerely want justice served – no more and no less. I want the citizens of McDonald County to be safe and had I not drawn the courts attention to the true status of Troy Robins’ record (having let it go as I’ve been encouraged repeatedly) I would have felt as if I shared responsibility for anyone he hurt thereafter having not been prosecuted because I knowingly did nothing. Today, having discovered he is a legally licensed driver, released me from any future concern in that regard. The state qualified him, the courts excused him and I can wash my hands of him. I am so glad that I can turn my back and refuse to consider him any longer.

But that’s not all I discovered.

I also found that there remained a corner of my heart that took spiteful pleasure in his predicament. Afterall, how hard is it to acquire a driver’s license? He really just shot himself in the foot by refusing to apply for a license. 

It hurts to think that this “God thing” might have been more about sussing out sin I was unaware my heart was harboring. It hurts to know that I needed to cycle through the process of repentance, if not forgiveness, once again. I didn’t want to go there, but I also don’t want to be a bitter, vengeful woman either. So last week I went about dragging my feet where I least wanted to venture again even if it is in my own best interest. I returned to that hollowed out place in my heart. The one where I acknowledge that God will assuredly ensure that justice is served but that I will likely never know, never see it, never experience the satisfaction on behalf of my daughters. I don’t feel angry about that – just deeply disappointed and utterly resigned to this thing I cannot change or control. I don’t want to hear about what will eventually come to pass. It is of little consolation for me today.

I cannot lie, today was a difficult day. I have only verbally spoken of it to David and Gracen. I have found it nearly impossible to even begin to process how I feel about God in the wake of today’s events. I really don’t want to go there, so I reverted to my standard internal debate escape method – sleep and fiction. That’s how my afternoon was spent. 

I had nothing to say when David initially walked through the door tonight, mail in hand. But moments later he handed me an unexpected card and letter that arrived in the mailbox this afternoon. It came from a former high school classmate of my husband’s, Erich Magruder and his wife Amy. They are no strangers to the heartache that results when life changes drastically in one single moment in time. And this is the message God prepared in advance for my hurting heart today via the concern of a friend who had only recently become aware of the deaths of our daughters. He reached out extending sympathy and hoping to catch up on the last 35 years of lives that have taken divergent paths:


“In the ever changing circumstances of life, There’s a faithful, never-changing God in control. Every day begins and ends with His purpose, every moment of our life is in His care. There isn’t a detail that escapes His eye, or a trial that doesn’t touch His heart.”

And inside the card:

“Praying you’ll be encouraged as you entrust your cares to Him today.”

That simple card reminded me that while I may not understand or even appreciate God’s ways – He is still faithful. He still sees. He doesn’t turn away when things get hard or go very, very badly. He bears witness to the trials that touch our lives. He lingers with the brokenhearted. 

I needed that today.

And it meant so much more coming from hearts that have sustained their own deep wounds. Talk is cheap, but not when the words, and the truth they reflect, have been torn from depths unsearchable. 

Not then. 

Those words, they are a sacrifice of praise, and they have been offered at great cost. 

They are precious words that shine brightly because they are what remains when the dross has been removed by the meticulous and patient efforts of the Refiner of Silver in the hearts of men.

Maybe tomorrow I can once again begin to reconcile my circumstances and my faith with the Word of God. But today, I will rest upon the encouragement of another. My heart is too hollow to do anything else.

 
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Posted by on August 14, 2017 in Adversity, Faith

 

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There Is No Good Card For This – Book & Empathy Cards


How many times have you struggled to find the words to support and encourage others in the midst of life’s trials? Help is available. Follow the links below to check out the book and a selection of empathy cards.

 There Is No Good Card For This

Empathy Cards

 
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Posted by on July 13, 2017 in Adversity

 

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If 2013 Broke Your Heart… | Urban Hallelujah

Sometimes it feels like all we will ever know is the refiner’s fire. I am no Biblical scholar, but in rare moments I have wondered if the people who suffer the most trials and tribulations on this earth are paradoxically the most blessed of all people, because as the blogpost below points out, our burdens, trials, tribulations and just plain sucky circumstances force us to either get bitter or to lean on the Lord. 

I’ve observed many Christians over the years (those that seem to encounter an unusual amount of hardships) repeatedly chose to lean on the Lord.  Somehow, I think people interpret that to mean that the circumstances become easier to deal with, but I don’t think that’s true at all. The lightening of the load comes from trusting there is a purpose, a plan and even on the days when that’s not enough (because there will be those days) you know deep in your soul that He is there and you are not alone. Alone in bad circumstances is profoundly worse than having the Holy Spirit within you in the midst of your bad situation. 

I am so grateful for the encouragment I’ve received from those who have done little more than trudge their way through problem after problem, trial after trial serving as a living Bible for me and others to read. Most were completely unaware that anyone was observing their faithful walk. My prayer is that you and I will have eyes to see the work of the Lord and ears to hear what He says to the church (for that is what we are collectively) so that when our time comes to walk through the fire we instinctively follow the example displayed before us in better days. 

He is doing a new thing, but sometimes, we, like the wilderness wandering Israelites want nothing more than to return to the old, the familiar, the comfortable existence we once complained about. The known is less frightening than the unknown new thing God has planned for us. It takes courage to move into our new reality. Courage to face the raging Red Sea. Courage to walk across the seabed blown dry by the breath of God who is holding back the towering wall of water on either side of us. The Christian life requires the courage to allow God to have His way and to follow along behind Him as He leads us to places we never wanted to venture. And God knows this. 

He knows!

That’s why he told Joshua repeatedly to be strong and very (yes, He used that word!) courageous. It takes far more strength and courage to surrender your efforts, let go of your plans, and take the hand that reaches back for us, securely leading us into the vast and frightening unknown, than it takes to strive to control the chaos around us through our own dogged determination. 

Faith and trust are the hallmarks of courage.

When you exercise your faith and trust in God, you are bravely courageous!

Please follow the link below because it doesn’t matter what year broke your heart – we all end up broken at some point.

 

We were crushed and overwhelmed beyond our ability to endure, and we thought we would never live through it… 2 Corinthians 1:8 Each Christmas, my husband and I search the city over, in pursui…

Source: If 2013 Broke Your Heart… | Urban Hallelujah

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2017 in Adversity, Faith, Links

 

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