How I Feel Lately

Well, maybe a little bit of an idea. I know what I want to do, I know I’m good at it, and I know people need the services I can provide. So it’s not like I’m totally adrift. But on the bigger details, on the exact “how” of moving forward with my life, I’m actually kind of winging it.

It’s scary.

And it’s turning out better than I could’ve imagined.

Maybe you’ve been putting off making a change. Maybe you’ve just had a bad week. But if you’re wondering today if life could possibly suck any less, the answer is yes. Yes it can. And if you can master the scary, then you’ll be amazed at how cool life can be.

 

Beautiful Things

It’s raining here in Georgia. I’m sitting at my kitchen table, sipping on my coffee, reading my devotional, and looking out my big kitchen window. All I can see is overgrown grass, gray sky, and invisible rain drops splashing into a puddle. My kids are sitting in the living room watching some kind of behind the scenes feature on Alvin & The Chipmunks: The Squeakuel. My wife is at the gym. Overall, the day feels quiet. Contemplative. Serene.

My devotional is Jesus Calling. Today’s entry read in part:

My world is filled with beautiful things; they are meant to be pointers to Me, reminders of My abiding Presence.

Watching the invisible rain crash into the puddle, I think of what Jesus said: He makes the rain fall on the just and unjust alike. Sounds simple (I mean, have you ever seen rain avoid a person?), but it says a lot about God. Depending on how you view rain, it’s either God blessing everyone equally or God allowing hardship equally. You could certainly drill down deeper on the implications, but at face value, the fairness of God in both good and bad is contained within that one, simple act.

It rains on everyone sometime.

Thinking about that, I imagine that in places where it rarely rains, water falling from heaven seems like an enormous blessing, an occasion to sit down and breathe deeply and silently give praise that a need has been met. I would imagine in places like that no one grumbles about the inconvenience, or heaves a sigh at having to rearrange their plans for the day. I would imagine that on a day like today, they just sit back and watch the rain fall with wonder for however long it might last. Each drop seen as precious. Each rain-filled minute a gift.

Meanwhile, I look at the rain and think, “Man – people will be driving like idiots today.”

Perspective. We all need it sometimes. In fact, a lot of us need a lot of the time – the ability to put things into the right context, the right worldview. Usually the problem is fairly simple: our perspective is myopic, limited to the only creature in the universe that we feel matters.

Ourselves.

Today, let’s take a minute and expand that view to at least the people closest to us, whether that’s family or friends or co-workers or the stranger on the street. Let’s make an active choice to see the world not through our narrow lens of self-satisfaction but instead through a lens of wonder and awe and awareness. The rain falls on us all, no one better than the other, so let’s choose to see the blessing in that today. Let’s choose to see benevolence and grace instead of inconvenience and bother. As Garrison Keillor once wrote, in a “News From Lake Woebegon” sketch for Prairie Home Companion, “the Lord offers Himself to us just the same, whether we notice it or not.”

Today, let’s take notice.

Stillborn, Still Here

I couldn’t sleep last night. My neighbor’s to the back apparently were conducting search and rescue missions in their backyard, because a massive floodlight lit up the back of my house, a light so bright it was sufficient for identifying insects in their yard with the naked eye. From my patio. Over 300 feet away.

Anyway, since I couldn’t sleep, I powered up the laptop and checked email. There was the usual assortment of junk (mostly writing website stuff), but among the various vanities was a tiny little message from my father-in-law, Jim. The subject line took my breath: Ruthanne Awaiting In Heaven.

I wasn’t prepared for it, so it stunned me. Even though I mentioned Ruthie in yesterday’s blog, and even though my mind knew her birthday was today, I simply hadn’t been consciously thinking about her. Sure, when we visited my parents yesterday, my dad pointed out the flowers they’d placed in her memory at church. He asked Ella to tell him how old Ruthanne would be; Ella walked over to the plant, saw the preciously painted pink polka-dot nine, and informed my dad that her sister would, in fact, be nine years old. My dad grinned, turned to me and said, “Can you believe that? In just a couple more years she’d be a teenager!”

“Yeah, and only another couple of years and she’d have been driving!” my mom added.

I shook my head. No, I really couldn’t believe it. After all, I’m doing well just keeping up with a seven year old girl who thinks she’s seventeen and a four year old boy who enjoys screaming random bits of conversation when not actively giving his mother a hard time. In other words, I have no idea what the heck we would do with a third, older child.

I would imagine we’d lean on her to help keep the other two in line, or ask her to watch them when we need to get work done. I can imagine her being Ella’s best friend and chief rival, Jon’s mini-Mom, and Rachel’s sweet helper. It’s easy to think about those things. But it’s hard to imagine how she would relate to me. Ella is so much like me in her creativity and imagination (though she is very much like her mother too) that I can’t imagine having a daughter more attuned to this nerdy dad. I look at Ella and try to think about what Ruthanne might have been like – responsible, intelligent, socially aware, helpful, lots of the qualities that Ella exhibits by virtue of being the first surviving child – and I just can’t picture it.

Yet, that doesn’t make me sad.

Once upon a time, I would’ve felt tremendous regret for what I missed out on with Ruthanne. In some ways I suppose I still do, but it’s not as consuming as it once was. In fact, other than the occasional question about Ruthie from Jon or Ella, I really don’t think of her much at all. It sounds heartless, but here’s the thing: like David, I know she’ll never come back to me, but one day I’ll go to her. In the meantime, I have to love on Ella and Jon, pour into them my very best and cherish every moment we have together (even the stressful and annoying ones).

Like the past couple of mornings, when we’ve been watching the entire Star Wars franchise (even the horrid prequels). They run around the house, fighting with plastic lightsabers, knocking into things and raising a ruckus, but it’s life and it’s beautiful and I cherish it.

That’s not to say that today doesn’t hold meaning – it does. But what it says even louder is that the passage of time, the healing of wounds, is not only possible, it is inevitable. It comes whether we work at it or not; it simply comes faster when we participate and chase after healing. Everyday people come to this blog because of a search on the word “stillbirth” or the phrase “stillborn child.” I can honestly say that there hasn’t been a day in the last two years when that word hasn’t shown up in my stats information. That means that everyday for two years someone has either been curious about stillbirths, or wondered how to survive a stillbirth, and they’ve landed here. They’ve read our story. And they’ve seen that healing does come.

It’s painful at times. It’s sudden (or seemingly so) at others. But it’s persistent and it’s real, and that’s something I desperately wanted to know nine years, eight years, heck five years ago.

We’re still here. We’re still a family. Perhaps even more so because we have such a poignant reminder of the fragility and value of life.

And we also know what my father-in-law knows. His email was brief, but so powerful. Jim is a man who has lost much in his life – Ruthanne, his little brother Preston, other family members who didn’t have much time on this earth, but who live now eternally in heaven. And so his quiet, thoughtful, touching email grabbed me last night and reminded me that while we’re healing here, we’ll be fully healed when the day comes that we join our loved ones on the other side.

Here’s what he said:

Dear Rachel and Jason,

The most beautiful thing about Heaven is knowing that infants like Ruthanne, Preston, Gravis, and Helen who went early before us will be waiting to meet us there.

The closer I get, the more I am looking forward to seeing them!

Remembering Ruthanne in our thoughts,

Jim Paw and MeMe

Short. Sweet. Heartfelt. And for our family, utterly true.

Today, the sun is shining, and both my kids are foaming at the mouth to get out of the house and do something fun (which means, as it does with most children, going somewhere and spending money). Today, they’ll want to run all over a playground or go to Stone Mountain or see a movie or any number of things that incite their tiny little imaginations. And, as best we can, Rachel and I will chase after them, laughing and enjoying the day, forgetting our loss by embracing our blessings and simply living without the burden of regret.

This is what life is. It’s perpetual rebirth. It’s discovering each day that the greatest way to honor the memory of Ruthanne is to not let that memory steal our life. She was stillborn, but we’re still here. One day, we’ll see our loved ones and never have to let go, so let’s start that process today, with the ones closest to us. We’ve got a lot of living left to do.

So do you.

Now get out there and do it.

In a Boat With a Tiger

Last night Rachel and I watched the Oscar winning film, “Life of Pi.” It was a homework assignment given to me by my friend, Kevin, who forbade us from any more coffee get-togethers until I’d seen the flick. I picked it up from Redbox on Blu-Ray, we put the kiddos to bed, and we settled down to watch…

…well, we didn’t know, exactly.

I mean, we both knew it was about a guy in a boat with a tiger, but we weren’t sure of much beyond that. I knew that the visuals were supposed to be remarkable and unlike anything anyone had ever seen, but I had no sense of the plot. Kevin had given me a bit of a hint – as had his girlfriend, Kristin – but knowing that a movie has something to do with God doesn’t quite constitute a spoiler alert.

So when the first five minutes of the movie were slow pans of various animals inside some sort of sub-tropical jungle/zoo-type-enclosure-thingy, Rachel turned to me and said, “I thought this was about a guy and a tiger.”

“It is,” I said. “But I have no idea how it gets there from here.”

I really didn’t have any idea how the crux of the story – Pi on the boat with a tiger named, strangely enough, Richard Parker – came about. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for the journey. If you’ve not seen the movie I won’t spoil it for you, but it was moving and heart-wrenching and had me rooting for the boy with the unusual name the entire time.

In fact, the plot of the movie wasn’t what really captivated me. It rang true, even with its fantastical elements, and that was what mattered; you can watch a good movie with a great plot and not have it say something to your heart. While the story was fantastic, Life of Pi is powerful precisely because it says something about the nature of faith and the struggle we all endure to make sense of our lives on a daily basis. In Pi, plenty of people find a doppleganger: a person who, as a result of growing up in a multi-cultural world, has a powerful faith in God – be it Vishnu, Christ, or Allah.

Pi isn’t someone whose faith tradition was simply handed to him; he comes to believe the various things he believes because of his own search for meaning and purpose. He seeks out God in so many places because he believes God may be found. He sees the hand of God in places others can’t be bothered to look. And while I may not subscribe to the polytheistic ecumenism that Pi embraces, I can certainly say that the desire to believe in something, to see the majestic at work in my life, is a longing I can identify with.

Being adrift in a boat with a tiger isn’t a perfect metaphor for everything, but it’s apt for where my family finds itself right now. We are at the mercy of God’s hand; we are moved by His leading; we are aware that the danger before is also something of terrible beauty. And like Pi, we’re simply looking to come ashore somewhere safe. I can’t remember when a movie collided with my life so perfectly.

Is it for everyone? Nope. There are plenty of people who won’t be able to get past the fact that Pi, born in India, doesn’t stick with one religion over another. Others won’t be able to swallow the admittedly dream-like story. But for those who are looking for something undefinable, something outside the normal channels, this might be a movie for you.

I can’t promise it will say anything to you, but I can tell you that it stuck with me in quiet ways; long after I’ve returned the movie to Redbox, I’ll still be thinking about the visuals, and the story, and the power of a heart that is open to life’s great moments, no matter how they arrive. For that, I am grateful.

Together We Go

I’m fortunate to be married to an exceptional woman. Case in point: I had to re-submit my book manuscripts to Amazon and Barnes & Noble because I accidentally misspelled my son’s name in the dedication (the curse of typing too fast and arrogantly thinking you don’t need to proof the stupid dedication; let that be a lesson to you writers out there), and I noticed that for $25, Amazon would add your book to the distribution list for bookstores, libraries, and academic institutions. I mentioned that fact to Rachel.

“Let’s do it!” she said.

I looked at her. She was smiling. She was serious. I laughed and told her I would rather spend the money on getting my own website.

“Let’s do it!” she chirped.

She is the world’s greatest wife. Polish the trophy, engrave her name, hand it to her tomorrow. Game over.

It’s funny because a lot of people have only heard my side of the story lately; that we stepped away from everything that we knew because I felt strongly that now was the time to focus on my writing career. But we also stepped away from the familiar so Rachel could pursue her dreams, find her purpose. She’s an exceptional administrator and manager, a bold yet kind voice in the midst of chaos who can take the swirling vortex of creative ideas and pull them down into the corporeal world, giving them form and weight and substance.

In short, she can take the poop storm you and I encounter everyday and turn it into a sensible, productive reality. It’s darn near a superpower.

She’s been doing this her whole life, of course, but she’s always followed a different path, because she believed her purpose was teaching. Seven years in public schools and even more in church settings have taught her that teaching is a great skill she possesses, but it’s not her purpose. And that’s okay, because it means that she’s on the verge of something great herself.

Which brings me back to the happily married part. Most people would be freaking out during times like these, times when neither of us have a secured job, when we’re both waiting on God to deliver something amazing instead of chasing something average. And that’s the key: we’re both waiting. We’re both searching. We’re both in a position to make this leap of faith, so wherever we go, we go together.

Together, no matter where we land. Like it’s supposed to be.

Hopefully, you can say the same.