A Day of Extremes

There is a time to live, and a time to die.

This may turn out to be one of those posts that I write but never post. Maybe I will. I don’t know. Didn’t you know I have posts on my computer, waiting for me to press the “post” button, but stuck in cyberspace until I do? I have about 3 or 4 of them on there now. Normally it’s because the subject matter is so close to my heart, that it’s nothing but passion out there, and I need to go back an edit out all the stupid not true stuff that I really didn’t mean, and then I don’t always have time to go back and edit. Or I try, and just get worked up again.

My hesitation with this post, is that I’m not entirely sure this story is mine to tell. I’d hate to tell someone else’s story without consulting them. I will try my hardest to share only my feelings and observations, and we’ll see how it goes. Then, it might seem like it’s all about me…which it totally wasn’t. Today was about some amazing families I know. I just was a part of big days for them.

This morning, Knut and I dropped the kids off at his parents and headed into town. We were mildly dressed up. We were alone, and without the kids, and mildly dressed up, but this was not a date.
“I don’t want to go.” I said.
“No one wants to go to something like this.” He said. “But it’s good to go.”
“I know it’s good to go. We should go. But I don’t want to. I don’t think I can handle it.”
“I know. We can’t not go.” He said.
“Well, it would be wrong not to go. We should go.”

It was never really a question whether or not we would go. It wasn’t the event so much that we dreaded as the reason for the event.

Then the subject changed for awhile, as Knut tried to tell me things from the week to keep my mind off of it. I however, was folding and refolding tissues in my purse, and getting them settled in a quiet spot so when I reached for them candy wrappers and receipts wouldn’t go flying everywhere.

The morning was overcast, and in this part of the world, at this time of year, that means the ground is the same color as the sky: white. It was white everywhere, and even the trees had white drifts of frost on them. The whiteness of the day almost makes you squint.

We arrived at the church 30 minutes early, and the parking lot was nearly full already. We had arrived at a funeral. One of our classmates from high school lost a child. He would have been 3 months old tomorrow.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never met her son. I knew that they wanted to adopt, and I knew he had been adopted. She had a blog, and some of you may know the strange intimacy that you form with someone through their blog. I knew he had gotten sick. I knew he needed a liver transplant. I stalked his caringbridge site from the hospital, and checked it every half hour the day of his transplant surgery. When she posted that he passed away, I found out 6 minutes after it was posted. I lost it, and Knut literally had to catch me.

Things like this aren’t supposed to happen. Little babies shouldn’t die, and parents who accept a child so unconditionally–without thought to a child’s race, health, or place of birth. Those parents who save and save and fill out mountains of paperwork and drive half way across the country to claim a child they have never met should not lose a child. Not that it’s ok for other parents to lose a child, but it seems extra wrong when parents have to work so hard.

I started crying as soon as we entered the church. I felt so stupid. His mom and I weren’t not friends in high school, but we didn’t run in the same circle of friends. She was super athletic and I was…well a cheerleader. And not those cool cheerleaders like in the movies, but the kind of group of girls who tried real hard (well…some of us…) but if we’re real honest here…we weren’t good at anything else. (Sorry Candis.) My old cheerleading coach reads the blog, so I ought to watch what I say.

Still, when there’s a class as small as 50, you do know everyone, and there’s a sense of camaraderie. Not only that…their child died. That’s not something you can ignore. I suppose I was crying as a fellow mother. I was crying, because I have small children too, and I can’t imagine that pain.

I mean, on normal terms, it doesn’t take a lot to get me crying. I’m one of those people who cries watching commercials. (Have you seen those Olympic P&G commercials on Mom’s? Tearjerkers.) If I need a good cry, I know I can put on “Steel Magnolias” and be guaranteed to cry, even though I’ve seen it a million times, and cry in the same parts each time…and I know what’s going to happen!

Some sweet women who I’ve gotten to know over the years, and would consider dear friends came up to me and comforted me. I felt silly still. I was not burying a child that day. I, in fact, never met this child.

Little Elijah was there, though. His tiny white casket was open at one side of the hall, but I couldn’t bring myself to go over. I thought about it. I wanted the strength to, but I couldn’t. Knut didn’t want to either. After hugging some more friends, we sat down. Some friends of ours sat in front of us, and before everything started, we got talking. For a brief moment, we laughed…until we remembered we were at one of the saddest events ever. I’ve learned in my small experience with grief, though, that laughter is such a welcome relief.

The service was amazing. What stood out to me most was the song choices. Each song made such a statement. We sang “He Knows My Name” and “Better is One Day”, “How Great is Our God” and it closed with “Children of our Heavenly Father.” If you know those songs, you haven’t really listened to the words until you have sung them at an event like this. To be in a room parents who have just lost their most prized child sing “How Great is Our God! Sing with me, how great is our God, and all will see, how great! How great is our God!”

It brought back a memory of not too long ago when I went to a funeral for my Great-uncle Elder. He was a minister, and his funeral was an awesome testament to a life spent honoring God. While, I know this little child’s life most definitely honored God, it was very different. It was one of those funeral where people there, had at one point or another, had questioned God’s choice on this one. Maybe even doubted some part of God’s character. This funeral wasn’t just honoring the life of Elijah, it was putting God on the throne, and honoring, when we all didn’t understand. It was powerful.

I had an argument with God after I found out about the death. After spending some time pouring my heart, God told me of his mercy. He told me of an orphan who was going to die, and was going to die alone…until he stepped in. He stepped in and gave this orphan a mother and father who loved him like crazy. A mother and father who would race to pick him up out of the crib in the morning, and tell him I love you 1,000 times a day. God gave mercy. God gave grace. It may not feel like it, but it still is. God still is. God has not changed.

Then we went home, got the kids down for naps, and got a few Saturday chores done. After naps, we had to switch gears big time. Silje and I went to a baby shower of a dear, dear friend of mine. Sure, she’s Knut’s second and/or third cousin or something, but more importantly my friend. (She loved the bag, by the way.) I thought it would be tough to switch gears, but you know what? Seeing her there, literally ready to pop with child, joy had to well up in all of us.

Elijah’s funeral meant something because his life meant something to God. My friend Carolyn’s child is God-breathed as well, and that’s why he means something. It’s amazing how so much sorrow, and so much joy can dwell together. Maybe it’s because both have the same purpose: exalting God.

The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

That was God’s theme of the day was for me.

I don’t understand why God does things, but often, we only question him when he does something we don’t like. I mean, I don’t weep and question God why he let Carolyn have a child. We rejoice over that. We should. Still, everyday I come to find out that not knowing God’s thoughts is a comfort to me. If I could understand God’s thoughts, and God’s ways, what kind of god would he be? Something I made up? The little god in my pocket, that has catchy phrases, and makes me feel warm and fuzzy?

Knowing God is bigger, wiser, all knowing, all present, is a comfort to me, as I am none of those things. If I understood God…that would make us equals. If we were equal…we are all in trouble, because I would make a terrible god.

That, however, doesn’t make my frustrations go away, but it gives me someone to entrust with those frustrations. There is not always answers, but there is peace, and peace is a powerful thing.

I think it’s still essential that we seek God’s thoughts, and most of all His heart. We must be careful to not cross the line, and demand to know all that God knows, or, in other words, to demand to be like God.

Not knowing demands faith. Not foolish faith, but certain faith. Grounded faith. Faith not in knowledge, but trusting in who God is. He is our rock.

So, there’s your deep thought for today. I’m not really sure how to end it, but this is a totally informal journal entry on a blog, and so I’m okay with that. My prayers go out to the Johnson family and that God would continue to sustain them.