My mom suggested I maintain a blog. She said, "That's what people do when they are going through the type thing you are going through". Yes, I suppose so. And maybe I should. Maybe my small thoughts and our big-to-us trials might provide some hope or instruction for someone else who finds themselves in the unenviable position we find ourselves in. Is that why we write during times of crisis, those, who like me, are extraverts? An extravert processes by externalizing thoughts and feelings and in so doing, he or she arranges them into some comprehensive grid. That grid provides comfort or understanding. Yet there are aspects of life that do not fit in tidy grids. Things that trouble the comforts of our convicted logic. Things that trouble even our faith. Yes, doubt. There are things that generate doubt. Should we be afraid of doubt? No. I say no. How can a faith be real lest it is tried and washed with doubt. There is blind faith which cannot tolerate the presence of doubt. There is faith tried, washed, firm and clean which has withstood the ugly things reality might toss its way. That is the kind of faith I need. That is the only faith I can carry. I am a person more comfortable in the woods of doubt than in the seas of faith. Sometimes faith is difficult and unnatural to me. Really, some folks are struck by my faith as I articulate our trials. But my faith does not sail smooth seas, free of the storms of doubt. In fact, I would say that all doubt is NOT equivalent of a storm. Sometimes it is essential. And I do not mean doubt in ourselves. We would all do well NOT to take ourselves so damn serious. Not to pride our petty opinions too darn much. We would all do well to doubt ourselves some more, but not the murderous doubt produced by the fears of perfectionism. Not a doubt that finds its roots in shame. No, a doubt which we use as a tool to really test where we stand. A tool. Yes, a tool. I believe we might be a bit healthier spiritually when we can see doubt not as an enemy but as a tool. But sometimes it does come as an attack. Sometimes it can be crippling. Those are the stormy waves of doubt, but it can still be a tool to faith. Those unable and unwilling to doubt can come off as intellectually arrogant, or insecure, paranoid at times, like a dictator so terrified of criticism he would command his critics be tortured rather than listen to their critique. Those types can never grow. So terrified something might puncture the petty fortress which gives them false personal value, they guard the sand castle of their faith with arms and terror. We are never impressed with the insecure. We can understand it. We can even empathize with it, but it never beckons us onward and upward.
But self-pity is my topic. Self-pity is the fastest road to bitterness. In self-pity gratitude becomes all but impossible. In perpetual self-pity we become the martyr, it becomes a role we play in life, something core to our identity. Those types you can never doubt, never disagree with, never reproach because their actions, however unsavory or even cruel they may be, are justified by the fact that they are the victim. I personally become bitter in no time flat when I allow myself to become the victim in my mind. The doors are shut tight to the light of gratitude. My faith is choked of, the guiding transformative faith that give me composure and security is bled by the martyr's role. Our great heros may have become martyrs, but they never saw themselves as victims. No, they carried a torch, they charged the ranks, they took heroic acts because they were NOT going to be the victim. They were unwilling to live as the victim. Unwilling to entertain self-pity. They committed daring acts which brought upon them genuine suffering but they did so of their own power, their own choice, their own volition and they did so understanding there may be consequence. These are the types we are prone to follow. It is those who say, "I did it because I chose to" rather than those who say, "I did it because they did it." In fact, I have known those whose actions are always a reaction. They are always justified by some injustice committed upon them. They bully because. They hurt because. Not because they choose to, but because he or she hurt me, he or she did not agree with me, he or she essentially made me do it. These folks loose their own identity. They cease to be a real person. That is self-pity in the end. It either ends in bitterness and isolation, or it ends with the extinguishment of self. If there is no power within them that chooses to do of their own volition but always acts because of the actions of another, there is no unique "I" in there any longer.
I watch people react to circumstance differently. I watch us all develop our roles. Roles that come to define us. He is the nice guy. He is the peacemaker. She is the complainer. She is the dependent. All these roles become core to the unstable identity. Our identity becomes more rooted in our role than in who and what we are. Again, a loss of self. And not the good loss. Not the loosing your life to save it. Voluntary surrender is one of the most brave and heroic acts one might commit. Letting go and letting God is one of the most life giving intentional acts one can ever commit. But letting Go and letting God does not allow for self-pity. Self-pity provides for determinism which becomes pessimism. These are the folks we hear complaining, the type we like to avoid. I can be prone to self-pity. I can even find some narcissistic fulfillment in playing the self-pity card. I want the attention. I deserved the attention, the consolation. I am suffering! Hear me roar! Feed me, feed my ego, feed my insecurity people! If I make things look terrible enough you might stop to offer me a drink. I might for that moment feel wanted. And feeling wanted I might feel whole. What kind of a person would I be? If I need you to make me whole I cannot help the hurting become whole. No, nothing but God alone, nothing. Nothing created can create whole. Only whole can fill as whole.
I pain for Nicole's suffering. At times I feel pity for her. As I should. And she may pity me at time. I don't think she does, but she may. But may I not pity myself. I can scarcely count the blessings. Render told me years ago when my life fell apart, my fake, painful, pretentious life of cards came tumbling down - he told me that God would restore what the locusts had eaten. Did he ever. Today my fields are far bigger, my flocks more full, my tent holds more love and more people than ever before. I was the martyr. I was the victim. You may not have known it, but it was central to who I was. I was MISERABLE. Today I can scarcely count the blessings. I can barely see and end to the sea of good that has been given me. And the best things I have have been given mind you. The best things I did not earn. The best kind of love is the love that is given, not the type given as a reward. Grace is not grace if it is payment for labor or loan.
Please, rejoice with us as we celebrate this beautiful period of our lives. A period when we see the hand of God at every turn. A time when grace is flowing like a raging river after torrential storms. A time when hope punctures darkness at every turn. I got to hold Eden, give her a bottle, stare into her loving eyes tonight. I was moved by the simple gift. I could not have seen it as a gift if I was the victim. I would have said in my own mind, "oh, my life is so hard, so much has been taken from me, we are alone in Ohio with no end in sight living in fear and unknown. What did I do to deserve this? I do not deserve this, I can only hold my little girl for moments in these difficult days. I am robbed of my little loves." But I have those bright beautiful eyes to look into, that wild hair and those willful ways. I have been given the gift of a beautiful garden, "Eden", and I did not earn her nor deserve her. I as daddy cannot earn her love. She gives it to me because I am daddy. What a treasure. What a gift. What a great thing I was able to hold her tonight. I feel my boys kicking as my hand lay on Nicole. They are kicking! You get that? That is a big deal. I have been given two living sons in their mother's womb. They should not be alive today. 20 years ago they would not have made it to March.
There is NO reason Bryce should be half as healthy as he is today. Please, if you hear nothing else, hear that. His defect is severe. His leak is massive. His heart should be far sicker than it is. The Doctor's have watched always expecting the worst. But, in spite of his anomaly, his heart is moderately sick. Only moderately. That means he has a good fighting chance. He is in the ring with gloves on and trained. He is not a lamb led to the slaughter. How many other babies with defects like his have held on this long, this strong, have tolerated the regurgitation this well? Not many that I have heard of. I have heard of hydrops and blue babies. Or River who is perfectly healthy. He is the donor twin. A family in PA just lost their donor two weeks after birth because his share of the placenta was too small for him to develop vitality. Some day I will have to count the blessings. Some day I might even make a list of the miracles we have seen. Heck, I was a drunk ass that ran my wife away. It's a miracle that I even have this battle with this beautiful bride to celebrate today. In the end, Bryce may not make it. We may have only hours with him, days, weeks. Who knows. Though I truly believe he will flourish and thrive. I do. I believe we will see him playing soccer one day on the CCS field. I believe that the hand that has held him this strong this long will lead him to the other side. I do. And I believe that without knowing it, he is going to walk around with a tattoo for all to see that says: "I am here because my God wanted to show off how big He really is." I wonder how many will be able to see that tattoo? Because it will be invisible to the naked eye. It will take the power of faith, grace, and gratitude to see, but I know many of us will see it and will be reminded every day that God is in the business of miracles, every freakin day. I believe we can see these invisible tattoos every day. You can see it every time you see me smile. My life today is God showing off.
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