The Works of God

Of all the things I read or watched this year, the video below has stayed with me the most, I think.

God didn’t ask my opinion about having a son with multiple disabilities.  I’m grateful for that as I would have responded wrongly, and I did respond wrongly.  But somewhere along the way he changed my heart about that boy and his disabilities.

And I have a long way to go.  I’ve never met Dr. McQuilken, but the easy way he accepted his new assignment from God as his wife’s Alzheimer’s disease progressed instructs me about my heart and where I want it to be oriented.

Justin Taylor first blogged about Dr. and Mrs. McQuilken in February.  The three articles are devastating and beautiful.

May it be that God does as Justin asked in his post: May God make us men like this.

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Every year during the Advent season, Bethlehem Baptist Church invites the children entering fourth grade to participate in carrying an advent candle to the front of the sanctuary.  It is taken very seriously by Bethlehem.

And Bethlehem welcomes the children with disabilities to participate!

This year, Michael Lacher, son to Mark and Jan Lacher, entered the fourth grade.  Michael lives with debilitating seizures.  God has been merciful to his family, wrapping them in the truth of his sovereignty over all things for the joy of all peoples through Jesus Christ.

After a season of prayer, Mark and Jan asked if Michael could participate in the ceremony, and the church threw its arms wide open to figure out how to do it!

What follows is a report from his mother, used with permission.  There are miracles from God throughout this accounting, so take your time in reading.  You will be blessed.

Hi Mary and John,

Thanks so very much  for praying for Michael.  After sleeping much of Saturday, he awoke on Sunday morning at 6 a.m. belly-laughing and ready to go. As you know, I kept him home on Friday from school with what seemed to be some vague illness.  I had concerns all day on Saturday whether he would be able to go to church on Sunday.  I decided to give his medications on Saturday night about an hour and half later so as to delay the Sunday morning meds until after lighting of the candle. (Much thought went into how to do this.)  I decided to delay med administration as he is sharper and more alert when he does not take meds.  They make him drowsy and sometimes irritable right after receiving them. I was encouraged and relieved when Michael looked bright when he awoke on Sunday morning.

We hustled on Sunday morning.  It was a little more chaotic with the snow fall (we clean our 86-yr old neighbor’s driveway and our single lady neighbor’s driveway)  and also with having a house-full of family staying with us from out-of-town.  There was much dashing in our household to get to church extra early.

We arrived at church feeling half dressed, but we were ready for the practice run for the lighting of the candle.  Jon and Mandy’s daughter, Elena, and Michael were to do it together.  Jon is the Sr. High pastor at the north site. Pastor Jon had told me that his daughter was excited to be doing it with Michael.  He relayed to me earlier that week that they couldn’t imagine a more perfect way of having their daughter doing the candle than doing it with Michael.  They were thrilled.  I was grateful to hear that.

In the practice, we decided to put Michael on the left side as he has a right-sided field-cut with his vision. He would be less apt to reach over and grab the candle with this positioning.  As we did a trial run, we noticed that we had to navigate the corner at the end of the center aisle and do a right hand turn.  It was communion Sunday with all of the “bread and wine” trays within arm’s reach of Michael.

I could see a potential disaster if we allowed him to get too close. Michael can be like an alligator.  He can be quiet and subdued.  And when you least expect it, whack!  Stuff goes flying.  So we talked to facilities manager, Brad, and asked him if we could pull out the outer two chairs that bordered the corner.  He heartily agreed.  We tried it again, and it was great having the extra room.

After the practice runs, we hastily got the gown on Michael (no small feat), and Jon and Mandy’s daughter showed us where the V-piece buttoned, etc. Her mom, Mandy, encouraged us and said, “What will happen, will happen.”  We appreciated her input and her daughter’s assistance in getting the gown “just right.”  Michael seemed to know something was up and different as he so often does.  I brought a bib and fastened it tightly around his neck so as to keep “everything” as fresh and clean as possible.

Michael looked sharp.  The hair was slicked back–Elvis style.  A new, crisp, starched-white shirt peeked out under and above the gown. (I bleached the old white shirt twice, and it looked way too dingy to use for such a special occasion.)  A new power-red tie under the neck pointed toward his chocolate eyes. He had his “banker’s” blue-pin striped pants on with his braided black belt. I put his tightest black slippers on his feet in hopes that he would not easily fling them off and slam dunk them in the front of the church.  In the practice run, Christina (Michael’s sister), in her burgundy, formal dress gracefully and slowly pushed the wheelchair forward.  She was very comfortable doing it.  After all, she is a pro at handling the wheelchair and Michael.

The service started.  We were all sitting in the back waiting for the moment. I was trying to concentrate on the service. Then, I looked at Michael, and for a brief second, I envisioned him to be able-bodied wearing the gown. I started to cry.  Ruth, the Family Discipleship staff that manages the kids and assists with this activity, dashed and got me some tissues.  Sniff. Dab.

I gained control and then was somewhat alarmed when I saw Michael having seizures. The seizures were growing in intensity–on the verge of a huge tonic.  I prayed a hasty prayer imploring the Lord to calm the lightning storm in his brain. The seizures stopped. Whew. I exhaled a sigh of relief.

Michael started to bounce his normal self.  The passage from Isaiah was being read.  We were next.  The time seemed to speed by.  The passage reading was done.  We had to quickly get into place.  The lights were dimmed.  I did one quick wipe of Michael’s face and yanked off the bib. He was ready.

The piano music flowed through the air.  The children started forward.  Elena looked so stately as she measured her steps forward and carefully held the candle.  Michael seemed joyous.  He seemed to know and sense that this was a special moment.  He looked around smiling, arms up and moving, he rocked in his chair. He made sounds so as to say “God is so very good.”

I stood in the back and watched them ease their way forward. I was tense, barely breathing, and yet, was so proud of them all.  Buttons were popping.  They got to the end of the center aisle and turned the corner.  I relaxed a little as they passed the communion trays without incident.  They angle their walk to the area of the candles.  Christina paused with Michael.  Elena carefully climbed the steps and gently placed the candle on its perch.  She turned and gracefully came back down the stairs and joined Michael and Christina. The three of them made their way to the far aisle to make their exit.  Jim, the usher next to us, leaned forward and whispered to Mark that Michael did great. Mark shed a tear or two. I was told that others were dabbing their eyes and were touched by this part of the service.

I came away from it very grateful to have Michael be part of the worship service. He can do so very little, so to have him participate in such a wonderful way is a Christmas gift in itself.

Someday, Michael will not be in a wheelchair, but instead will be able to walk by himself before the King and will in a full presence of mind be able to worship Him fully. We do not look to what Michael can do here in this life, but instead look to the One who can do exceedingly more than we can possible think to ask.  Jesus is our hope.  To Him be the glory.  Amen.

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Thank you to Justin Taylor for pointing to this lecture by D.A. Carson.

Last year, D.A. Carson gave a lecture in California, How Could a Good God Allow Suffering.  Dr. Carson has written several dozen books, including God Who Is There: Finding Your Place in God’s Story and How Long, O Lord? Reflections on Suffering and Evil.  I recommend them both.

And I recommend this lecture embedded below.  But if you only have five minutes, go to the 1 hour and 27 minute mark of the video to watch his answer to this question: I’ve been living with major physical pain and I know God can heal me and His will is for me to be healed.  Why won’t he or why doesn’t He?

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William Wilberforce is famous for his tireless, decades-long campaign against slavery.  But did you know he was happy?

The poet Robert Southey said, “I never saw any other man who seemed to enjoy such a perpetual serenity and sunshine of spirit. In conversing with him, you feel assured that there is no guile in him; that if ever there was a good man and happy man on earth, he was one.”  In 1881 Dorothy Wordsworth wrote, “Though shattered in constitution and feeble in body he is as lively and animated as in the days of his youth.” His sense of humor and delight in all that was good was vigorous and unmistakable. In 1824 John Russell gave a speech in the Commons with such wit that Wilberforce “collapsed in helpless laughter.”  John Piper, Peculiar Doctrines, Public Morals and the Political Welfare, 2002 Desiring God Pastors Conference.

And he truly was ‘shattered in constitution and feeble in body’ (paragraph format and text in bold are mine):

On top of this family burden came the death of his daughter Barbara. In the autumn of 1821, at 32, she was diagnosed with consumption (tuberculosis). She died five days after Christmas. Wilberforce wrote to a friend, “Oh my dear Friend, it is in such seasons as these that the value of the promises of the Word of God are ascertained both by the dying and the attendant relatives. . . . The assured persuasion of Barbara’s happiness has taken away the sting of death.”

He sounds strong, but the blow shook his remaining strength, and in March of 1822, he wrote to his son, “I am confined by a new malady, the Gout.”

The word “new” in that letter signals that Wilberforce labored under some other extraordinary physical handicaps that made his long perseverance political life all the more remarkable.

He wrote in 1788 that his eyes were so bad “[I can scarcely] see how to direct my pen. . .” In later years he frequently mentioned the “peculiar complaint of my eyes,” that he could not see well enough to read or write during the first hours of the day. John Piper, Peculiar Doctrines, Public Morals and the Political Welfare, 2002 Desiring God Pastors Conference.

Happy, and disabled?  How?

Thank you, Pastor John, for this wonderful, helpful biography of William Wilberforce. And thanks be to God for creating such a happy man as Wilberforce who, though experiencing extraordinary personal and physical pain, always looked to Jesus and had a constant, unending supply of joy as he battled evil his entire life.

May we happily do the same in our own time.

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