The Works of God

Many thanks to my friend, Jan Lacher, for writing this post today – JPK

This past Monday night, I cried some lukewarm tears.

My three older children played piano pieces for their yearly piano recitals.  Christina played Firefly Fandango by Bober.  David performed Beethoven’s Sonata, c#minor,Op.27#2, Adagio.  My senior, Jonathon, performed Chopin’s famous Nocturne Eb Major.  It was bitter-sweet listening to Jonathon, realizing that it would probably be his last performance that I would be privileged  to hear. Eleven years of practice and recitals will be done.  Sigh…  Warm tears dripped onto my starched, white blouse even as I was biting my thumb nails and holding my breathe until it was over.  Such is the torture of a parent.

At one point in the evening though, I had tears for another reason.

One of our good friend’s daughters, the youngest of six children, performed a phenomenal piece.  Eight-year old Julia played A Touch of a Dream by Cuellar with beauty and grace.  She is gifted musically, as her other siblings are.

While she performed it, I realized that she was only six weeks older than Michael. Michael seems so much younger.  Of course, mentally, he is.   I could not help noticing the contrast between her and Michael as she gracefully approached the grand piano and displayed her musical gifts even as Michael bounced away in his wheelchair in the church foyer.

I was not at all  jealous of her ability.  I was not envious.  But, a deep sorrow set in at that realization, and lukewarm tears dripped, dripped, and dripped.  I loved listening to the music and rejoiced with her parents at her beautiful performance.  But, it was shadowed with the loss of all the possibilities that could have been for Michael.

How do I think about this without becoming overwhelmed with grief?

Events like piano recitals seem to punctuate disability with an exclamation point. I need to have a way to think about his life without becoming overwhelmed with grief.    So in my mind, I am learning to shift my attention  and fast-forward  it to a time when some day, Michael will be made whole.  There will be a time when he will have full functionality and will have the ability to learn “the masters” and so much more.

I  look forward to that reality.  But in the meantime, I am learning to be content and patient with the truth and hope that the Gospel brings.  Maybe some day both Michael and I will have the opportunity, with perfection and zeal, to perform on a keyboard a duet called the Hungarian Rhapsody.  I envision how with high drama we will smoke the keys together.   Instead of lukewarm tears, there will be tears of joy and gladness.

What a glorious time that will be.

Some close friends of ours recently returned from where they are translating God’s word to spend several months in the United States.  It is best not to be specific about the country or the people groups with which they are working.

As I expected, they had some great stories. This one particularly delighted me.

Some people fluent in American Sign Language were called to our friends’ country to work with deaf people who communicate in an entirely different signed language.  I neglected to ask if these missionaries were also deaf.

In less than two months they had enough skill in this new language for them to begin evangelizing the deaf community in that country!

I know it is not wise to generalize from one specific example; these missionaries might have been given unusual linguistic giftings by God.

But how great is it that a people group, in this case the deaf community of that country, didn’t have to wait years for the gospel to be presented in their own language?  How many people will enjoy Jesus forever BECAUSE they were deaf in this life?

Planned Parenthood is moving into a new, centralized site in the Midway area of Saint Paul.  They will be performing abortions at this site.

This is from their blog announcement:

With 46,000 square feet, the new building will bring our community education programs, administrative offices, and a full-service reproductive health care clinic all under one roof, allowing us to stream line our operations and continue providing our patients comfortable, secure care. The new building will be in a more accessible location and will help bring increased activity and vitality to the Central Corridor.

“Accessible” is a word we use frequently when talking about disability.  We appreciate accessible buildings, programs, and communities.  Seeing it here, though . . .

I’ve already pointed out the connection between abortion and disability.  I won’t belabor that point here.

And as soon as I heard the address, my heart sank even more.  They are locating this clinic, where I know babies with disabilities will be killed, about a block from the Minnesota State Services for the Blind.

The State Services for the Blind is obviously not a Christian organization.  But I am going to start praying that the massive evidence of the inherent, God-granted dignity and value of people living with blindness will ruin this new abortion clinic in that neighborhood.  Mothers being tempted to abort will be riding on the same light rail and the same buses as people with disabilities; in fact, getting off at the same locations.

God can work a miracle in those moments.  And then that clinic can just go away through lack of customers.

Or, better yet, because Jesus has returned!

Saturday was a day sharply outlining the realities of marriage.

Very early in the day email started arriving that Mary Pearson had died on Friday night after a 15 month battle with cancer.  Mitch and Mary are well known and well loved at Bethlehem.  I have personally experienced Mitch’s depth of care and compassion in our situation.

Mitch wrote a powerful testimony to God and to his wife, a portion of which was excerpted on the Desiring God blog on Saturday.

Mitch and Mary walked through deep, long seasons of extraordinary testing.  Mary is now free.  It is a hard story of what love looks like.

And God has proven most satisfying.

Later in the day Dianne and I attended a reception for our nephew and his future bride.  It was for all the family and friends who cannot travel to Alabama for their wedding in June.

This young man comes from a very special family.  His older sister lives with significant disabilities.  He loves her dearly, as she loves him.  He knows what it means to persevere for the sake of a family member.

I’ve watched him grow up.  And now here he is, handsome, athletic, college-educated, member of the National Guard, preparing to be a police officer and soon to be married.  His bride is beautiful, continuing with college, and clearly excited to join this man in marriage.

Their optimism is wonderful and beautiful.  It was a great few hours.

And, someday, God may call my nephew to walk with his wife through cancer.  Or he may call this young bride to parent a child with disabilities, like her future mother-in-law has now done for more than two decades.

I am NOT trying to suggest that their optimism is fantasy and soon reality will catch up with them.

In fact, I hope for exactly the opposite for them.  I want them to live with a future hope.  I want them to live expecting God to be active in their lives.  When hard things come, as they always do, I want them both to have a sweet, deep confidence that God will help them, that he will supply every need, and that all things work together for good for those who trust Jesus.

The tenderness that Mitch wrote about Mary and Mary’s savior, on the same day that she died, can be part of their story and our story.

I want that for myself and for this young couple, to be able to say no matter the circumstance:

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.  Job 1:21