“Ma'am you are just plain lucky” the kind gentlemen said as we both stared down the embankment. There were two problems with this statement, first I hate when anyone calls me ma'am that term should be reserved for those over 70; I prefer to be a Miss. Secondly, luck really? I just traveled down 4 lanes of traffic, hit some ice while changing lanes and then proceeded to do spin completely around in one direction and then completely around in the other direction. I watched as headlights came at me and then moved just in time, I watched as the cars slid by only inches from my bumper. After the second spin, my car slammed into a snow bank pushing the mound of snow over several feet. When the car finally came to rest I got out and realized that I was only a few feet from where the Mississippi River Bridge began. The cement barriers that would have protected me from falling to the frozen water below were significantly smaller than the snow bank that saved me from the steep embankment.
Lucky.
So is luck the air of fortune that blows by? Is luck when you leave a moment later because you left your wallet in the house and had to run back in, only to find that you missed an accident on the way to work by just a sheer moment? Is luck when someone else bought the car you wanted and the engine died two weeks later? Lucky you weren’t the sap who got stuck with that.
Luck and coincidence.
Coincidentally for me a fire fighter pulled up behind me and took control of the situation and coincidentally an Army soldier pulled up shortly after with his truck and a tow strap. Coincidence or something more? Luck or something entirely different?
Here is my proposition, the creator of the earth, God, spared me. He held my car in His hands. He sent His angels who pushed the other cars to the side. He provided the snow bank and made sure to keep me from making it to the bridge. He then provided the fire fighter and then the army soldier. He knew their willing, serving hearts and knew they would choose to stop. This for me is so much easier to believe than the idea that by some wave of good fortune, or by some arbitrary distribution of events, it was my turn to be lucky. This perfect chain of events that happened to remind me who my creator was; was no accident.
The struggle even I have with this theory? A few weeks ago another woman was heading home from work, swerved to avoid a stalled car and rolled her car into a pond. Sadly, she passed away. She was mother to a little girl. The sweet little girl will live the rest of her life without her mother. Where were her angels? Where were God’s hands then? Maybe this is why people choose to look to luck. I can only struggle with the multitude of possibilities although I realize God is so much bigger than. My brain is so significantly smaller than his. While I can’t explain why God allows some tragedies and prevents others. I will say this. Some things happen my someone’s choice and some things happen by chance. God has control through all. He allows people to make choices and He allows life to happen. He is there every step of the way. He will provide support through tragic times, He will work through all things to draw you closer to Him. He will use every circumstance (good and bad) to turn you towards Him.
It’s only my personal belief but I believe, God was with that mother. I believe He held that car in His hands. I believe His angels held her hand as she was carried to the gates of Heaven. Just as He will with me, when it is my time.
I stood bewildered looking down this embankment listening to this man tell me how lucky I was. I shook my head at the kind gentlemen who stopped to help, “luck” I said “had nothing to do with this.” I gave him a hug and thanked him and thanked God for another day.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
All You Need is Love...
I know, many, many people tell me that I was born in the wrong decade. I probably should have been born in the 50's or 60's. I want to ride the freedom bus and burn my bra. Still might do that anyway. (not for any femminist reason, just don't really like em is all) So yes all you really do need is love! Since God is love and Jesus is love, it truly is all we need. Today I am tired of politcal platforms, I am tired of you must hold this belief to be a Christian, or vote for that person to be a Christian. Who says? Sometimes Christians are so insecure and why? What do we have to be so insecure about? I believe in the Bible every single word, but telling someone who doesn't believe the Bible how to live their life, isn't going to make them believe. It also isn't going to jeopardize the status of God. God is God, always has and always will despite anyone's belief or disbelief. Isn't it really just our job to point them to Jesus? Let Jesus do the convicting, isn't our job to love? I am sure this can get out of balance but if I have to error on one side or the other, I choose to error on the side of love. I went to the most amazing church today and sitting in front of me was a man in a suit and a tie, on my right was a woman in sweats, on my left was a homeless man. I looked around and saw every color, race, age and economic status and it worked. Aren't we all God's church? Let's get rid of our religious junk so that the path will be clear for Jesus. Let's look at people and see through the eyes of Jesus, see who God made them to be. Let's try not to judge and love instead. Let what break's his heart, break ours.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Gifts
"I am not exactly sure what I am looking at. I am not an ultrasound technician but it looks like there might be two heads!" my obstetrician informed me. "I have a two headed baby?" I gasped. It never occurred to me that as a 21 year old who is 30 weeks pregnant, I might be carrying twins! She showed me "it looks like a head up here and then" with a dramatic wave of her arm to the other side of my protruding abdomen she finishes "another head all the way down here." Did she have to say "all the way" as if the other end of my stomach was somewhere near Florida? I was pretty sure I was still sleeping and pretty soon I would wake up. It was after all, 2:30 in the morning.
The next morning I discovered I indeed had been awake. I was definitely pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. 7 short weeks later on September 13th, Benjamin and Mikaela were born. Despite worries of potential complications and concerns, both babies were born perfect and healthy. Benjamin and Mikaela were good babies, they slept and ate well. They were the most beautiful babies I had ever seen. They were also as different as night and day. He was round and chubby, she was petite and tiny. He was mostly bald except for a small patch of blond hair, she had the most beautiful, brunette ringlets. As they turned 1 their differences only became more pronounced. She was incredibly articulate, already speaking in full sentences. He was slower to speak, passing grunting sounds off as words as she babbled away. People would tell me, “he is a boy and boys develop more slowly, no worries”. I tried to put those worries away.
As they turned two, I noticed my son was becoming harder to handle, he would run as fast as he could without ever looking back. He would have angry outbursts and melt down at what seemed to be such minor things. I would express my concerns, only to hear, “he is a boy, they are more physical, you worry too much, just let him mature”. Still in the back of my mind I couldn’t completely turn off my worries. At 3 my daughter sat in Sunday School class, next to the teacher offering to help hand out papers, while my son would cry from under the table.
I started to question my abilities. I began to worry “was I enough of a mother to handle these two babies?” I was afraid I couldn’t do it. I realized I needed some help.
Just as September 13th my life had been turned upside down, again my world was rocked on October 24th when I attended a speech evaluation meeting for Ben. I couldn’t believe it. I walked into a room of about 7 people around a table. I kept thinking, “gee this is a lot of people to talk to me about a little lisp. I sat down and all the faces grew serious. I felt the pit in my stomach sink a little lower. They looked at each other trying to decide who should speak first; I could tell no one wanted to go. Finally after what seemed like an eternity someone spoke, she said “I am very sorry to tell you this, but your son, he has Autism.” “What ?” I was about to explode, “you must have the wrong results; see I am here for Ben the one with the speech issue.” They only shook their heads and said, “speech is one way Autism shows itself, we have thoroughly tested Ben and we are sure, he is autistic.” The rest of the meeting was a blur; they showed me bar graphs and tests. They showed me where a “normal” child would be and then where Ben was. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.
The next several weeks I began making 2nd, 3rd and 4th opinion appointments. I saw our pediatrician, a pediatric neurologist, a speech pathologist, a psychiatrist, a psychologist and Child Development Specialist. Every appointment ended the same way, “yes Ben is Autistic” then they would give me ideas to cope and support services I could use. I didn’t want to cope. I didn’t want to be supported. I wanted this diagnosis to go away.
“Why would God allow Ben to be Autistic? What is Ben’s future? What will become of him?” I cried. My dreams and hopes were crashing in on me. It wasn’t that I wanted a perfect child, or even that I thought it somehow reflected me. It was that I loved this little boy with my life and when he watched other kids do things he couldn’t or when other little boys played together on the playground and Ben was left all alone, my heart broke for him. It broke into millions of tiny little pieces, never to be put back together again. It was that I knew for the rest of his life, he was going to be different. But, it wasn’t even so much what I did know that scared me, but what I didn’t know that terrified me, kept me awake at night. No one could tell me what the future was for Ben. Would he be able to go to a normal school? Would he be able to make friends? Would he be able to drive? Would he be able to have a girlfriend? What about live alone? What if I were to die? What would become of Ben? I was left with many questions and so few answers.
To answer some of these questions I drug Ben to yet another specialist. Each appointment I hoped for a new diagnosis, a confirmation of a mistake. This day was different. It would be a beginning of a new life, for both me and Ben. I walked in, unaware of what God had planned for me. I marched up to the counter to check Ben in. Once checked in I plopped myself down on the uncomfortable hard backed chair, and settled in for what would likely be an incredibly long wait. As I sat I pulled out my list of questions to be sure it was complete and that I hadn’t thought of anymore. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. It was a mother, holding a small child. I noticed behind her was a wheelchair. It looked to me that this child likely could not move un-assisted. The girl’s eyes appeared quite glossy as if she might be blind. She was not talking, yet her mother was still talking to her. The mother had the little girl cradled like a newborn, although it was obvious that she was not a newborn at all. It didn’t seem to matter to her though. It was easy to see that when this mother looked at her daughter she did not see her disabilities but her abilities. She didn’t see what her child would never do but saw the potential of what she might do. This mother didn’t miss a moment, she didn’t miss a grin or a giggle. She looked at her daughter as a gift and her daughter was flourishing because of it. Then it hit me, what was I missing? God had given me a gift, but could I see it? Had I missed the sparkle in his eyes, the hugs from his arms, the tears on his cheeks? Just then, I grabbed a hold of my son, I took him in my arms, just like he were a newborn and right there in that clinic I held him and wept, I wept over what I had lost and then over what I had gained. A gift.
The questions that whirled in my mind just seconds before had vanished. The tests, the procedures, the questionnaires, the results, none of it mattered now. What mattered was this little boy named Ben. Not the boy with autism, or the disabled boy, no just simply Ben.
Ben has taught me about life. Ben has taught me how to enjoy the moment. He has taught me how to love instead of judge. Ben has taught me not to be embarrassed of my weaknesses. He has shown me I am capable of more than I ever thought possible. Ben has been a reminder of the gift of life.
The next morning I discovered I indeed had been awake. I was definitely pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. 7 short weeks later on September 13th, Benjamin and Mikaela were born. Despite worries of potential complications and concerns, both babies were born perfect and healthy. Benjamin and Mikaela were good babies, they slept and ate well. They were the most beautiful babies I had ever seen. They were also as different as night and day. He was round and chubby, she was petite and tiny. He was mostly bald except for a small patch of blond hair, she had the most beautiful, brunette ringlets. As they turned 1 their differences only became more pronounced. She was incredibly articulate, already speaking in full sentences. He was slower to speak, passing grunting sounds off as words as she babbled away. People would tell me, “he is a boy and boys develop more slowly, no worries”. I tried to put those worries away.
As they turned two, I noticed my son was becoming harder to handle, he would run as fast as he could without ever looking back. He would have angry outbursts and melt down at what seemed to be such minor things. I would express my concerns, only to hear, “he is a boy, they are more physical, you worry too much, just let him mature”. Still in the back of my mind I couldn’t completely turn off my worries. At 3 my daughter sat in Sunday School class, next to the teacher offering to help hand out papers, while my son would cry from under the table.
I started to question my abilities. I began to worry “was I enough of a mother to handle these two babies?” I was afraid I couldn’t do it. I realized I needed some help.
Just as September 13th my life had been turned upside down, again my world was rocked on October 24th when I attended a speech evaluation meeting for Ben. I couldn’t believe it. I walked into a room of about 7 people around a table. I kept thinking, “gee this is a lot of people to talk to me about a little lisp. I sat down and all the faces grew serious. I felt the pit in my stomach sink a little lower. They looked at each other trying to decide who should speak first; I could tell no one wanted to go. Finally after what seemed like an eternity someone spoke, she said “I am very sorry to tell you this, but your son, he has Autism.” “What ?” I was about to explode, “you must have the wrong results; see I am here for Ben the one with the speech issue.” They only shook their heads and said, “speech is one way Autism shows itself, we have thoroughly tested Ben and we are sure, he is autistic.” The rest of the meeting was a blur; they showed me bar graphs and tests. They showed me where a “normal” child would be and then where Ben was. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.
The next several weeks I began making 2nd, 3rd and 4th opinion appointments. I saw our pediatrician, a pediatric neurologist, a speech pathologist, a psychiatrist, a psychologist and Child Development Specialist. Every appointment ended the same way, “yes Ben is Autistic” then they would give me ideas to cope and support services I could use. I didn’t want to cope. I didn’t want to be supported. I wanted this diagnosis to go away.
“Why would God allow Ben to be Autistic? What is Ben’s future? What will become of him?” I cried. My dreams and hopes were crashing in on me. It wasn’t that I wanted a perfect child, or even that I thought it somehow reflected me. It was that I loved this little boy with my life and when he watched other kids do things he couldn’t or when other little boys played together on the playground and Ben was left all alone, my heart broke for him. It broke into millions of tiny little pieces, never to be put back together again. It was that I knew for the rest of his life, he was going to be different. But, it wasn’t even so much what I did know that scared me, but what I didn’t know that terrified me, kept me awake at night. No one could tell me what the future was for Ben. Would he be able to go to a normal school? Would he be able to make friends? Would he be able to drive? Would he be able to have a girlfriend? What about live alone? What if I were to die? What would become of Ben? I was left with many questions and so few answers.
To answer some of these questions I drug Ben to yet another specialist. Each appointment I hoped for a new diagnosis, a confirmation of a mistake. This day was different. It would be a beginning of a new life, for both me and Ben. I walked in, unaware of what God had planned for me. I marched up to the counter to check Ben in. Once checked in I plopped myself down on the uncomfortable hard backed chair, and settled in for what would likely be an incredibly long wait. As I sat I pulled out my list of questions to be sure it was complete and that I hadn’t thought of anymore. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. It was a mother, holding a small child. I noticed behind her was a wheelchair. It looked to me that this child likely could not move un-assisted. The girl’s eyes appeared quite glossy as if she might be blind. She was not talking, yet her mother was still talking to her. The mother had the little girl cradled like a newborn, although it was obvious that she was not a newborn at all. It didn’t seem to matter to her though. It was easy to see that when this mother looked at her daughter she did not see her disabilities but her abilities. She didn’t see what her child would never do but saw the potential of what she might do. This mother didn’t miss a moment, she didn’t miss a grin or a giggle. She looked at her daughter as a gift and her daughter was flourishing because of it. Then it hit me, what was I missing? God had given me a gift, but could I see it? Had I missed the sparkle in his eyes, the hugs from his arms, the tears on his cheeks? Just then, I grabbed a hold of my son, I took him in my arms, just like he were a newborn and right there in that clinic I held him and wept, I wept over what I had lost and then over what I had gained. A gift.
The questions that whirled in my mind just seconds before had vanished. The tests, the procedures, the questionnaires, the results, none of it mattered now. What mattered was this little boy named Ben. Not the boy with autism, or the disabled boy, no just simply Ben.
Ben has taught me about life. Ben has taught me how to enjoy the moment. He has taught me how to love instead of judge. Ben has taught me not to be embarrassed of my weaknesses. He has shown me I am capable of more than I ever thought possible. Ben has been a reminder of the gift of life.
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