Imagine, part 7

Thud!

I start this posting with a quote from Pink Floyd’s The Wall.  It is written from the perspective of a husband to his wife.  But I use it here to describe the next phase of my faith journey.

Day after day, love turns grey
Like the skin of a dying man.
Night after night, we pretend it’s all right
But I have grown older and
You have grown colder and
Nothing is very much fun anymore.
And I can feel one of my turns coming on.
I feel cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum.

–One of my Turns, Roger Waters of Pink Floyd

Before it began, my ministry career was over.  Try as I might, I could only find two paths.

1.  This was a test of my faith.  God would provide if I would step out in faith.

2.  I was full of shit.  There was no God.  There was no calling.  My relationship with god was just a foolish self-delusion.

I did not have the faith to pursue option #1.  Regardless of whether or not it was true, I did not believe enough.  Over time, I began to embrace option #2.

As if to confirm my choice, my Emmaus sponsor, my spiritual mentor, the man whose faith I modeled my own after, committed suicide.

Dead

I continued to go to church.  At first out of habit, then because my wife got a job at a new church.  I went through the motions.  But it meant nothing.

Dead

I read a lot of books.  I am an atheist.

I am.

No really.

OK, I could be wrong.

I am an agnostic.  Maybe there is a god.

Damn it.  There is something that connects us.  I am not sure what it is.  But there IS something.

All of my old tricks no longer work.  I need to try something new.

Buddhism?

Nah.

Hinduism?

Nah.

What I need, is to rethink everything.

What I need, is to imagine.

Imagine, part 6

Crash!

I preface this post with a couple of thoughts.  It is impossible for me to put into words how much I love my son.  He inspires me daily.  Let me be clear I do not in any way, shape or form blame him for what happened to me.  What follows is purely the result of my ego and a lifetime of bad theology.

My last posting ended with Jenn and me on the road to the hospital to have our son.  We were practically giddy with excitement.  This was the big day.

We got to the hospital and were put in the pre-surgical ward.  Our son was breach and had to be delivered by c-section.  We had to wait for a couple of hours because there were some emergencies in front of us.  But finally they wheeled her back.  I had to wait in the hall until she had the epidural and was prepped.

When they called me into the room, things happened very quickly but I recall them in slow motion.  Jenn was draped so that she could not see the incision point.  They had me sit in a chair right by her head.  I had a greater vantage point, but I could not see the incision either.  They started almost the second I took my seat.  The first thing that caught my attention was the smell of burning flesh (as they cauterized the wound).  I almost hurled because I was not expecting smells.  I kind of chuckled to myself and regained my composure.

It took about a minute to free Ethan from the womb.  What happened next put me in a state of panic.  They silently lifted him into my field of view.  I noticed that one leg had no tone and was significantly smaller than the other.  He was not breathing and was pale blue.  They took him to a nearby table and started CPR.  Time stopped.  “God let him breath.  Please let him breath.”  Eternity passed.

…

…

…

And finally he cried.  The nurses and doctors examined him.  They splayed his butt cheeks and gave each other knowing glances.

My mind was reeling.

They wrapped him (Jenn knew nothing at this point) and brought him for her to see.  They congratulated us and said nothing.  Ethan and were moved into recovery while Jenn was stitched up.

I robotically called my family.  “It’s a boy.  Yes, everything was fine.  Gotta go.”

They wheeled Jenn back and handed her the baby.

“Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, problem.  Blah blah blah blah no anus.   Blah blah blah blah blah Nonnative Intensive Care.  Blah blah…can’t come until she can sit in a wheel chair…Blah…sir, follow us.

Tubes…IVs…Monitors…What in the hell just happened.  “Dear God, I have the faith.  Heal him now…Now…NOW!!!

“Sir we need to do a procedure…come back later…call family…go to wife.”

Dial home.  “Mom.”  I lost it and cried uncontrollably.  This was the first of many loses of composure.

The rest of the story is well documented in the rest of this blog.  Fast forward…two weeks.

I met with my mentor.  I lost it again.  He consoled me.  It would be OK.  This was our last meeting before I went before the district superintendent.  My mentor told me he had met with many candidates over the course of his ministry.  Never had he worked with a candidate with so clear a calling.  He looked forward to great things.

Fast forward…several weeks later.

I got the hospital bill.  It was over $100,000.  My insurance had not paid anything.  Panic.

Fast forward…weeks.

I got the bill cleared up.  Insurance covered it all.  I wondered what the Methodist Church’s insurance would have covered.  Called my mentor.  “Oh, it is a standard 80/20% policy.”

Hmmmm…

So if I was a pastor.  I would be on the hook for $20,000.  This is the first of many many many bills.  First year, my salary would be capped at $28,000.  What would have happened?  What will happen?  This is the first of many bills.  How will I pay for this?

HOW AM I GOING TO SUPPORT MY FAMILY?

More to come…

Dream

 

 

Last night I dreamt that I was in a dinner with my wife’s grandparents.  It was just the three of us.  Her grandfather and I were on one side of a booth, her grandmother on the other.  There was a TV overhead.  They were playing a news story about bullying disabled children.  Jenn’s grandmother kicked her grandfather under the table and gave him a knowing nod.  I was crying silently.

I Can Do All Things (Phil four thirteen)

Go to church long enough and the same topics and scriptures are repeated.  If they use the lectionary it is roughly every three years or so.  At most churches it is somewhere between 3 and 5 years…except around Christmas and Easter, they are repeated annually.  Rarely do you hear a good sermon about Jael driving a tent stake through her enemy’s skull.  Pity…it would make a terrific children’s musical.  <Tongue firmly in cheek>

So regardless of whether or not you care for a particular passage of scripture, if it is “popular,” you will hear it over and over again.

So yesterday my number was up.  The scripture was one of my former favorites.  I memorized it back when I was in Bible Quiz.  “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”

<side note:  I checked my spelling of strengtheneth…it was right.  I have a King James brain.  Actually looking at chapter 4, I used to have the whole thing memorized.  But my brain jelly is not what it used to be.>

So, back to my story…Phil 4.  This was my all time favorite scriptures.  It was my motivational mantra.  Any unpleasant tasks, conversations, interviews, public speaking, you name it; this scripture got me through it.  I would repeat it over and over as a chant.  It got me through many binds.  It was pure force of will with JC backing me up.

But now I associate this scripture with my fall from grace.  It was the day of Ethan’s birth.  We had just gotten the news about his imperforated anus and his right leg was shriveled like a flipper.  He was rushed off to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU).  Jenn had to go back to her room because she was still paralyzed from the epidural.  She was beside herself, but she wanted me to check on our baby.

I was escorted back to where his incubator was.  They told me I could touch him through vent holes.  I took a deep breath.  “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me!”  At first I just patted his back and head.  Then I gathered all of my strength and will.  I firmly clutched his right foot.  I visualized a constant current of lightning surging through my body.  This boy was going to be healed.  He was going to be whole.  I focused all my power on this simple prayer for healing.  “I CAN DO ALL THINGS THROUGH CHRIST WHICH STRENGTHENETH ME!!!”  “In the name of Jesus be healed.”  I lost all track of time.  I was here.  It was now.  I have heard about miraculous healing all of my life.  This was MY time.  This was the place.  I was going to spend the rest of my life telling others of the miracle that Jesus had performed that day.  IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

…but nothing happened.  Except Ethan’s leg got kind of sweaty.

I have failed.  I lacked the faith.  But how could that be???  I did have the faith!  I did damn it!!!

I felt myself sink into a deep hole from which I have never fully emerged.  Paul could do all things…Ben could not.

I miss that Ben.  I want absolute assurance.  I want to know that the power of God courses through my body.  But if I may mix the metaphor…like Icarus, I crashed back to earth.

Thud

Memories of Thanksgivings Past

I am sitting in my darkened living room in a post turkey comma.  The sounds of family playing in the other room remind me that all is right with the world.

10 years ago was probably the most memorable Thanksgiving of my life.  Ethan had been scheduled for his second surgery in early November.  But because of a fungal infection, that date got bumped.  He was already showing neurological problems because of his tethered spinal cord; so we were very anxious to make the date as early as possible.  The next date was the day before Thanksgiving.  As is still the case, we have no family in the area.  We had not Thanksgiving plans.  So we went for it.

Because the hospital was practically empty, we had a private room in the oncology ward.  The surgery was long, but successful.  Ethan had to stay flat on his back for a couple of days so that he would not leak cerebral spinal fluid.  His pain was well managed and things went as smoothly as could be reasonably expected.

On Thanksgiving night, Ethan fell asleep in the early evening.  Jenn and I decided that it was a good time for us to sneak out together and get some dinner in the cafeteria.  I don’t remember if they had turkey.  But being hospital food, it was not going to be tasty anyway.

After dinner, we meandered our way back to the room.  We were in no hurry because Ethan was down for the count.

When we got to the room, however, we were greeted with a frightening site.  Ethan’s bed was surrounded by most of the floors nursing staff.  I could feel the adrenaline course into my body.   What now?  But my worst fears were quickly dissolved as it became clear what was happening.  Ethan was still fast asleep and the nurses were cooing over how cute the little baby was.

My heart in that moment warmed.  There is still a soft spot in my soul for this memory.

Just in the Nick of Time

News flash…I bitch a lot about my life online.  But my blog is an outlet.  I am less cranky in real life.

But on this day of Thanksgiving, I would be remiss were I to ignore the blessings I have in this life.

I am grateful for the usual suspects family, friends etc…  But I have written about all of that before.  So I am writing an alternative Thanksgiving Day piece today.

I am thankful that I live in the 21^st century.  Because of the toys, gadgets, homes and cars???  No.  I am thankful because had I been born much earlier, my life would be radically different that what it is.

Had I not been born in the 20^th century, I probably never would have made it to adulthood.  I would have been whacked by some nasty bacteria or dehydration.

But assuming I made it to adulthood, with similar circumstances, my life would be unrecognizable.

My son Ethan suffers with VACTERL Association.  He asked me a couple of weeks ago what kids with VACTERL did a long time ago.  My answer was frank: “they died.”  I am not sure he was expecting such brutal honesty.  But it was the truth.

Had Jenn not had Ethan in the last 50 years, he would have died days after being born.  If he were not born in the last 70ish years, he would not have been born at all.  He was breach.  Jenn would have died in childbirth and he would never have taken his first breath.

I won the birth era lottery!  Happy Thanksgiving!

Nothing Moves…This Week

This week was a roller coaster ride.  Thankfully, it is over.  Sunday the world is fresh again.

“Gray Day….Everything is gray.

I watch. But nothing moves today.”…Dr. Seuss

Monday was one of those days that I felt wholly inadequate as a parent.  Ethan has struggled with his whole life with urinary continence.  What most children master by age two is bedeviling us at age 10.  So we dutifully dragged him down to Children’s Hospital for another round of testing.  There were three tests of which I will spare you the detail.  But suffice to say they were invasive in the extreme.  If I were having the tests myself I would feel humiliated and exposed.  I can only imagine what goes through a 10 year old boys mind.

We got some good information, but the emotional cost took a huge toll.

Tuesday I went back to work, but in hindsight that may not have been a wise choice.  I was a basket case.  In addition to managing the work I missed, my boss wanted me to deal with a human resource issue.  I politely declined.  I am dumb; but I am not stupid.

Things got better as the week went on, but I was completely unproductive.  When you are dealing with quality of life issues, work seems so pointless.

I slept most of my Saturday away.  I feel better now.

This disease brought to you by, Snickers.

It is now officially Netflix season.  Actually for my family it has been for several weeks.  Every summer after the TV season ends, my wife and I find a TV show on Netflix that we never watch when it was on TV and watch every episode in order.  Last summer it was “Roswell.”  This summer the show is “Grey’s Anatomy.”

You might find it interesting that I love medical dramas, especially because I live one.  But when it comes to fake blood and guts, I cannot get enough.  I used to watch “Trauma Life in the ER,” but it was too gory for my wife.

I digress.

So the other night we were watching the 3^rd season of “Grey’s Anatomy.”  The specific episodes were “Six Days” part 1 & 2.  So imagine my surprise when they show a teenage girl with VATERs…hold the phone…what did they just say.  Yep, they had a patient with VACTERAL Syndrome.  They did not pull any punches either.  The girl was bitter because she could no longer stand up straight.  The surgical interns were fighting over who got to treat her.  It was almost like a circus sideshow.

They showed the girls back and it really looked like my son’s.  (The actress was played by one of the actresses on the show “Parenthood”…I really do watch too much TV.)  Anyway, I am seeing bits of my life portrayed on screen, insurance rejections and all.

You would think I would have found the episode upsetting.  But strangely enough, I felt validated.  Yes, my kid has a real disease.  Other families struggle with the same crap we do.  I did not feel sad in the least bit.

This is surprising because I cry at Hallmark commercials.  Yes, I am a manly man.  So sue me.

I was really surprised at the dignified way in which they portrayed the situation.  It had a happy ending, but not syrupy sweet.

Anyway…the world is aware of VACTERAL, well Grey’s Anatomy viewers anyway.