Answering Christmas

Many people have kindly asked how our Christmas was.  As we've tried to explain, it's become clear there is no simple way to express the complexity that Christmas was for us.  The deep pain and great joy are hard to express in one conversation.  But poetry does something that conversation can not.  It meets polarity of emotion and weds them.  Below is our attempt at answering Christmas, followed by pictures  (As with all poetry there are always layers.  Reading slowly and several times will help those layers to be understood).

One life was absent   

Together we come

Brokenness did overwhelm

In hope we’re looking ahead

Silence crushed us down

Laughter fills our hearts

Isolation broke

Ornaments surround

The loneliness abounded

Meaningful depth unfolding

We sat in the pit

Love words are planted

By the grave we came

Beautiful flowers

Tears ran down our cheeks unwiped

The sun brightly shining down

Emptiness ran deep

Rock in my pocket

Death was remembered

Great joy in feasting

Each moment came full of fear

The bread and cup abounding

Sorrow broke us down

The Sacrament lives!

Joanna's homemade bread! "The bread...abounding"

Frozen Yogurt

We hiked in a blizzard... and loved it!

Josiah's so big! (and so is Dan)

"Together we come"

"Together we come"

"By the grave we came...beautiful flowers"

"Great joy in feasting...the Sacrament lives!"

"Ornaments surround... love words are planted"

First time ever:  bros and wives together

"In hope we're looking ahead"

Amazing hosts!

It Takes Dedication

I've never fully understood what it means: "dedication."  Sure I know it has a couple definitions; working hard to complete a task is one form of dedication.  The harder the task, the more dedicated the person needs to be.  Dedication also finds its place inside book covers, on concrete blocks, statues, buildings and I've even seen them on benches in the middle of nowhere.  (But honestly, those benches were in Colorado.  And everywhere is somewhere in that beautiful State.)  These are inscribed to honor and show appreciation, love and depth of relationship.

But how do you inscribe someone's name on something that is not tangible?  Running is not tangible.  Marathon running is even less tangible.  "Why would you even do that?" is a reaction us marathoners often get.  "You pay money for that?!"  Yes, we do pay money to run our bodies into a plundered state.  We pay money for our minds to fall into mental fog and for people to see us as untouchably filthy babbling fools.

Marathons take dedication.  It took dedication training several months.  Waking up at 4:30am on summer mornings for a nice 20 mile run takes no small amount of dedication.  And my wife feeding me upon return takes dedication for her too.  Can she make enough?  Yes... she did.  She's dedicated.

But if that's all the dedication running a marathon takes, then it's a let down at the end.  I've done it six times and, not to sound like a "Marvin," it can be a disappointing experience.  But when the race is dedicated to someone else, when you are out there running for someone, it means something deeper.

Your body becomes the proverbial bench where people come and gather and notice the inscription.  Your body is the statue, the inside book cover, and concrete block.  Written on my running bib was "For Asa and my Grandmas."  The run was a testimony to their lives.  The run was for them.  Not in a way that would benefit them but to benefit those who notice and recognize the inscription.  They are dearly loved and inscribed in me forever.  

Here are some pictures:

Best teammates!  My Jo and Baby Girl

"For Asa and my Grandmas"

We always look so happy at the start

The home stretch!  Little less happy.

26.2 done!

44oz smoothie is a good way to celebrate.

Signs that Joanna made to encourage me along the way.

This Georgia is a Country

"Georgia":  a name demystified through common occurrence and thus confused with a local location.  This Georgia existed thousands of years ago.  A land of mountains much higher than the Appalachians.  History and faith were already established here when John Wesley walked through the colony.  This Georgia is full of fresh bread, wine, and cheese; not Southern cooking.  This Georgia has scars from recent wars.  And yet it carries itself with renewed freedom and optimism.  Soviet dull is mixed with vibrant new.  All is established in ancient foundations; they are unique, brilliant structures that have lived through it all.  A beautiful land with untold secrets, waiting to be discovered.

Enjoy some pictures from my recent trip to Tbilisi, Georgia:

Soviet remains.

View from the apartment we stayed in

Freedom Square.  The place of revolutions.

Sameba

Nice walking area

Amazing bread

The new.  The higher building is the president's home, I believe.

Great Food!

Participating in Brokenness

It can be scary to interact with people who have recently had a very great loss.  Often we don't know what to say and how to connect into their pain.  Even if we have been through great losses ourselves, we still may not know what to say or how to act around dear friends who are suffering.  Below are some helpful tools that can enable us to better connect with hurting people.

General Assumptions about grief and loss that we need to understand:

1) It takes longer than you think. The first year is especially difficult. Even when stability is found, that loss will always be there.

2) Everyone experiences loss differently

3) Smiles don’t mean you’re not still grieving

4) You don’t get over grief, you move through it

5) Grief is a rollercoaster

Practical guidelines to help us participate in suffering, pain, loss, and brokenness:

1) Remember!—anniversaries, birthdays, Mother’s and Father’s Day, Christmas, etc.  Let them know they are not forgotten in their pain.

2) Try to feel the pain and loss. Suffer with them. Walk around in their shoes. But also know it’s okay if you can’t understand the depth of pain.

3) Make the call or write the card now! And next month do the same… and the month after that…etc. Stay present with them as they hurt, even if you’re far away.

4) Listen first… Ask questions second…listen third…ask more questions…and then, if you have a story of your own, share it with sensitivity.

5) Be honest!—we don’t always know what to do. We don’t always know what to say. We can be honest with hurting people and tell them these things.

6) Acknowledge the pain. Don’t act like everything is normal. It’s not normal!

7) Don’t offer easy answers to “fix it”. Be cautious of cultural or Christian clichés to fill silence.

8) Don’t create meaning or purpose for the person. It can minimize the pain. (i.e.: “You going through all this pain must mean that God has great plans for you ahead!”)

9) Don’t correct “scary” theology. Some people that are hurting need time to be angry and wrestle with God. It’s not our job to get in between that relationship. Most of the time, people come out of it with a deeper love for God.

10) Be mindful of people that don’t come out better from wrestling with God. Be sensitive and discerning in seeking ways to help them. Sometimes though, God is not the problem at all… Sometimes it’s the church’s lack of care that drives the wedge deep.

11) Don’t be afraid to ask “how are you?” even if they respond with tears. Allow people to cry and don’t try to stop them. Feel at peace with their tears.

12) Having “normal” and “happy” relationships with broken people is possible.  Remember that participation (listening, acknowledging, feeling the hurt, etc.) often precedes any normal interactions.

Father's Day Letter

My dearest Tim,

To Asa’s dad…

How empty this feels…to recognize this day is so painful and cuts to the heart of Asa’s absence.  Today we honor and recognize you as the father you are, though we weep that we physically do not have our dear son that gives fruit to that relationship.  I’m so sorry that Asa is not here with us.  I’m sorry you cannot be the father to him that you anticipated fulfilling in this life. 

Indeed, you wrote well that a mother’s heart is born in the dreams of her childhood as she plays with her dolls and imagines the joy of having children of her own someday.  And the bond between a mother and her child is something so unique, so treasured.  But just as a mother’s love is not suddenly hatched at birth, so your love as a father comes before a birthday.  For a father’s love begins through loving the child’s mother.  The act of procreation itself (in its purest form) is an act of love.  And lovingly, he literally gives a piece of himself and entrusts that part of him to the mother.  And as life begins in its miraculous process in the depths of the mother’s womb, the father gives to his child by giving to his/her mother, for she is his channel to that child.

And how well you loved me, and thus loved Asa while we had him with us!  How caringly you protected him as you protected me.  When you could not touch him, you touched me.  When you could not feed him, you fed me.  And when you could not heal him, you have journeyed with me in this broken path to healing.

He felt your touches, your gentle hand pressing to feel his kicks in the womb.  He heard your silly voice.  He loved you, Tim and I believe he still does, even more now.

And he continues to live because your father’s pride will not allow him to fully die in this life.  Though his body has left us, you preserve him in your precious love, your beautiful writing of him, the heaviness you feel in your heart when you realize life isn’t as it should be.

I was the first to know of his life, but you were the first to realize his death.  When we were in that fateful hospital room, I knew when I finally turned my head towards you and saw your face flush with tears.  You knew.  When his heart stopped beating, a piece of yours had stopped too.   For I had sustained his life for nine months, but you had given him life, and that part of you had mysteriously died.

As the months of pregnancy went along, I was honestly so nervous about going through the birthing process, and I didn’t know how you would hold up.  I thought my mom would end up taking over the “head coach” position and you would be secondary.  How wrong I was!  Wow—you could write the book on how to coach  your wife through delivery.  I was truly impressed, deeply amazed at your commitment, perseverance and deep love for me through those long and painful hours.  Thank you for never leaving my side and walking each and every painful step to bring Asa’s body into this world.

Any doubts or questions I had about you being a father were dispelled when I saw you holding our Asa in that rocking chair.  Just as you cater your strength to be tender towards me, so you gently held and rocked Asa.  In such strength and tenderness, he would have grown.  And I know you would have taught him so well….to love the Lord, to love people (and be present with them), to love God’s creation, to think about life rather than passively accepting everything without thought.  I imagine you would have been his first wrestling coach, his first running coach, and yet you would give him the freedom to pursue his own interests.  I would have encouraged your father-son dates from errand trips to the bank to play times at the park to camping expeditions as he got older.

You are an incredible father, Tim.  There are so few men who are ever put in this place, to father a stillborn son.  There are even fewer men who choose to embrace that role the way that you have.  Thank you for loving me well, for loving Asa well.

With deep love and sorrow,

Joanna

Mother's Day Letter

Dearest Joanna,

How my heart aches...  Truly this day is a painful day.  What expression or token of love can I give that can remove the sorrow of today?  There’s none.  There is nothing that will remove the bitterness of love lost.  And yet to not celebrate this day is to not honor the love that exists.  For Mother’s Day does not honor merely a function or job but a relationship.  And you and Asa are forever bound.  He is ever of your womb.  And this love you and he share, we will celebrate. 

There is something that Dads will never understand that takes place in the heart of a Mother.  Deep inside her heart, she knits together the deepest love and affection for a child, even though that child does not yet exist.  As much as the womb grows the child, the Mother’s heart is its true womb and place of life.  Most people are born before they are ever conceived.  They are born into the hope of a Mother-to-be as she plays with her dolls as a child.  She, even as a child herself, is hopeful and dreaming.  One day she will be a Mother of children. 

Asa was born of love before he was conceived.  He was born of hope and dreams inside the depth of your heart.  And this deep love refined the womb of his physical growth.  And truly, your love and affection for Asa transcends anyone else’s love for him.  You have a special bond that nobody else can know.  This is something to treasure.  And indeed, this is something to celebrate with joy… and for a time with sorrow.

Joanna, I will never forget when I realized we had become three.  I remember when I felt our identity change forever.  It was December 26^th 2012 at 4:18pm.  They took our dear child and placed him on your chest.  I realized we were forever three.  And my mind spun when I recognized that we were also, in this world, forever broken.  For the three of us won’t be together again until the day we meet Asa in heaven. 

I believe you knew we were three far sooner than I did.  I think it was that chaotic hospital visit in Dushanbe when tears came to your eyes as you saw our tiny Asa having fun in your tummy.  When it comes to children, Mother knows first, for she loved first. 

And maybe that’s why my heart always breaks when I think of how much Asa would have loved your comfortable arms.  He would have found such a home and resting place in your kind embrace and your nourishing touch.  He would have loved you first, for you loved him first.  And that love he would have had (and indeed does have) makes me weep in my soul because I know there is something deep between a Mother and her son that no other relationship shares.  And I know for this time, you can’t experience that with him, or he with you. 

You gave birth to Asa… so special and lovely and breaking.  I won’t forget how you gathered your deepest reserves of strength to push Asa out into this world, gone though he was.  God became a God of miracles when I saw that you were a Mother of resilience.  What else could have motivated you to bring him into our arms but for that very reason: to have him in our arms; yet only for mere hours. 

I will never forget his body.  It was perfect and long.  He was the perfect shape to snuggle into your lap.  His hands were big, big enough to cling to your hands from infancy; and when he was older, big enough to protect you, His Mommy, from harm.  His mouth was smooth and cute, ready to take in all your special treats. 

His feet were like his hands, unusually large.  They were so big that maybe you’d have gone on special shopping dates to help him find the right sized shoe.  I’d like to think he would have been a runner or wrestler and you’d have gone to his meets to cheer him on.  And you would have been so proud of him.  And he would have always known where his Mommy was sitting in the audience.  For as much as boys want to please their fathers, they want to know the safety of their Mothers; as much as they want to be successful for their fathers, they want to be dedicated to their Mothers. 

His eyes were big and they would have been bright as he looked to you every moment of his life.  His nose was button and I know he would have loved the smells of your kitchen and the aroma of your bread.  Your food would have been his grid for what is good in this world of food.  You would have been the standard.   

We weep in our hearts this Mother’s Day because of the “would haves” and “could haves.”  We are angry because of the “should haves.”  And yet God continues to Shepherd in your Motherly pain.  Our memories and broken hopes are kept as fuel to push us to long for what “will be.”  We long for it more than ever.  If there has been sweetness in this Motherly pain I cannot imagine the Motherly joy you will know when you see Asa alive!

And he longs to see you too.  He longs to reveal his voice, that you might hear him and know the thrill of life in your chest.  He awaits the day he will call you his “Mommy.”  And on that day, your ears will ring with a song never before heard.  He longs to hold your hand and know your touch.  And when you embrace, you will know the warmth and comfort of God.  Asa is waiting to thank you for giving him life and allowing him to be released by you and thus truly received.          

And so we celebrate this special relationship you have with Asa.  We celebrate with longing and with sorrow.  I am so honored to share in the bitterness of this day with you.  And we have hope knowing it is “one day closer…”

With deep love,

Tim

Hiding Our Faces: Why I Left Facebook

(I know it's long.  I invite you to read it all)

We used to look at people; we looked at them in the eyes.  We felt the energy of closeness and movement.  The way the body moved spoke and framed words in the context of attitude.  The way the eyebrows raised and fell created emotion, humor …and horror.  We put our hands on our hips, on our cheek, on their shoulder.  Hands were extended to befriend and clutched to violate.  Our tongues moved, expressing love and destitution.  Our hips did sway; our legs often didn’t know what to do with themselves.  We expressed our embarrassment without a sound and our boldness without a word.  We hugged and kissed and liked… befriending.  We were not flippant. …We used to be human.

Many of us maintain these “primitive” ways of relating.  And yet increasingly we participate in relationships through medium.  We engage words without hearing voices.  Impressions are seen without connecting eyes.  We encounter comfort without arms that embrace.  We communicate without understanding because context is invisible.  We befriend too many to know deeply.  We express our approval with a click of the mouse.  Facebook has hidden our faces.

Our relationships consist of slogans through status updates.  Our interactions have lost their content and depth because one-liners define who we are.  Or rather, we define ourselves by using one-liners.  And, please forgive my insensitivity: who really cares what you had for dinner?  Who really cares about your every detail of life?  Why are those priceless pieces of information?  We mark our status and go away, hoping people will affirm us for our expressions.  We live, hoping people will “like” our contribution.  And we return excited to read the comments.  Our minds have never logged off; we are making a home where nobody lives. 

In fact, “Facebook Home” is coming out on April 12^th.  It’s “the family of apps that puts your friends at the heart of your phone.”  What does this mean?  “Upfront notifications and quick access to your essentials mean you’ll never miss a moment.”  It’s an opportunity to never miss a moment while the real world, real people and real faces, pass us by without notice.

If we’re honest with ourselves, we’re just so scared to be alone.  So we sit there alone, in that chair, without anyone else around us, staring at a screen.  We live in our face-less medium-sized home, alone… and with 500 friends.

Or maybe we’re just so bored… Have you ever sat on Facebook, scrolling the “news feed,” feeding on unconnected fragments of information?  Have you ever sat there for 30 minutes?  An hour?  How’s that going for you?  I feel depressed after my Facebook binges.  I feel lost and confused.  I end up knowing a lot about people without really knowing them.  Why wasn’t I staring at my wife’s beautiful face for that hour?  The information displaces interaction. 

Let’s be sensible.  We want to maintain our relationships with our “friends,” people whom we haven’t seen in ten or fifteen years… or ever.  The five hundred “friends” we accumulated somehow need to be known by us, while our next-door neighbors have never met us before.  The western cultural community is defined by the ability to choose community.  There is liberation in choosing people you want to know.  But living those relationships through Facebook has expanded our community so much that depth of relationship is polluted. 

I feel polluted… Like the pollution that destroys our beautiful world, Facebook is polluting our relationships by destroying the beauty of interaction.  It chokes what is natural to personhood.  It is rewiring us to have slogan-based relationships, devoid of context and depth. 

There are too many examples of people who have “liked” my status and commented on my photos that, in real life, never even talk to me.  I see them, come near to them and am ignored by them.  Facebook gives us a platform for community that doesn’t necessarily lead to relationship.  The good I see in Facebook are those seldom moments when a real-life meeting is arranged unexpectedly.  This has happened to me twice.  The first time was with my cousin-in-law whom we noticed, via Facebook, to be passing through Washington D.C.  The second time was today, when we met up with a friend, thanks to him changing his location to Boulder, CO.  I’ve been on Facebook for nine years.  Is twice in nine years worth it? 

Facebook’s promotion of schizophrenia has also caused me to question its worth.  Yes, schizophrenia:

“A breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion and a sense of mental fragmentation.” 

When our son Asa died, we called and emailed friends and family to share the tragic news.  We also used Facebook.  Comments and posts of love, support and affirmation were prevalent.  They were encouraging and showed us that so many people were with us in our pain.  For every comment of comfort however, there were two announcements of pregnancies and births, pictures of baby-bumps and baby faces.  In real life, nobody would push such things in our faces.  And really it’s no one’s fault.  Facebook is made for the mixing of information.  But it gives no time to mourn or rejoice.  All there is time for is advertising our lives like billboards.  There is no opportunity to weep the death of loved ones because the life of others blinds us. 

And we are blind, too, of context.  Only on Facebook will a nice, smiley photo of you join the “news feed”, thanks to someone “tagging” you without permission.  People then comment, “You look great.”  But inside you are dead because your son just died two months before.  Only through partnership with Facebook can people cry with you over the phone or in person and then also post comments about how great their lives are going.  Those posts are out of context.  They don’t take into account the environment of real-life experience.  They do not reflect a sense of reality.  And so people “like” them and comment on them as though life were as it should be.  And those who mourn see this and wonder about such fragmentation.  We wonder about the inappropriate actions as we wander in our brokenness.  Thanks to Facebook we are becoming schizophrenic.

Recently I noticed someone posting about an ensuing human trafficking protest.  I affirm protest.  I think it’s a healthy part of being an American.  But how were they to protest?  Were they going to D.C.?  Were they writing their senator?  Were they petitioning for the cause?  Were they going to infiltrate networks of human trafficking to help rescue some from within?  No, no, no, none of these.  This person chose the grand tamale of protest: what would be more shocking than to protest human trafficking by logging off Facebook for a day?  Is our generation this inept that by logging off Facebook we are making a statement?  What would our great-great-grandfathers think of us from afar as they fought to abolish slavery and keep the union, or our grandfathers on the beaches of Normandy?  No, our generation sits on its butt all day and advertises itself. 

Why was I on Facebook then, you might ask?  Simply, I was addicted to the distracting mass of information.  It’s hard to get away from constant stimulation.  And yet retreating is the only way to reignite my humanity.  I’m sure if you have gotten this far, you are unique.  I really don’t expect anyone to get this far in reading this.  We have no attention spans anymore.  We read in segments, not wholes.  We are losing capacity to think deeply.  We are shallow.  Facebook encourages us to be stupid.  And I don’t want to be stupid.  And I want real relationships.  I’m sick of hiding my face in Facebook.

(If you feel betrayed or abandoned because I'm running out of our Facebook home, give me a call.  i'll assure you that I love you dearly.  You are not my problem.  Only the mix of Facebook and myself are my problem.  And if you do feel betrayed or abandoned, maybe you need to leave Facebook yourself.)